It’s late afternoon and she feels as if she’s slept for a thousand years.
Being lucky enough to come out of a coma, she comes close to having
that thousand-year sleep.

     April feels like one of the stories that Sandy’s always penning.
Sandy’s got a strange way of writing, April thinks. She writes in the
past tense except for important or action scenes, that she always writes
in the present. It’s jarring to say the least. When April was in the coma,
she could have written her life in the past tense. Now she’s back, alive,
and feeling very present.

     April’s head falls back to the pillow, eyelids fighting to stay open.
She fears sleep, as if the coma will come back. April eventually gives in
to the deep fatigue she feels. She closes her eyes and the memories, of
what happened over the last couple of weeks, comes flooding back. It
all started with those books Sandy inherited.