In the dim light of the hospital room, Oliver slowly blinked his eyes open, a weight lifting as he emerged from a long, deep slumber. The world around him seemed both familiar and oddly distant, like a dream fading in the morning sun. He tried to make sense of the machines that beeped beside him, the sterile scent of the room, and the concerned faces of family he could barely recognize.
Recognition dawned on him. He attempted to speak, but his voice faltered, his throat dry and scratchy. A nurse promptly offered him water, its coolness soothing him. “Take it slow,” a doctor gently said. “You’ve been unconscious for quite some time.”
But there was no time to slow down. Didn’t they understand? Oliver knew he had to warn them before it was too late. Gathering all his strength and with a voice that carried the weight of unseen worlds, he murmured, “By next year.” He paused, taking a moment to catch his breath. The urgency in his tone was unmistakable. Then, in a statement that silenced everyone, he declared, “The entire country must evacuate.”