Sadly, though you possessed the full motor functions needed to escape from Lila’s boot in any other circumstance, the oblivious waitress simply wasn’t giving you enough time to act. You’d barely moved a muscle before her foot slammed down, and your miniscule body was smushed into a flat blob under her heel. Your body squelching barely made a noise, and as Lila walked off, both she and your three new roommates were totally unaware of the fate that had befallen you.
Each step Lila took only smashed your body into even more of a blob, and you were left utterly defenseless as you began to stick to the bottom of her boot. You had no idea where she was going, but as the soft carpet crashing into you was replaced with hard, smooth flooring, you had to assume she’d entered the kitchen. This fact alone filled you with fear. A kitchen was never a place that a tiny like you would want to be without supervision.
Sadly, fate wasn’t giving you much of a choice in the matter, but it did throw you a bone, at the very least. Lila stopped for a second by the chef’s counter, where there was a small, rough floor mat. Grinding her heels across the mat, Lila casually freed dirt and bits of food from the treads in her boots. She did this nearly a hundred times a day, so she spared no extra thought to the almost imperceptible feeling of a squishy blob rolling off her heel and onto the mat.
Because of this, you were saved, but in no less dangerous a situation. Lying flat on the ground, you worked overtime on focusing your body to reform, and watched as Lila shuffled away, no doubt headed to get the drink requests from your roommates. She was replaced a moment later by the Pizza Palace chef, a pleasantly attractive redhead who had an apron tied across her blouse. She, too, nearly stepped on you, but thankfully missed by a few inches.
Popping back to normal size, you figured that trying to escape through the kitchen by yourself was a fool-hardy effort. A cursory glance around helped you to spot no less than two other chefs and three other waitresses tromping around the place, heedless to what lie beneath their feet. A single misstep could get you crushed to another girl’s shoe, and if they didn’t wipe their feet like Lila had, you could be stuck for quite a while.
This left getting someone’s attention as your primary choice, and seeing as how one of the chefs was right beside you, you picked her as your target. The only downside was that the kitchen was abuzz with noise, whether it was beeping ovens, hissing steam from grills, or employee’s shouting orders. There was no way you’d be heard from down on the ground, so you took a deep breath and began climbing the counter beside you, the one the chef was standing by.
The wood of the counter had a few chips and cracks in it, which was exactly what you knew you’d need to scale it. Using these imperfections as your handholds, you were able to rely on your fairly fit body and high capacity for stamina to scramble up the side of the counter. Eventually, you flopped onto the countertop, took a second to wipe sweat from your brow, and then you hustled over to the chef.
Right before you opened your mouth to speak, you hesitated, and that hesitation ended up costing you quite dearly. The chef had turned away from you, her hand resting right beside you. In her other hand was a gigantic glob of dough. On the counter around you was a rolling pan and a wooden pallet. The scent of dough and flour was overwhelming. Somehow, in all of your panic, you’d yet to truly consider that the counter you were climbing was one where pizza was made. After all, you were smack in the middle of a hectic restaurant kitchen.
In your same moment of hesitation, the chef turned back to face you, her hand gliding across the counter. As it did so, she accidentally back-handed you, flinging your miniature body backwards towards the center of the counter, beside the rolling pin. You collapsed onto your back, winded from the hit, and gasping for air so you could begin shouting. Looking up at the redheaded chef, you saw her gaze squarely locked on the electronic sign above you, which stated incoming orders.
“…uh…okay! Standard pepperoni! Easy peasy!” The chef grinned with confidence. All while keeping her eyes on the electronic order sign, the hefted the chunky glob of dough up onto the counter, and let it fall from her hands, smacking down heavily. Of course, this also meant that it fell straight where you were, and with nowhere to run or escape to, you could only let out a strangled scream as you were buried under the mountain of dough.
Finally looking down, the chef went to work, blissfully unaware of the extra ingredient she’d just added to her pepperoni pizza recipe. With the effortless ease of a professional, the chef kneaded and shaped the dough, using the rolling pin to squeeze it across the counter into the perfect shape of a world-class Pizza Palace pizza. With the application of the rolling pin, your body was mashed and mangled beneath the dough, buried and out of sight. All your attempts at screaming were muffled beyond human hearing capability, and it was far to heavy and pressuring to wriggle free.
Eventually, with the pizza set in its basic shape, the chef turned to fetch the toppings and ingredients, humming a happy little tune. Desperate to not succumb to this fate, you bit through the dough overtop of you, clawing your way to freedom. It was disgusting, and you felt ready to burst from fullness after just a few bites, but finally you freed your head from the doughy pizza prison. The bright kitchen lights temporarily blinded you, so you squinted and shouted to the heavens.
“PLEASE! HELP M–”
Your cries were almost immediately silenced, as a heavy downpour of sticky, viscous red sauce rained from above, splattering onto the pizza. The sauce flooded into your mouth and soaked your head and hair, causing you to sputter and gag. It stung your eyes, but your arms were still too stuck to wipe away the sauce.
Finishing applying the sauce, the chef froze, and frowned. She leaned forward, frowned deeper, then glanced around. “Huh…could’ve sworn I heard someone…so weird!” She sighed and laughed, turning to the next topping.
Heaving up sauce from your throat, you coughed rapidly and prepared to cry out again, efforts renewed by the knowledge that the chef could actually hear you. If you could just shout out again, you might genuinely be saved. However, before you could finish sputtering out the remnants of sauce clogging your throat, the chef returned with freshly sliced mozzarella, and rained it haphazardly across the surface of the pizza. Your only response was to widen your eyes and gurgle out an unheard cry.
What appeared to be the largest bit of cheese slapped right into your face, shoving you back down into the dough and burying you from view. It also indented the dough a bit, which allowed the swamp of sauce to flood around you, submerging you completely. It was like you were being entombed in sauce, and everything became darkness. Only the knowledge that tinies couldn’t drown kept you from falling into utter despair at this point.
However, that despair resurfaced a few minutes later, as you felt the chef lift her creation up with the wooden pallet, and carry you across the kitchen. As the humidity of your pizza prison increased tenfold, and you heard a muted metallic bang, you knew that you’d been place inside of the oven. In seconds, the temperature began to rise by extreme degrees, and you couldn’t help but exclaim in agony (which only earned you another mouthful of sauce pouring in).
The oven was hell; there was really no other delicate way to put it. The pizza remained in for twenty minutes, during which you sweat so much that your whole body felt dried of moisture. Your skin sizzled and had burned bright red, a fact which you only vaguely realized helped your miniscule tiny body to blend in even more with the sauce all around you. Your head was faint and foggy, and you teetered on the edge of passing out.
You barely took note of the pizza being retrieved from the oven and placed back on the counter. It was hard to remain focus. All desire to break free had left you after the ordeal in the oven, and you wished only to sleep. You had long since lost the strength to claw or eat your way out, especially now that the sauce, cheese, and dough had solidified around you.
Fate clearly wanted to prolong this torture, and wasn’t content to merely kill you. The redheaded chef, still humming her happy song, sliced the pizza into nice symmetrical slices, narrowly avoiding bisecting your body. She then grabbed a nearby carton of fries and box of chicken strips, prepared for her by one of the other Pizza Palace chefs.
“You got my next order?” A voice said, and the chef turned to see Reagan, Pizza Palace’s most experienced delivery worker. She had her motorcycle helmet under her arm, and her delivery bag slung over her shoulder. “Just got back from a delivery, ready for the next one.”
“I think you just like riding your motorcycle.” The chef teased. “But, yes, I do have one ready.” She reached for a to-go box, but stopped at the sight of Lila strolling back into the kitchen.
Lila yawned, then spoke. “Is there a pepperoni pizza ready to go for those three girls?” She looked down at your pizza prison. “Oh. Yes there is.”
The chef held up a hand. “Hold on, Lila. Reagan wanted this pizza. Her delivery is also important.”
Reagan shrugged. “Actually, give it to whoever. When was each order placed?”
The chef tapped her chin. “I’ll have to check. Give me a second…” She said, looking at the electronic order sign.
Though you barely heard any of this conversation, some innate part of you knew that your immediate future was hanging in the balance.
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