My mom's feet might have moved in slow-motion from afar, but now the fibers crumpled uder her massive weight in an instant. I heard them rustle and crinkle as the massive foot feel towards me. Suddenly, a vast, suffocating force crashed onto my body. I felt the carpet fibers press mercilessly against my body, and I turned my head to the side and prepared to be crushed. A dominant, rubbery mountain settled onto every part of my body, cracking my bones and sending instant shocks of pain to every extremity. I felt the harsh stocking slam onto my exposed skin amidst the fibers, and before I could calculate what death would feel like, the heavy mountain settled onto my body further, pouding me against the floor.
For a moment, my mom's foot seemed to settle in place, sealing her helpless son in a tomb of stocking, flesh and fiber, buried alive and in agony. I heard the tendons in her foot flexing and thought I even heard blood pumping in her enormous viens. Each of my feet was twisted to the side, ankles cracking. My ribs felt as if they would burst at any moment, a painful death indeed.
Thankfully, blackness took me first.
But only for an instant. As the light of the room awakened me, I barely caught a glimpse of my giantess mom walking past me and on towards her dresser. I inhaled, my breath having been forced from my lungs. I tried to stand, but sudden pain seared my ankles, my ribs, even my backbone. I was literally unable to sit up from the floor as the giant carpet fibers slowly stood back up, leaving me in the dark amid the BOOM BOOM of my mom's foot-falls.
Again, I tried to stand. But the pain in my joints was real enough, and I realized that I was injured. To what extent, I didn't know, but one thing was certain: If my mom turned back towards me and stepped on me a second time, I would certainly die. As things stood, I surmised I had survived because I was placed in the middle of her sole where the pressure would be least. Would my luck hold that she would walk back exactly the same way?
My exposed skin burned from the fiber and perhaps the hose on her foot. I could even detect a hint of her fruity bodywash. This program was certainly detailed!
Behind me, I heard my mom rifling through one of her drawers. I wondered where she had come from...or was "supposed" to have come from.
Suddenly, I heard the crash of bed springs as my mom presumably sat on it. That was followed the the "whisp" of her hose being slid off. Was she changing? Gettting ready for bed...going out? I didn't even know what "time" of day it was.
Before I could guess further, a blackness once again engulfed my dim fiber-prison. Her hose! A long streak of fabric landed directly on the fibers surrounding me, and I was alone in the dark again. A pungent odor emanated from them, filling the tiny crevices around my body with a vinegar-like smell that gagged me. Clearly, she had been at "work" all day. Thanks, Samantha!
Desperate to get the stinky foot-wear away from me--or to crawl away myself--I tried standing again, and using the rough carpet fiber nearest me, slowly pulled myself up. My ankles felt sprained or less, but by holding onto the fiber, I was able to reach up and touch the stocking. It was hot to the touch, and I tried pushing it up to no avail. It might as well have been a 500-pound Persian rug, for all my strength.
I started to pull my hand away, only to discover that my tiny hand was stuck in the miniscule fibers of the stocking! In desperation, I yanked again, pushing up with my other hand. After a moment, it too became lodged in the loosely-woven stocking, which was acting like Velcro to a peon of my size.
"Oh, shit!" I cried out.
Both hands now caught, I leaned down, using my body weight. I only succeeded in pulling the stocking down into my little crevice with me, its vinegar-odor coming with it. "Impossible" I muttered.
The stocking was then yanked up, and I lost my wits as I found myself flying miles above the carpet jungle while attached to my mom's hose. I griped the fibers tighter, pressing my face into their stentch while I flew across the bedroom like an eagle as she carried the stocking towards the door and into the hallway. Swinging back-and-forth on this demented carnival ride, I watched from the corner of my eye as all around me a perfectly-mimicked house led me through a hallway and into the laundry room. As my mom entered, she headed towards the enormous laundry basket placed atop the washing machine, filled to the brim with dishelveled dirty clothes. No sooner could I cry out for help than she let go of the stocking!
The stocking and I plummeted towards the basket, and as it crumpled into a heap I landed amidst it, finding myself buried by the used hose. The weight of the hose surrounding me in darkness kept me from moving, though it was much lighter than my mom's foot and was not crushing me so much as trapping me.
But then, the weight increased two-fold, as she must have dropped her other smelly stocking on top of the first! My faced was pressed deeper into the fibers, so loosely woven to a boy of my size that I could breathe a thin amount of air. It was completely saturated by the odor of my mom's foot, presumably sweat that had accumulated during her long day at work.
With that, I heard muffled BOOMs as she left the room, and I was once again in darkness, alone, and stuck. My hands were bound somewhere in the fibers, and I had trouble even shifting my tiny arms as the two stockings engulfed me. Breathing hard, I tried to relax, even as the sting of vinegar made my eyes water.
What next? Given the full nature of the laundry basket, I could assume it would soon be time to wash some clothes. Hopefully, that wouldn't be her first order of business after a long day at work! That was assuming this "mom" would act like my real mom.
That was when a disturbing though entered my head. Was this program random, or had Samantha structured it so that I would be in this exact situation? Was I destined to be drowned in the soapy suds of my mom's washing machine, or was I left with some free choice?
Since the answer wasn't clear, I decided to act. I wriggled violently inside the smelly stocking, trying to free my hands and create some manuevering space. By constantly shifting around, I finally freed one hand, and used it to pry the other loose. Then, like an avalanche victim trying to find saftey, I began crawling blindly through the fabric and, hopefully, towards a way out.