You open your mouth to scream, only to have it filled with Kelsey's flesh. Her foot was down on you, pressing down hard. How was it that she couldn't feel you?
You certainly could feel her. If you weren't in such pain, you might be impressed by how tiny you were. The ball of her foot was over your head, and yet your feet couldn't quite reach her heel. Hardly half the size of her foot, you were. Humiliating.
Hardly a fraction of a second went by from her foot pressing down to her walking away, but in that time frame you were able to get a good feel for your surroundings. Most obviously, it was impossible to move. If you weren't claustrophobic before, you certainly were now. The "ceiling" wasn't just on top of you; it molded around you. The cold, clammy flesh had give to it, allowing you to sink in a bit. The flesh smelt faint, like she washed it, but only enough to keep it clean. Of course, the odor might be from the shoe and not the foot, but everything was too close and personal to tell.
With that, your thinking time was up. Her foot swung forward, g-forces pulling you out of the foot and into the insole. Then just as quickly it swung back down, the giant mass rushing to meet you once more. This went on, alternating from terrifying acceleration to crushing agony. The flesh was still cool, but soon it'd be heating up and sweating, making this even harder than before.
Eventually, this came to a stop. She must be sitting in her mom's car, getting driven to the game. Another up swing came, pushing you down into the insole. It was stronger than before, and you braced for the impact.
No impact came. Instead, you got the feeling the shoe was in the air. Did she cross her legs? Without warning, the entire prison began bobbing up and down. She was shaking her foot, and you were being shook along with it.
How was it possible you hadn't been felt yet? You weren't some pebble or piece of lint; you were a goddamned person! If you were going to get her to notice you, before the game would be best. No need to experience the life of a soccer player from down below.
Another dilemma: How were you going to do it? Your arms and legs were immobile, so kicking and punching were out. All you could move was your head side to side... and your jaw. Grimacing, you knew what you had to do. Opening wide, you bit down.
Even at sixteen, her skin down here was thick and strong. The first bite didn't so anything, and neither did the second or third. But the skin was beginning to weaken, and on the fifth bite, you chomped down as hard as you could. Finally, the skin tore just ever so slightly. Blood dribbled into your mouth, replacing the taste of old sweat with that of copper. She had to feel you now.
Right?
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