Caught in the Auto-Closet: The Festival - Part Three

After a brief pause, seemingly forgetting that I had no way to respond, her cheeks begin to burn red.

"Right right, you can't..." she murmurs, embarrassed as she looks down demurely at her feet. Slowly her gaze moves back up to the exposed flesh in the Auto-Closet, a faint grin spreading across her lips. "Right..." she mutters, wandering over to the control panel before bending over to inspect it.

Adjusting her glasses she begins to poke at the options one by one, pulling a little booklet from her apron as she reads some notes outlining her plan.

 

The doughy blonde fiddles with her apron as she pecks at the screen with her thorn-scarred fingers. Lines of text filling otherwise unassuming bubbles appear indecipherable from my distance, the matter not being helped by the speed at which the woman works.

Finally, after some delay, she fishes out a small USB. Her hand peels at a plastic panel beside the touch screen, popping the black shell off before revealing a set of ports along the side. As she plugs in the tiny device a folder flashes onto the screen, the white square quickly filling with hundreds of pictures ripped straight from the internet.

Caught in the Auto-Closet - Part Two

"Oh wow..." mutters the stranger, my hazy vision slowly struggling to see them towering over me. After a short moment they snap into view as I find myself staring up at Margaret, the pudgy blonde newly-wed florist with wiry blonde hair and a subtle tan.

The doughy and pudgy blonde appears like a giant, her soft and lightly tan form appearing more as a mountain than a person. She adjusts a small set of rectangular spectacles on the bridge of her nose, placing a hand at her back as she leans down to inspect me.

Her sizeable and sagging flabby rack begins to hang from her chest, the soft and supple flesh hanging and resting inside her green and yellow sundress and her dirt smeared apron. Sweat clings to her skin, the reward for a days work out on her balcony garden and at her little florists.

Her blonde hair frizzes out in a dry mess, without a headband or scrunchie to hold it all back it's simply left to puff out as it hangs between her shoulder blades at its lowest. A set of dirty jeans are slung over her arm, leaving her bare feet and just a hint of her legs visible as she shuffles ever closer.

Caught in the Auto-Closet - Part One

A dull warmth wraps around me like a soothing coat, the low hums and thumps of machinery reverberating from somewhere nearby. They sound odd, drowned out and muffled as the noises struggle to make it through the walls of wherever I was.

I try to remember exactly what had happened to me, what I had been doing and most importantly where I was.

Thinking feels almost painful, the sluggish response making finding each thought feel like walking uphill in an intense and overbearing heatwave. It takes me far to long to notice the lack of light, and even longer to notice the fact I can't move or even feel my arms or legs.

A slow and creeping panic slips into my dulled mind, the lack of my limbs soon becoming punctuated by another more terrifying thought.

"I can't breathe" I groan inside my head, the panic building more and more as begin to try and focus on my missing body. "I... my heart.. it's..." I continue, the realization that I can't feel my heartbeat any more washing over me like icy wave.

Suddenly I hear a little chime, the cheery tone echoing through the warm and cozy space easily over the low mechanical hum. The chime is definitely familiar, having heard it every time I went to the laundry these past few months.

It was the telltale greeting of the Auto-Closet.