Her toenail collapses on you with all the force of a falling house, pushing you flat to the couch. Frantic to escape before her cuticle flattens you, you wriggle forward as the pressure increases. Just barely are you able to curl your fingers around the edge of the nail and yank yourself out before Beth's toe comes firmly down leaving no room for even your tiny self. She doesn't give you much time to ponder your near brush with death; before you can think to let go her foot flies back up taking you with it. You manage to hold on against the acceleration which would have been a bit much for a trained astronaut, but when her foot stops its arc you keep going, the inertia firing you up and out into the microverse like a ball flung by a trebuchet.
A spinning tumbling flight scrambles your senses. All you know is that you splash down in a cool liquid that... tickles. One accidental intake of liquid into your lungs and you know where you are. Breaking the surface you spit the pink water out in a hateful spray -- zinfindel. It was the only thing in your mother's liquor cabinet you'd never think of raiding, still, you notice the flurry of bubbles racing up around you, sensuously brushing by your body. An involuntary shiver of delight rushes up your spine, but a look up stops it dead at the base of your skull. A pair of lips are approaching your glass, Beth's lips. They expand until they are literally all you can see, colossal red cliffs guarding an oral cavity the size of a small port. Realizing how tiny you must be, you don't even bother to signal her, instead you do the only thing you can think of, turn and start swimming. Before you can get very far the glass tips and a tide of wine draws you back. Daring a look over your shoulder you see Beth's mouth open wide, she must be planning on getting wasted tonight. 'That means if its not this sip its the next,' you realize with dread, 'or the one after that...'
******************
Beth drains her glass sloshing the last gulp of wine around in her mouth. She raises it to Sally to signal for a refill as she tongues a tiny bit of food which must have been floating in the wine. Not wanting to make a scene by picking it out of her mouth she simply swallows. Little does she know what she thought a tiny crumb was in fact a tiny boy who is now sliding in horror down the pink lining of her esophagous toward what will be a slow process of dissolution in her stomach. The only hint of the truth her body gives her is a strangely flavored burp a half an hour later which for some reason reminds her of Sally's son, Adam. 'Cute kid,' she thinks as she washes another glass of wine down into his grave.
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