I woke up.
Considering that the last thing I remember prior to this point was the sensation of the bullet entering my skull, this was an improvement.
I looked around, expecting a hospital, and yet instead it was a field, small white flowers everywhere.
I got up, picked a direction.
It took days, but I finally found a gathering of people, farming, building, living. Making a home.
I picked up a hammer and got to work, given a lack of other options.
I had a long, satisfying life, which was a change.
And then I died.
And woke up again.