Things I notice when I open my eyes:

1. I’m not at home.

That’s it. That’s all I notice.

The light hurts so I close my eyes again. (Closing my eyes makes it go dark, but I don’t notice this. Not at first.)

My head hurts. My chest hurts. Everything hurts.

I don’t know how long it is until I open my eyes again, but, when I do, this is what I notice:

1. I’m still not at home.
2. It’s dark outside. I can see an orangey street light through a half-closed blind if I turn my eyes one way.
3. Looking the other way, there’s a man sitting in a chair. His head is slumped forward.
4. The man is my dad.
5. I am visible again.