Breakfast and a show!
Family's New Shrink Ray
chapter 11
by
copier
· original author:
ozstriker
Debbie steadied herself and hoisted her posture, staggered by the notion she was now on show inside and out, the pink glow of the monitor illuminating her face as the capsule camera descended further. The audience was transfixed, their eyes darting between her and the screen, as though they were witnessing a magic trick rather than a medical demonstration.
Eventually the esophagus inevitably gave way to the stomach, a cavernous chamber of folds and ridges, glistening with moisture, void of any matter bar a small puddle of sludge at the pit. The image was crisp, startlingly vivid, every ripple of muscle and bead of fluid magnified in super high definition. Clara whispered from the side,
“Perfect focus! They’re seeing everything. You really are as pretty on the inside as you are on the outside..”
Debbie blushed and nodded warmly, her nerves dissolving into a kind of exhilarated performance energy. She gestured toward the screen with one hand whilst placing the other high on her tight abdomen.
“So, as you may well have guessed, we have successfully landed in my stomach, in real time. You’ll notice the elegant folds that allow for expansion. Think of it as the concert hall of digestion, where the orchestra of enzymes and acids will soon begin their epic symphony.”
A ripple of laughter moved through the crowd at her metaphor. Debbie smiled, encouraged. She had the audience exactly where she wanted and Cara took that as her cue. She briefly disappeared behind a curtain before sheepishly advancing back onto the stage carrying a large bowl and a small green plastic box.
“Breakfast is severed Mrs Jordan!”
She threw a shy smile to the audience as she placed the food neatly on the table and handed a spoon to Debbie.
“Thanks Cara, this smells amazing! I’m starving, but of course.. you can all see that for yourselves can’t you.”
The joke landed with the audience erupting into a maintained laughter again, but quickly hushed to a sudden silence when she reached for the bowl of oatmeal, scooping a spoonful with deliberate slowness, as though feeding not herself but the audience’s curiosity. She chewed thoughtfully, allowing the warm cinnamon to dance on her tongue, firmly swallowed, and raised her spooned hand in a theatrical flourish.
“And now, let’s see what happens when my breakfast arrives.”
The capsule drifted, the view shifting as beige slurry began to flow into the chamber. The students leaned forward, pens poised, eyes wide. The screen showed the oatmeal tumble as it disbursed around the slick environment. As the audience watched on, the pink walls suddenly came to life before their eyes, soft clumps falling apart, mingling with gastric juices. It was mesmerizing, almost hypnotic.
“Aha… I think I may have already awoken things in there…”
The monitor was indeed now alive with motion, she smiled gleefully at her bodily reaction, proud it was putting on the show she desired.
Then, suddenly, something unexpected appeared.
At first, it was just a shadow, a shape that didn’t belong. The camera adjusted, the focus sharpening, and hollow gasps erupted from the audience. Nestled among some brown sludge tucked in the folds of Debbie’s stomach was… a figure. Tiny, naked, humanoid, impossibly detailed. Arms, legs, even what looked like hair. It was no larger than a single oat, yet the camera rendered it with uncanny clarity.
Debbie froze, blinking at the screen.
“Wait, what on earth?…”
She couldn’t make out the face or any of the finer details but it almost looked like it was moving.
The room erupted in murmurs, laughter, disbelief. Someone whispered, “Is that… a person?” Another voice, louder: “It looks like a little man!” A playful voice from the back: “what have you been eating Mrs Jordan?”
Debbie winced at the screen, its tiny size made it hard to depict but its posture alone looked familiar. Clearly, some clever student with a remarkable eye for detail, had slipped a tiny figure into her breakfast. Her eyes scanned the room for a practical culprit before they landed on Clara, whose jaw had dropped to the floor.
“Debbie, I swear I didn’t—”
But Debbie, ever the performer, saw the moment for what it was: a distraction, yes, but also an opportunity. She straightened, her eyes twinkling, both hands on her hips “Well,” she said, her tone playful,
“it seems I’ve got company. Ladies and gentlemen, meet my unexpected guest.”
The audience roared with laughter, the tension broken. Debbie pointed at the screen, adopting the cadence of a storyteller.
“Although I will confess, we meet them in a rather unfortunate situation, this tour is definitely one best observed from a distance.”
As the audience lightened, their concerns quickly quelled by the hosts natural swagger.
“Oh, and I’d get some shelter, my friend,” she said, her voice rich with mock drama.
“Because I’m about to make it rain! Here it comes…”
She lifted another loaded spoon of sloppy oats into her mouth, this time, she hardly chewed, just let the oats tumble around her mouth before audibly gulping it for effect. On the monitor, the new wave of slurry cascaded into her stomach, splashing around the tiny figure. The students howled with delight, some clapping, others covering their mouths in disbelief. The illusion was perfect: the little model seemed to stagger under the torrent, arms raised frantically as though bracing against a storm. Debbie grinned, savoring the absurdity.
“It would seem, even in the most clinical of demonstrations, surprises can occur. Medicine is full of them. Sometimes they’re anomalies in data.. and sometimes they’re tiny stowaways in your oatmeal. Although I must say, such fine detailing on the model, it’s very convincing.”
Clara, still flustered, scurried back onto the stage and whispered urgently,
“Debbie, I think one of the students… someone must have slipped a model into the oatmeal It can’t be real…. Right?”
Debbie winked at her. “Of course it’s not real. But look at them, they’re enchanted. Let’s run with it.”
She turned back to the audience, adopting a mock-serious tone.
“I guess this is what happens when you forget to chew your colleagues properly. They end up living rent-free in your stomach.”
The laughter was thunderous. Even the stern administrators at the back were chuckling, shaking their heads. The monitor continued to show the tiny figure, now half-submerged in oatmeal bobbing like a castaway at sea.
Debbie raised her hand dramatically.
“And now, the storm intensifies!”
She scooped yet another spoonful of oatmeal, swallowed it instantly, and gestured to follow it down her chest with her finger. The capsule captured the mushy tide rolling in again, engulfing the miniature figure. The students erupted again, some shouting playful warnings: “Save him!” “He’s drowning”
Debbie leaned closer to the audience , lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
“Well, He’s got guts, literally, he’s in mine.”
The room dissolved into laughter once more. Debbie felt the energy shift: what had begun as a tense, high-stakes demonstration had transformed into a theatrical spectacle, equal parts science and comedy. She was no longer just a presenter; she was a ringmaster, orchestrating awe and amusement in equal measure.
Spurred by the audiences participation, she collected a small spherical object from the plastic container, held it up in her hand for all to see and looked out over the gleeful faces with a flirtatious smile. She rolled the large blueberry between her finger and thumb.
“I guess this is going down whole right?”
The audience responded accordingly, but Debbie didn’t wait for a formal answer, she placed it softly on her outstretched tongue, exactly as she did with the pill and easily swallowed it whole.
It took a little longer than the oatmeal to arrive, her esophagus finding the bulky load a little more labouring to persuade, allowing the audience suspense to heighten. When it did finally drop, it splashed into what was now a turbulent ocean of oats. A ripple expanded from where it submerged, inadvertently pushing the tiny figure towards the camera.
“Wow, look how big it is compared to him…” an inquisitive voice called out from back, a young female student commented from the front: “hey, he’s kind-a cute!”
Clara, regaining her composure, adjusted the focus again, but scoped the attention closely on the figure, who was now seemingly battling into the foreground. Her eyes wide, mouth in awe, sudden concern in her heart, she nervously leaned towards Debbie again,
“Nurse Jordan, um—“
Cara swallowed hard trying to get her voice around the absurdity coming out of her mouth…
“do you not think he looks a bit like your son?”
Eventually the esophagus inevitably gave way to the stomach, a cavernous chamber of folds and ridges, glistening with moisture, void of any matter bar a small puddle of sludge at the pit. The image was crisp, startlingly vivid, every ripple of muscle and bead of fluid magnified in super high definition. Clara whispered from the side,
“Perfect focus! They’re seeing everything. You really are as pretty on the inside as you are on the outside..”
Debbie blushed and nodded warmly, her nerves dissolving into a kind of exhilarated performance energy. She gestured toward the screen with one hand whilst placing the other high on her tight abdomen.
“So, as you may well have guessed, we have successfully landed in my stomach, in real time. You’ll notice the elegant folds that allow for expansion. Think of it as the concert hall of digestion, where the orchestra of enzymes and acids will soon begin their epic symphony.”
A ripple of laughter moved through the crowd at her metaphor. Debbie smiled, encouraged. She had the audience exactly where she wanted and Cara took that as her cue. She briefly disappeared behind a curtain before sheepishly advancing back onto the stage carrying a large bowl and a small green plastic box.
“Breakfast is severed Mrs Jordan!”
She threw a shy smile to the audience as she placed the food neatly on the table and handed a spoon to Debbie.
“Thanks Cara, this smells amazing! I’m starving, but of course.. you can all see that for yourselves can’t you.”
The joke landed with the audience erupting into a maintained laughter again, but quickly hushed to a sudden silence when she reached for the bowl of oatmeal, scooping a spoonful with deliberate slowness, as though feeding not herself but the audience’s curiosity. She chewed thoughtfully, allowing the warm cinnamon to dance on her tongue, firmly swallowed, and raised her spooned hand in a theatrical flourish.
“And now, let’s see what happens when my breakfast arrives.”
The capsule drifted, the view shifting as beige slurry began to flow into the chamber. The students leaned forward, pens poised, eyes wide. The screen showed the oatmeal tumble as it disbursed around the slick environment. As the audience watched on, the pink walls suddenly came to life before their eyes, soft clumps falling apart, mingling with gastric juices. It was mesmerizing, almost hypnotic.
“Aha… I think I may have already awoken things in there…”
The monitor was indeed now alive with motion, she smiled gleefully at her bodily reaction, proud it was putting on the show she desired.
Then, suddenly, something unexpected appeared.
At first, it was just a shadow, a shape that didn’t belong. The camera adjusted, the focus sharpening, and hollow gasps erupted from the audience. Nestled among some brown sludge tucked in the folds of Debbie’s stomach was… a figure. Tiny, naked, humanoid, impossibly detailed. Arms, legs, even what looked like hair. It was no larger than a single oat, yet the camera rendered it with uncanny clarity.
Debbie froze, blinking at the screen.
“Wait, what on earth?…”
She couldn’t make out the face or any of the finer details but it almost looked like it was moving.
The room erupted in murmurs, laughter, disbelief. Someone whispered, “Is that… a person?” Another voice, louder: “It looks like a little man!” A playful voice from the back: “what have you been eating Mrs Jordan?”
Debbie winced at the screen, its tiny size made it hard to depict but its posture alone looked familiar. Clearly, some clever student with a remarkable eye for detail, had slipped a tiny figure into her breakfast. Her eyes scanned the room for a practical culprit before they landed on Clara, whose jaw had dropped to the floor.
“Debbie, I swear I didn’t—”
But Debbie, ever the performer, saw the moment for what it was: a distraction, yes, but also an opportunity. She straightened, her eyes twinkling, both hands on her hips “Well,” she said, her tone playful,
“it seems I’ve got company. Ladies and gentlemen, meet my unexpected guest.”
The audience roared with laughter, the tension broken. Debbie pointed at the screen, adopting the cadence of a storyteller.
“Although I will confess, we meet them in a rather unfortunate situation, this tour is definitely one best observed from a distance.”
As the audience lightened, their concerns quickly quelled by the hosts natural swagger.
“Oh, and I’d get some shelter, my friend,” she said, her voice rich with mock drama.
“Because I’m about to make it rain! Here it comes…”
She lifted another loaded spoon of sloppy oats into her mouth, this time, she hardly chewed, just let the oats tumble around her mouth before audibly gulping it for effect. On the monitor, the new wave of slurry cascaded into her stomach, splashing around the tiny figure. The students howled with delight, some clapping, others covering their mouths in disbelief. The illusion was perfect: the little model seemed to stagger under the torrent, arms raised frantically as though bracing against a storm. Debbie grinned, savoring the absurdity.
“It would seem, even in the most clinical of demonstrations, surprises can occur. Medicine is full of them. Sometimes they’re anomalies in data.. and sometimes they’re tiny stowaways in your oatmeal. Although I must say, such fine detailing on the model, it’s very convincing.”
Clara, still flustered, scurried back onto the stage and whispered urgently,
“Debbie, I think one of the students… someone must have slipped a model into the oatmeal It can’t be real…. Right?”
Debbie winked at her. “Of course it’s not real. But look at them, they’re enchanted. Let’s run with it.”
She turned back to the audience, adopting a mock-serious tone.
“I guess this is what happens when you forget to chew your colleagues properly. They end up living rent-free in your stomach.”
The laughter was thunderous. Even the stern administrators at the back were chuckling, shaking their heads. The monitor continued to show the tiny figure, now half-submerged in oatmeal bobbing like a castaway at sea.
Debbie raised her hand dramatically.
“And now, the storm intensifies!”
She scooped yet another spoonful of oatmeal, swallowed it instantly, and gestured to follow it down her chest with her finger. The capsule captured the mushy tide rolling in again, engulfing the miniature figure. The students erupted again, some shouting playful warnings: “Save him!” “He’s drowning”
Debbie leaned closer to the audience , lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
“Well, He’s got guts, literally, he’s in mine.”
The room dissolved into laughter once more. Debbie felt the energy shift: what had begun as a tense, high-stakes demonstration had transformed into a theatrical spectacle, equal parts science and comedy. She was no longer just a presenter; she was a ringmaster, orchestrating awe and amusement in equal measure.
Spurred by the audiences participation, she collected a small spherical object from the plastic container, held it up in her hand for all to see and looked out over the gleeful faces with a flirtatious smile. She rolled the large blueberry between her finger and thumb.
“I guess this is going down whole right?”
The audience responded accordingly, but Debbie didn’t wait for a formal answer, she placed it softly on her outstretched tongue, exactly as she did with the pill and easily swallowed it whole.
It took a little longer than the oatmeal to arrive, her esophagus finding the bulky load a little more labouring to persuade, allowing the audience suspense to heighten. When it did finally drop, it splashed into what was now a turbulent ocean of oats. A ripple expanded from where it submerged, inadvertently pushing the tiny figure towards the camera.
“Wow, look how big it is compared to him…” an inquisitive voice called out from back, a young female student commented from the front: “hey, he’s kind-a cute!”
Clara, regaining her composure, adjusted the focus again, but scoped the attention closely on the figure, who was now seemingly battling into the foreground. Her eyes wide, mouth in awe, sudden concern in her heart, she nervously leaned towards Debbie again,
“Nurse Jordan, um—“
Cara swallowed hard trying to get her voice around the absurdity coming out of her mouth…
“do you not think he looks a bit like your son?”
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November 12
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