You woke up and saw… cotton? Soft, white, suffocating cotton. You tried to scream, but no sound came out—just the faint puff of air from your seams. The room was too big, too bright, and your bed looked suspiciously empty. Then it hit you. You were the bed—or at least part of it. A pillow. You, a teenage girl with algebra homework and crush drama, had somehow turned into a pillow. And just when you thought things couldn’t get worse, the bedroom door creaked open. Your mum waddled in, laughing with Aunt luna, both clutching empty plates. Bean pie plates. The deadly kind. They sat down together with twin sighs of comfort, right on top of you—two giggling, gassy women unknowingly squashing their own daughter beneath them as you braced for the incoming storm. Your mom let's out an awful fart and groans, "ah luna darling this pillow is doing marvels for my ass."