This rain storm was the likely the last you'd ever see after meeting me. You'd been shrunken with a fellow stranger I'd met at the bar and woken up on my couch next to me. You were kind of cute- and I'd see how much you'd been staring at my mouth, the way you blushed when I swallowed tequila shots. So you would get one good, final show before I take care of you- if I get bored of keeping you like a pet, that is.
You can see the small bump my prey makes in my stomach, but already their movements have slowed and are so pathetically weak. You watched me pull out his tiny body from my purse, no bigger than the length of my hand- the same as you are now- and gulp him down whole. He's been in my gut maybe half and hour tops and it's intent on reducing him to mush. You like listening to me digest my food, don't you? Because once my prey slides down my throat and into cramp confines of my stomach, that's what they become- a meal. Meat for my stomach to digest and process into nutrients and slurry. Even if you hear a faint, muffled whimper from my middle or see the surface move from them weakly squirming, they're just food to slowly churn away for hours in my belly. Soon enough, they'll be fat on my figure and energy for me to spend. They'll be gone without a trace, every inch of their puny body absorbed into me. I pick you up by a leg and drop you onto my belly with a smirk.
Go ahead and press your ear to my gurgling stomach if you want. Rub it, feel it rumble under your hands and hear my prey sloshing around inside me. After all, that might just be how you sound in my digestive tract if I decide to eat you too.
