[ CW ] Kill the writer in first-person narrative .

The vision was white, like they always told me. Bright lights, angelic people flitting in and out of vision. I could hear words being spoken, but none of them made a whole lot of sense to me. I blinked. I swallowed, dry lips grating along one another, a small gap present off to the right side. Try as I might to close the gap, something did n't feel right. Beginning to sit up, my feeble body shakes as I stretch out withered hands. *Could those be mine, truly mine? * `` May I have my pipe, please?'' My voice is quiet in the large room. 
 
 `` Sorry, sir, we ca n't. Can I get you something to drink?'' 
 
 `` No thank you, I'm not thirsty. Could definitely go for my pipe, though!'' 
 
 `` I'm sorry, man, no-can-do.'' 
 
 `` That's quite all right. Say, is my family going to be here?'' 
 
 `` They could n't find the time, I'm sorry.'' 
 
 `` That's quite all right. Say, did you see where I left my pipe? My eyes do n't work quite how they used to!'' 
 
 `` No, sir, I have n't.'' 
 
 `` That's quite all. Quite all right. Rather sleepy now, I say! Wake me up when my family arrives, please! I'd quite like to see them before I get released.'' 

