Too little too late, your efforts are for naught as the boy easily swallows you down with the rest of his oatmeal, officially making you part of a balanced breakfast. You sob, stuck in the muck as the stomach compressed around you, secreting acids as it got to work digesting all of the food inside- and that included you.
The boy rubbed his tummy, leaning back after he finished all his food. “Breakfast tasted even better than usual.” He observed, unaware that this was thanks to your small contribution to his morning meal. Then the boy went on with his day, never thinking again about the breakfast that ended your life. Instead he put the energy you provided to good use as he played games at recess and finished all his work in class.
The boy ate breakfast with his own family happily unaware that across town a missing persons report had gone out for you. He went to bed full and content, with the wasted remains of your body puttering along in his intestines. In the morning he went for his daily potty break and dropped your remains into the toilet. Once that was done the boy went to go eat his oatmeal, disappointed it tasted bland again.
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