Curl Up & Die

At my internship, there's a secret room.
A secret room of wonder.

My first day on the job, I was told to deliver a few pillows to the 'bedding closet'. I shuffled around, opening random doors with a puzzled look on my face until I found a certain secluded corner with a spattering of pillows.

Thinking no more of it, I went about my merry way, happily conducting my daily slave labors.

But upon recently returning to said bedding closet, I found that the pillows had somehow multiplied.

Like rabbits.

What had started out as four or five lumpy rejects had turned into an entire room of perfectly-stuffed, gleaming white pillows.

I had to lean against the door with all my weight just to get a peek.
 
"This just will not do.", my tidy-self stated.

So I began to organize.
Wafting through a pool of down, I sorted pillows according to size and color, making stacks as I went. It was a happy business, my own little world of softness around me.

That was, until I realized I had completely blocked the only entrance to the small enclosure and the now nine-foot pillow piles were starting to teeter.

"Help...", I gulped weakly from the darkness.

Pulling myself together, I quickly steadied the stacks, breathing a quick sigh of relief.

But this didn't stop me from contemplating whether or not such a death would be so terrible? Which of course led me to one of my favorite pastimes: imagining the perfect obituary.

I've spoken of this before. Remember?


And thus, it was born.

Yah. That just happened.