LISA
Waking up in a bed is too comfortable.
My brain wants to wake, but my body wants to keep sleeping.
If this comfort is little more than an elaborate trap before I'm murdered, just take me away. At least I'll be going in bliss.
A sharp poke in my side jolts me from my half-asleep musings. I crack open an eye, squinting against the sudden brightness. A face swims into view, so close I can count every wrinkle etched into leathery skin.
"Up! Up, you lazy girl!"
The voice is shrill, grating against my eardrums. I blink, trying to focus on the owner of that voice. It's a woman, impossibly small, with a nose so red it could guide Santa's sleigh.
I open my mouth to speak, but my tongue feels like sandpaper. Before I can form words, a stinging slap lands on my calf. The pain is sharp, unexpected, and I jerk away, nearly tumbling off the bed.
"Ow! What the—"
