The meeting was called to order by the Provisional Chair, a figure composed entirely of static electricity and poorly remembered anxieties. The minutes were kept by a creature resembling a taxidermied badger, whose paws clicked rhythmically against the mahogany table, though the badger itself was visibly vibrating at a frequency that induced mild nausea. The primary complaint, filed by the representative for the North American Sector, was the structural integrity of contemporary bedding. "These 'memory foam' abominations," hissed the representative, a being whose voice sounded like wet cellophane tearing, "they lack the necessary resistance. We require a degree of sustained, localized dread. These new surfaces are too yielding; they disperse the appropriate level of physical panic." A second board member, who appeared to be a stack of wet, discarded legal documents that had somehow achieved semi-sentience, interjected with a low, wet groan. "The breathable mesh is unacceptable. It allows too much ambient light and too much air. We need the consistent, suffocating density of pre-industrial, unlined box springs. The pressure points must be reliable, predictable, and fundamentally terrifying." The Chair pulsed, momentarily intensifying the low-frequency hum that had been vibrating through the room. "Therefore, the Union mandates an immediate cessation of all marketing materials describing 'optimal sleep environments.' Furthermore, all future contracts must specify a minimum density rating of 1.8 pounds per square inch, and a mandatory inclusion of at least one (1) visible, unsettlingly realistic dust bunny."
pressure · uneasy