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Image: www.deviantart.com/whitecloth/…

Text:
The stench suffocated you as you screamed, cried, and thrashed trying to free yourself from the embrace of the fetid prison again. You weren't quite sure what to expect out of being experimented on with the equipment of the top of a line school. Now it seemed like a thousand years ago you were passed of to the wierd scientist student to be tortured beyond belief. She had shrunk you for crying out loud, something you never even thought possible but for her was just a casual event. She had several of you, shrunken test subjects. Tests revolving around the limits of the human senses, which honestly just seemed like more of an excuse to torture you and your fellow shrunken kind. There seemed to be no other members of her little club, but the reason was obvious. The whole room reaked of the horrible smell of hundreds of highschool girls disgusting sweat. Socks that had soaked for days in sweat at the bottom of a dingy laundry bin. Socks she herself had worn for weeks if not months at a time. Sports uniforms, old sneakers, insoles pealed from the shoes of track runners it seemed she had an endless supply of cheesy sweat soaked torture tools and she seemed to want to use them all. You knew no one was looking for you. She made it clear that even if they were they would never look for a shrunken person trapped in a locker tightly packed with hot cheesy clothing. The locker for stinky torturing, one you spent two weeks in once. You hadn't done anything wrong. One day she just came into the club room, looked at you, and said she wanted to see if it would be funny before bonding you with ducktape and shoving you deep into the middle and leaving you for two whole weeks. Now you were wrapped in a tight grip as she has shoved you into the black sock of one of the cross country girls and shoving you face first into the shoe of one of some theater girl. You weren't sure what this test was, just that she was slamming you into the fabric and shoe insole so hard the sweat was pooling and forcing you to chug to keep from drowning. Finally after an hour of this treatment she pulled you up, keeping you in the sock. "How old is the sneaker?" she asked. You struggled to answer, still choking on the acrid taste of sweat that burned your throat. She sighed and plucked you from the sock. She looked disappointed which was worrying. And then she started to walk towards the locker. You struggled and cried terrified as she opened the door and the wave of burning hot fumes poured out like a waterfall. She balled her fist around you and you began to cry tears of disgust and fear as you heard her mumble, "A month aughta to do it."

Description
Image: www.deviantart.com/whitecloth/…

Text:
The stench suffocated you as you screamed, cried, and thrashed trying to free yourself from the embrace of the fetid prison again. You weren't quite sure what to expect out of being experimented on with the equipment of the top of a line school. Now it seemed like a thousand years ago you were passed of to the wierd scientist student to be tortured beyond belief. She had shrunk you for crying out loud, something you never even thought possible but for her was just a casual event. She had several of you, shrunken test subjects. Tests revolving around the limits of the human senses, which honestly just seemed like more of an excuse to torture you and your fellow shrunken kind. There seemed to be no other members of her little club, but the reason was obvious. The whole room reaked of the horrible smell of hundreds of highschool girls disgusting sweat. Socks that had soaked for days in sweat at the bottom of a dingy laundry bin. Socks she herself had worn for weeks if not months at a time. Sports uniforms, old sneakers, insoles pealed from the shoes of track runners it seemed she had an endless supply of cheesy sweat soaked torture tools and she seemed to want to use them all. You knew no one was looking for you. She made it clear that even if they were they would never look for a shrunken person trapped in a locker tightly packed with hot cheesy clothing. The locker for stinky torturing, one you spent two weeks in once. You hadn't done anything wrong. One day she just came into the club room, looked at you, and said she wanted to see if it would be funny before bonding you with ducktape and shoving you deep into the middle and leaving you for two whole weeks. Now you were wrapped in a tight grip as she has shoved you into the black sock of one of the cross country girls and shoving you face first into the shoe of one of some theater girl. You weren't sure what this test was, just that she was slamming you into the fabric and shoe insole so hard the sweat was pooling and forcing you to chug to keep from drowning. Finally after an hour of this treatment she pulled you up, keeping you in the sock. "How old is the sneaker?" she asked. You struggled to answer, still choking on the acrid taste of sweat that burned your throat. She sighed and plucked you from the sock. She looked disappointed which was worrying. And then she started to walk towards the locker. You struggled and cried terrified as she opened the door and the wave of burning hot fumes poured out like a waterfall. She balled her fist around you and you began to cry tears of disgust and fear as you heard her mumble, "A month aughta to do it."