Josh Fryer laid in his bed in the hospital, inhaling deeply while hooked up to the ventilator. The mask was on his face, providing him oxygen, but with each breath, he felt he was not getting much oxygen inside his lungs, so he breathed as quickly as he could, hoping it would help. It was inconclusive. He was still alive at very least, so that may have been helping.

Being sick with this coronavirus wasn't like being sick with influenza, as a lot of people were telling him on websites like Reddit and Twitter. He was practically out of oxygen when he got to the hospital, any time he tried to move his body he felt immense pain, and he was sure he was knocking on death's door, not getting an answer yet. The son of a bitch must have been sitting on the toilet, taking a crap while reading a newspaper on the john.

Josh just laid in the bed, worried about what was going to happen to him, and not just him, but his family too. He hadn't seen them since they called 9-1-1 when he collapsed. Were they still treating this virus like it wasn't a big deal? Were they already in the hospital in mild, or even critical condition? Maybe they were completely asymptomatic? He hoped so. Ted Nugent was definitely wrong about this virus though. It couldn't be treated. It either went away or it killed you. All that shit he said was probably just to praise Trump and badmouth Obama. Josh didn't like Obama either. Trump was trying to subject American citizens to this though!? That's insane.

Josh sighed, losing air as he did, so he quickly pulled oxygen back into his lungs. It hurt him to even breathe currently. He'd endured a lot of pain growing up, survived a lot of shit, but the pain this caused was the greatest he'd ever felt. Not exactly because of how much it hurt (and yes, it hurt greatly), but because of how it affected him emotionally. He was going to be running away from a light soon. And if running from it felt anything like moving currently, he would collapse the second he stood inside that hallway…

His time has come…