A Lever in the Crimson Crevasse

Waking with my polka-dot bow pinched tightly inside the crimson wool crease, moving backwards was clearly out of the question. I planted both heels against the stiff woven loops and levered my chest up against the cool gray pebble wedged at my collarbone. Giving the stone a deliberate upward nudge with my chin forced the heavy carpet fold to part with a bristly rasp. My bow popped cleanly out of the woolen canyon, but the rebound launched the pebble straight over my forehead. It landed with a hollow clatter right inside a discarded metal teabox lid resting inverted on the rug border, leaving me sitting upright in the fibers to inspect the new silver vessel.