Good Luck, Have Fun, Don't Digest Untitled Babysitting Story (Yes That is the Real Name, Deal With it) chapter 3 by 2kfsk

After some thought, Jason came to a decision. Then, he looked down dismally at his stomach. “Sorry, Franks. I think we’re just going to have to let… nature take its course with this one.”

**“WHAT!?”** The squirming sensation in Jason’s belly returned as Franky unleashed the might of her nine-year-old might against the gently-pulsing walls of Jason’s stomach lining. “JASON, LET ME OUT OF HERE!” For a moment there, Jason had been her hero! Now he was reminding her of his reputation as a great, big dolt. “It *smells*, it’s *hot*, it’s *wet*, it…” For a moment, Franky didn’t want to finish the sentence. She didn’t want to consider the ultimate end that this fate may condemn her to. But… desperate times.

“It… it ***hurts!*** It hurts, Jason!”

It was true. There was simply no place that she could be safe from the soupy swamp of acid as it lathed the hair on her legs into nothingness before getting to work at the dead skin. It wouldn’t be long until the dead skin was expunged, and the alive skin would be next. Jason could be stupid at times, but he had always come through for him. Surely, he wouldn’t leave her in this stupid hole?

Jason, however, had a different plan. Or, well, less of a plan. A *wish* was more precise. He simply would *hope* that she could make it through the stomach, survive the intestine, and ideally get sent out the other end, none the worse for wear. Jason wasn’t stupid—he was quite aware of what stomach acids did to food and other things that were sent through the digestive system. But he also knew that plenty of biological compounds could come out the other end more intact than not, and it’s not as though Franky was a mere piece of meat (despite how delicious she was). She was a *full human*, reduced and compressed to the size of a coin. That was a lot of compressed biomass to strip away. Combine this with the inherent discomfort of throwing up, and perhaps just a *little* petty revenge on the girl for being such a brat at times, and Jason ultimately felt comfortable with his plan.

She might even enjoy it!

So, he turned down to his stomach and addressed the floundering occupant within.

“Yeahhhhhh… no.”

**“Jason! JASON!?”**

But Jason was already on his way downstairs. The evening was still young, and the couch was calling his name. He had the time to catch a few winks by the time Mrs. Jones got back, and who knows? Maybe Franky would be ready by that point to come out, too.

“Ugh!” Franky didn’t like being ignored, but it looked like Jason had made his decision. The lake of acid rippled in gentle waves as Jason descended the stairs, before being upended in as Jason laid down on his back. She tumbled every which way, and when she came to was greeted by a caustic-looking wave that prepared to douse Franky in bubbling goop. The pitiful girl put up her hands in a futile attempt to block the w and merely received stinging burns on her palms for the trouble.

“Well…” She repressed a sniff. “At least this can’t get any worse.”

Then, her swimsuit failed.

Specifically, the strap of her right shoulder. It had been fraying for a few months now, and her insistence on wearing it during her shrunken dips in Jason’s cereal bowl hadn’t helped matters. But her upper body being so saturated with the corrosive slime of her babysitter’s stomach acid was the last straw, and it Snapped, leaving her shoulder exposed. Without that support, the rest of the polyester garment sagged though still barely covered her body.

“No… Mom is gonna kill me if this gets ruined!” Franky reached her harm over to toy with the threads that remained. She considered tucking the dangling strap underneath her armpit; hypothetically, at least, nobody would notice. She remained in place for so long that it wasn’t until she felt the burn of the acid on her feet that she was shocked into action.

“Right! Gotta keep moving!” Pumping her arms, Franky huffed. Being idle was a perfect way to allow the acid to do its slow work on her body. Movement on the other hand kept the enzymes from getting into the flow of their work. Even if Franky was tired—and she was tired—she couldn’t afford to waste time worrying about her steadily-decaying swimsuit. She would simply have to keep jogging through this goop all night if she wanted a chance of making it through this.

All night.

Jason’s eyelids fluttered, and in his solitude he saw no shame in letting loose a yawn. But on the way out the throat, it became something closer to a wet *burp* that smelled of sugar and syrup and milk, and though it may have just been Jason’s imagination, he could’ve sworn that riding on that burp was the dismal moan of a distraught, nine-year-old girl.

I think I’ll… ignore that.

The lean Jason gave his potbellied tummy a few pats. “Good luck in there, Franks!” And he went to sleep.