the first thing desmid sees is a faceful of hay. joints crack as she rolls over, dry crinkling when she ends up directly on a stack of papers, all WILD CONCLUSIONS and bay leaf diagrams. she squeezes her eyes shut for only a moment, trying to convince her body to allow her a few scant moments further of sleep to no avail. she is awake, wild eyed, dry eyes already wandering.
the next thing desmid sees is a shadowed shape stepping into the dim building, quiet footsteps on noisy wood. a splitting creak nearly obscures the sound of someone entering. sun slips through the cracks of the door, and suddenly a headache is pressed squarely behind her eyes, imminent and ever present even from where she curls in the hay loft. the glint of sunlight off of wood stings, aches, smarts.
“close the door,” she manages to stammer out, thumb pressed to her brow ridge.