I’m not really one for journals, but this is so strange that I suppose writing it down might allow me to make some sense of out of it.
I’m dead, or at least I thought I was. From the wound I got, well, it’d take more than a few miracles to survive it. And I don’t have a mark. Not a one.
Something is very wrong here. Things don’t make sense, I’m breathing but I died. How does that work?
….I was wrong. This hasn’t helped at all.