The last thing I remember was... the warmth.
"Wait—was that a burp?" The voice echoed oddly around me, distorted by thick layers of wet muscle pressing in from all sides.
I could not move.
Every attempt to shift my arms or legs only made the walls clamp tighter, squeezing my ribs until I wheezed.
The air had the scent of half-digested things—rotting meat, bile, something vaguely floral. My skin burned where stomach acids seeped through my clothes.
I was such an idiot. Why did I come to school wearing a bikini?
Had I known that a large snake would sneak in from the local zoo, slithering in just to gobble me up, I would have never made that stupid bet!
It did not matter now. None of it matters now.
The snake groaned, its internal muscles rolling me deeper into its gut. I caught flashes of other shapes—bones, mostly—but they dissolved before I could identify them.
My vision darkened as oxygen ran thin. A distant thought bubbled up: At least it's warm.
I could still hear the snake's heartbeat. As my senses dulled, it was the only thing I could hear.
And finally, there was...