I'm restrained around a plastic yellow cylinder. My arms and legs forcibly wrapped around the expansive surface, not long enough to reach around the wide golden area. My neck has limited movement, and in the hazy distance I can see the face of my cap tor, with her long dark brown hair cascading over her gray sweatshirt, zipped down slightly showing skin as well as her white undershirt hiding her small breasts. She peers past me with her brown Asian eyes, and I know she's not even paying me any attention - she's likely focusing on the work in front of her. The work she's using me to write. Well, not me, but the pencil she's tied me to. I feel exposed, with my naked skin showing itself to the arid climate, being slapped with wind as the pencil quickly moves up and down, side to side, lurching my body in every way as my ears are assaulted with the sound of graphite impacting the paper below. I can't see what she's writing, just the hazy visages of her friends sitting at the library table with her in the distance.
"Hey Myla, did you finish problem 59?" One of them calls out in a toned down voice.
"Uhm..." My captor begins to talk. "No, I'm having a bit of trouble, what did you get for the area of the quadrilateral?"
"52" I can't even see who's talking.
"52..." She tilts the pencil to the side, and my vision abruptly shifts to view the graph paper below. "Hmmm" I gulp as my body is lifted with the pencil, and it's abruptly slammed back on to the paper. The sound of the gentle tap is grossly magnified at my size, and before I can recover the pencil's lifted again and slammed back down, the shockwaves paralyzing me as Myla begins to rhymatically tap her pencil. I feel sick. "What did you get?"
"Oh." She responds "I got 76" And the tapping stops. The pencil is lifted again, but my side is suddenly tilted more evenly downwards, making me lie horizontally in the space. She shifts her fingers, and I gasp as I see her thumb come into view only to have it push down right on to my entire lower body. I'm so distracted by this new development that I completely ignore the ceiling getting closer as I'm brought up to her face, and before I know it I'm teetering perilously close to her large red lips. She opens her mouth, and her warm humid breath washes over me. I tilt my head and can see her glistening white teeth show themselves, their distance measured in inches now as I'm pushed dangerously close to the opening of her mouth. I start yelling to get her attention, she's going to impale me with her teeth and she won't even notice. But the movement doesn't seize as I'm moved closer, her teeth lining up with my eyes.
With one quick motion her top row of teeth come careening for me and slam on the end of the pencil, my hair getting wet as they meet the solid pearly white wall. Her mouth opens again, and I keep yelling, trying to get some sort of response but I'm only met with another quick charge towards my vulnerable head, narrowly missing me again. I'm crying as I'm met with a litany of near death experiences, each bite narrowly missing me - I don't know if she even realizes how close she is to killing me instantly, but she clearly doesn't care as she keeps biting on the end. She opens her mouth again, and I'm mentally begging for her to show any sort of acknowledgement of the situation she's put me in. "Uhm, I think 54's more accurate, yea." The reverberations of her stifled quiet voice amplified by our sheer proximity sending heavy vibrations through my body.
She suddenly pulls me away, and the sick feeling that's been building in my stomach is now beginning to become incredibly noticeable. I'm afraid I'll get whiplash if she keeps doing moving around like that, it just takes one quick motion in the wrong direction. I'm lowered back down and the pencil is pushed back at its slightly tilted upright position, and she begins writing again. The jerky movements pushing me to the verge of barfing. I just continue screaming. There's nothing else I can do. I have to keep screaming until she has to do something. At first it seems like my voice is barely registering, but as I keep going I can clearly feel her begin to get agitated, her movements becoming more forceful as the pencil angirly strikes the paper.
"Myla?" I hear a voice say.
"Sorry, I just need to make some adjustments to, uhm, my pencil." With that she stops writing, and quickly turns me around to face her as she brings me up to her face. My eyes meeting hers. Instead of an angry expression she just looks at me with a strange, determined, look. Suddenly her other hand comes into view, and her index finger pushes aggressively on my head. I'm forcibly silenced as my head is squished between the soft pad of her finger and the hard plastic of the pencil. She keeps raising and adding pressure, as if to stifle my voice, but I begin to aggressively push back with my head, wiggling against the imposing pad. I'm apparently a bit succesful, as she retracts her finger and I immediately begin screaming again.
"Hmmph" She grunts. And she tilts me upside down, and begins lowering me away from her face, beneath the desk, I travel down the expanse of her dress and I see her feet seemingly ready for me, waiting above her slip ons. I cry as the foot comes for me, her big and second toe coming around the pencil and forcibly pulling me off and into their embrace. Her toes carry me along as they go into the black shoe, my lower body dragged across the damp insole as her toes scrunched together to get into the tight fit. When we reach the toe section I'm quickly dropped on to the sweaty surface. I quickly scramble to my feet and turn around only to immediately get slammed in the face by a full set of thick toes jamming me forward. They almost instinctively begin pushing against me, wiggling, forcing me into compliance.
From above, through the sweaty slapping sound of her toes impacting my body and the sides of shoe, I can hear a muffled voice say "Alright, back to 53..."