The world was a cacophinous drone of suffering. Screams of terror and sadness mixed with the sounds of vomiting and crying. Manbearpig woke up and opened his eyes. Nothing happened. "That's not my usual alarm clock noise... and usually I can see." he observed.
On a whim, he closed his eyes again, and, being unable to blow on them like some confused owner of a Nintendo game system, decided to instead respond much more like the youth of today, and restart the process; opening them anew.
Still, nothing happened.
Was he blind? Did someone... blind him? What had happened?
And why did his back hurt? And his wrists? And why was his throat dry and why did his tongue feel two sizes too big?
Manbearpig paused and attempted to recall the last time he could see.
It was fuzzy. "Well that's inconvenient." he muttered to himself over the sounds of sorrow which echoed throughout wherever it was that he'd found himself.