Phil held his aching head in his hands.  How was this possible.  Was Kyra's massive foot ending his life a dream.  Phil looked across his massive bedspread and decided that was impossible.  So then what?  Could it have been a precognitive vision?  Only one way to know.  So Phil sat on the edge of his bed and as if on cue, the door opened.  Lydia walked in and, grumbling under her breath about her goddamn brother, unplugged the clock.  Exactly like last time.  Phil was certain about it now.  This was clearly the same events as last time.  


Phil knew what he had to do.  He would stay on his bed and wait for his mother to enter.  Hopefully, she'd see him and not end his life.  And so Phil got comfy and waited.  Within 15 minutes, the door shot open, and the massive form of Kyra Connors strolled in.  Phil wanted to scream and shout, but this was too much.  Before, all he could see was a foot.  Now, her entire form was within his vision and he couldn't take it.  As she called his name and looked around the room, he just... watched.  It wasn't until she started sitting down on the edge of Phil's bed that he realized the danger he was in.  She was wearing the silken pajamas that Phil's father had bought her.  Phil had always thought that they were too skimpy; now they took up more space than most houses.  Phil tried to move out of the way, but it was way too late.  The endless ass of his mother landed right on him.

The pressure was immense.  Because of the pillow soft rear of Kyra and the even softer covering of the bed, Phil wasn't flattened.  Instead, he was smothered.  As she moved to get comfortable, poor little Phil was sliced by the fibers that used to be too small to even see.  He tried to scream, but his mouth was filled with silk, and there was no air to breathe.  As Mrs. Connors settled down, Phil's last breath ran out.  He was dead, pasted to his mom's shorts and no one had a clue.

Beep Beep Beep

Phil took a big breath of air as he sat up on his bed.  The last seconds were engraved in his mind, clear as a picture.  He knew that he was dead, or that he should be.  He knew now that this was more than a simple vision.  He should be dead twice now, but here he was, still trying to catch his breath.  He could practically taste the shorts in his mouth.  It was all too much for Phil.  He had a life to get back to, a life of essays to write and grants to apply for.  When Lydia stomped in, Phil decided that it was time to act.  He jumped off the side of the bed and grabbed for his sister's pj bottoms.  Fueled by anger and fear, he gabbed onto the leg right below the knee and held on.  The ride was rough, with her steps almost knocking Phil off the pink fabric every step.  Had she been awake and not shuffling her feet, Phil would have fallen and been trampled.  As it was, he still lost his grip as she slid back into bed, falling next to the massive 15 year old as she went back to sleep.