It had been a few weeks since Smack had submitted his last request for his technology to be approved, and the folf was growing ever more impatient. While he enjoyed the good pay that his company provided for sitting on his ass and handing in a periodic proposal whenever inspiration and his engineering prowess met, there were only so many times that boredom could spark creativity that Smack could take.
Of course, endless layers of bureaucracy was something that Smack should have accepted when offered the job at TransFurMation Inc. Effectively an umbrella company, he was lost among a sea of like-minded ‘visionaries’, given no instruction from management other than to create products that can be sold through one of its many subsidiaries. Hell, in the years he had worked here, Smack had never even met the ever-mysterious CEO of the company, Benton.
The downside to being given no rigidity for what he could design on company time was that the folf was also starved of any feedback, only finding out if whatever he created was approved through a single letter from upper management, or in some cases, when seeing his own teleportation device showcased in a press release, Smacks name erased from the revolutionary achievement alongside any personality, of course.
However, recognition from the public wasn’t something that Smack cared about all too much. While it would have been nice to be known for the portal gun he had spent five years of his life designing, the fact that it was already improving society, along with his own commute time, was already nice enough. What Smack instead wanted was for his workplace woes to be addressed.
Even a visit from Benton would have been enough, but in all his years working for TransFurMation, Smack had never seen the bear who acted as his CEO. And from the infrequent chats with his coworkers, it seems as though the same was true for his peers. Whether it be a lack of social skills or simply to keep Smack’s job as impersonal as possible was anyone’s guess.
And so for the past seven years since, not much ever changed. Unable to replicate the success of his portal gun, Smack remained in bureaucratic hell, all of his inventions either failing to achieve feasibility or even with the schematics sent off, given no indication that they ever reached upper management.
The folf’s most recent invention should have been the one to get their attention; a device that stores one’s consciousness in a nearby object in the event of their body being badly damaged so that it remained safe while their physical form was repaired, or a replacement created.
Of course, Smack had yet to test the device, it requiring the user to actually die before the technology could prove possible, but once it got through the first proof of concept approval, he was sure that one of the other departments could clear that hurdle, getting some poor volunteer fool to kill themselves for a few hundred bucks as long as they were brought back in one piece.
But until then, Smack remained hopelessly bored, simply throwing shit at the wall to see what stuck. He knew that his coworkers were in a similar position, some neglecting to do any work at all and spending their shifts playing Minecraft. Perhaps they were smarter than he was, knowing that TransFurMation had effectively given them job security for life, and taking advantage of their negligent management system.
One thing that he did to pass the time was submit some joke applications, sure that none of them would ever be read, let alone accepted. Over the past few weeks, the folf had ‘invented’ a cure for cancer, the world’s best tasting sandwich, a time machine, and a marketable plushie of Benton, just to name a few examples.
Sure that nothing would come from his fooling around, Smack was shocked to see a notification pop up on his computer upon arriving at work. One of his adventures had been accepted and was due to be presented to the C.E.O. that day. It took until he had already retrieved the specifications for his consciousness-storing device that he finally read the email in full, and his heart sank.
Instead of any of his actual accomplishments, the email requested that Smack show off something far more mundane. A food item, specifically a sandwich described as being the ‘World’s Greatest’. Now, not only was Smack greatly exaggerating about the taste of the sandwich that he neglected to even consider a recipe for, the folf was the furthest thing from what one would consider to be a chef, his latest exploit coming close to burning down his home kitchen.
With less than a half hour before management staff was due to arrive at his lab room, Smack found himself in complete and utter panic. While management was often fine with employees taking years between reports and proposals, one thing that they did not tolerate was their own time being wasted. Peers had been fired for less than this, and Smack was not willing to risk unemployment due to his practical joke.
Sprinting to the break room, Smack grabbed whatever items seemed to be the most appetizing from the office fridge. Practically emptying it, he carried an assortment of vegetables, condiments, and protein with both arms, an act that greatly confused anyone who may have been watching. It was only when arriving back that Smack realized that he had forgotten the most important ingredient. The bread.
Thirteen minutes left.
With all the ingredients gathered alongside a knife and cutting board, Smack was at a loss on what to start first. He quickly realized that the eggs he had used were functionally worthless; there not being enough time to boil them, let alone apply them to the meal. So without thinking, he quickly cracked three eggs and threw the mess onto the bottom bun, covering the mess with an assortment of mayonnaise, chives, sliced cheese, salt, and mustard.
To mask his disaster, Smack ran back into the break room to rip the sandwich press from its socket and return to at least somewhat cook the egg whites, despite having already soaked into the bottom slice. Sure that even presenting the sandwich in this state would lead to his firing, he considered just throwing it out as the press beeped, but presenting something was at least better than presenting nothing.
Taking the pitiful meal out from its enclosure and putting it on a plate, it both looked and smelled absolutely disgusting. The scent of raw eggs invaded Smack’s nostrils, and the top slice had somehow acquired an unappetizing green hue. Groaning and pressing back into his chair, the folf accepted his fate, just wishing that he wouldn’t have to deal with the inevitable comments his supervisor would make when collecting his failure.
And then… He got his wish. In a comedy of errors, Smack had leaned so far back in his office chair that it tipped over, sending the folf tumbling to the ground. The force of his landing was easily enough to activate one of Smack’s more controversial inventions, one that, despite actually reaching management, was swiftly rejected.
The disintegration beam.
Aimed directly at the downed folf, there was nothing that Smack could do to shut off the deadly ray run, firing it in less than an instant. His death may have been quick, but it was painful, with every atom in his body irreparably burning. Without even the chance to scream, Smack was gone, the only remnants of his existence being a few specks of dust and fibers from his clothing that the beam failed to incinerate. Prototypes can’t be perfect after all.
Of course, being dead didn’t end Smack’s torment. Despite being untested, the consciousness storage device had worked perfectly, lifting the soul of the folf from his body just as it expired. Without a designated container to store it in, the device scanned for the closest biological vessel for him to inhabit before retrieval. And unfortunately for Smack, that was his failure of a sandwich.
For the folf himself, the experience was unlike any he, or anyone else, had ever felt. His first conscious thought in his new body was that of incredible softness, as though he were nestled between two pillows. Remembering what had previously happened, Smack wondered if this was heaven, only for his hopes to be dashed when the next sensation came to him, a sense of overwhelming dampness.
Given the lack of a nose, ears, or eyes in his new body, Smack should have been unable to sense anything about his surroundings. But nevertheless, either as a side effect of his invention or fate pulling a cruel trick on the former folf, Smack was able to feel, smell, and taste everything. Wait… Taste?
It was then that he realized what must have happened, but that didn’t make his situation any less terrifying. Not only had he been transformed into this disgusting sandwich, but his new body had adapted itself to make up for the lack of any organs; the sulfuric stench of burned egg whites invaded his imaginary nostrils, and he was easily able to sense the overwhelming dampness enveloping the bread.
Any attempts at moving were fruitless, for even if the sandwich had muscles, there was no structure to his body, nothing to propel him forward or even have him jiggle in place. To an outside observer, Smack was nothing but an ordinary sandwich. And one that was scheduled to be taken directly to his boss.
And as if on cue, Smack’s musings were quickly interrupted by a knock at his lab door. Unable to answer, the sandwich simply lay in wait for Helen, the deer secretary who answered directly to Benton, to grow impatient at Smack’s absence and simply enter the room to retrieve the invention she was ordered to collect.
Not a moment earlier or later than she was scheduled to arrive, annoyance turned to anger when Helen found the lab to be empty, the employee she was assigned to retrieve this ‘culinary invention’ from nowhere to be found. It only took her a few moments to retrieve the sandwich from the counter, but those were moments that the deer would never get back. She made a mental note to report Smack for this insult, but knew that the lab boys never faced any punishment for their frequent laziness.
Being sure to put on gloves so as not to dirty the food, Helen quickly picked up the sandwich from the table, lowering it into an opaque plastic container for transportation. Usually meant for handling hazardous materials, it now acted as a lunchbox, the deer knowing fully well how Benton intended to test Smack’s ‘invention’.
Even with the gloves acting as a barrier, Helen couldn’t help but cringe at the texture of the sandwich, its bottom loaf entirely damp, almost to the point of falling apart. She needed to be extra careful when lowering it to prevent what she presumed were juices from spilling out. And with that disgusting act complete, she closed the lid on the chamber and carried it out of the lab, towards Benton’s office.
Smack had been picked up before, or at least he was sure he had been as a child. But no experience in the past could compare to this alien sensation of being gripped from all sides by long, wriggling appendages. Fat, meaty fingers easily sunk into what had replaced his skin, causing temporary indents for an easier grip before lifting the sandwich into the air. The force of the grip itself was enough for the components of the sandwich to compress slightly, mixing juices and oils further for a squeamish sensation.
A slight residue of juices was left behind on the lab counter as Smack was picked up. Despite feeling himself through every molecule of the sandwich, the former folf was unable to perceive himself in the crumbs and oils left behind, either through it being too small in proportion to the rest of his inanimate form or through it being severed entirely from his soul.
The trip afterwards was filled with anticipation and dread. He was unable to tell exactly what would happen at the end of the trip. If Smack still had a stomach, it would have seemed as though a rock was weighing it down. How would his boss react upon receiving the sandwich? From the request being accepted in the first place, it seemed as though he was destined to be eaten.
Smack’s only hope of survival, ironically, rested on his complete lack of cooking ability. If the sandwich tasted disgusting enough to the point of inedibility, Benton may suspect that there may be something unusual about the loaf, discovering Smack’s consciousness in the process and hopefully freeing him. Unfortunately, he would still need to deal with no longer having a body, but he was sure that the company would be able to find a replacement.
Of course, that scenario would require his boss to take a bite out of his sandwich body. Smack wondered if his consciousness would remain in whatever was swallowed, or simply sever off from it. He wasn’t sure if he could take the embarrassment of needing his boss to puke part of his body up, so the folf hoped for the latter to be true, or at least for him to be spat out before the first swallow out of disgust.
Within the enclosed space, the stench of burned eggs and mayonnaise was amplified tenfold, Smack wondering how Helen was able to stand the smell whilst being so close, given how she reacted to his feel. Perhaps it was only as bad for him, being so close as well as being a part of its source.
Further attempting to make himself known in any way he could, Smack redoubled his efforts in getting his body to move. It was hard to tell whether his efforts were of any use from within the enclosed space; however, it was clear that even if any progress was made on his part, Helen wouldn’t notice through the walls of his prison, and his only chance would be the brief window when the doe presented him to the boss.
Not one to waste time, it took Helen only a few minutes of walking and elevator riding before she arrived at Benton’s office. Given his position within the company, the entrance was anything but modest, with gold-plated double doors that required considerable effort to open. For that reason, a button was placed to automatically open the doors in dramatic fashion, revealing a vast empty chamber with a singular desk and chair at its far end.
Seated at the desk was the CEO himself. A massive, rotund bear only seen prior in newspapers and the annual Christmas card sent to all employees, he would have been massive to a normal fur, let alone a sandwich. Not that Smack could see him, of course, still stuck in the opaque container. That didn’t stop him from understanding exactly what was happening, muffled voices piercing into his prison, intangible ears picking up every word of the conversion.
“I got you that sandwich you requested, Mr. Benton.” Smack knew that Helen was entirely unaware that the object in the container was in fact a living being, but that level of dismissal towards him hurt all the same. Her tone remained apathetic, in completing a monotonous task she carried out thanklessly for the past decade spent working directly for the CEO.
It took Benton a second of silence to even remember why he had even invited the deer up, either lost in his own thoughts or simply due to his advanced age. “Oh!” He finally exclaimed, “That’s the proposal that showed up on my desk earlier today. The world’s greatest sandwich, it said. I’ll be the judge of that, don’t you think so, Helen?”
Helen didn’t respond.
Undeterred by the awkward silence, Benton continued. “I was honestly surprised that there haven’t been more culinary inventions as of late. Depending on how this tastes, I may need to speak to this… Smack; later on to reward him personally.”
From within the confines of the effective lunchbox, Smack’s nonexistent heart skipped a beat at the sound of his own name being uttered. Under less dire circumstances, this was all that the folf wanted, just to be acknowledged within the company, even if it meant the exploitation of the bear CEO’s gluttonous nature.
But Smack feared that if he didn’t somehow make himself known before Benton consumed what he thought to just be a normal sandwich, the meeting between the two as peers would never take place. In this starstruck daze, he neglected to consider that it would also lead to his own body being consumed and digested, at least until a bright light invaded Smack’s environment with the container finally being opened.
The same gloved hands that placed him here returned to retrieve the sentient sandwich, and despite Smack’s best efforts to make his presence known; none of the ingredients had escaped from between the two slices of bread. He hadn’t moved a single inch. Sure to not cause the boss’ meal to crumple, Helen daintily picked up the sandwich before placing it onto a pre-prepared plate on the desk, directly in front of Benton himself.
He would have been impressive even if viewed from his real body, but from Smack’s diminished perspective, Benton was more mountain than man. Rolls of fat threatening to spill from his suit, it was clear that the bear was incredibly well fed. His fur seemed more aged than in the company photos, his 63-year-old body sprouting a complexion of pristine gray and white.
While the sandwich lacked eyeballs, whatever he had in place of them was able to direct his gaze upwards past the gut towards the CEO’s immense visage. His eyes were globes of golden brown, each the size of one of the cherry tomatoes buried somewhere within Smack’s mass. Eyes that were staring directly into the former folf’s soul, and making his intentions incredibly clear.
This impromptu staring contest was interrupted by Helen simply wishing that Benton ‘Enjoy his meal’, before quickly turning around and exiting from the room, leaving Smack to a horrifying fate that he was only just now beginning to comprehend. He hoped that somehow Benton would notice that the sandwich was in fact a living being, but from the way the bear stared at him, it was clear he only saw a meal.
While Benton may not have been drooling, he may as well have been. With the room now empty apart from the two beings, a loud roaring growl emanated from the massive gut in front of Smack, a preview of what he would face within the infernal cauldron of his boss’ gut. The seconds that it took for Benton to lick his lips and prepare for his meal appeared to go on forever—a preferable fate to be left in this limbo instead of what Smack now knew was to come.
Too focused on the view directly in front of him, Smack failed to perceive the two massive hands closing in from either side until he was gripped. Far less careful than being picked up by Helen, the fat fingers of the bear easily sank into his form as though he were made out of butter before being lifted high into the air. Several chives spilled from his body, scattering on Benton’s plate alongside some loose crumbs and juices.
Diverting his perception away from the bear, Smack refused to fully accept the reality of his situation. That he was to be eaten alive, utterly erased from the world and added to somebody’s diet. He didn’t know if the worst part was his fate or that his boss would have no idea that he condemned his worker to be digested into fat. Nope, on second thought, him dying was easily the most horrifying part.
However, Smack had to face the truth soon enough, turning again to the rapidly approaching mountain of a face. The sandwich directly in front of Benton’s maw, he took an extended inhalation, sure to capture the aroma of his meal. The lack of a proper reaction to his disgusting nature caused Smack to wonder if Benton actually enjoyed the stench or simply didn’t mind, a question to further distract him from what was now just seconds away.
As though it were a hanger door, Benton’s maw slowly opened to reveal what was to be the entrance to Smack’s final resting place. An exhalation of warm breath washed over his form past the cage of razor-sharp teeth that would likely deal the killing blow, if of course chewing could kill him. Smack was unsure exactly at which point he would die, but he hoped that fate would award him a quick death.
By now, panic had already gone past sheer terror and had become a reluctant acceptance, too paralyzed and scared to even attempt moving, making Smack an inanimate deer in headlights. And then the sandwich was brought forward as Benton finished savoring his meal and went in for the first bite.
Smack’s view darkened as his body entered the cavernous maw, a shadow separating the safety of the outside world from the hostile environment of Benton’s body. And not one to let his stomach complain for a moment longer, the ravenous bear quickly bit down as soon as he brought enough of the sandwich in.
There was no time for Smack to prepare. Not that it would have mattered, the bite giving way to a sensation impossible to comprehend for a normal fur. As the teeth cleaved through bread and filling alike, he felt no pain but instead an overwhelming pressure across his entire body, spilling out from the point of impact.
It took only a few seconds for the teeth to fully grind together; the part of the sandwich not already in the maw violently ripped away, causing the part of Smack on the other side of the bite to quickly be torn off. For a second, it felt as though Smack’s very soul had split in two before reemerging as the uneaten portion of the meal.
Once again outside the maw, Smack was given time to process the events of the past few seconds, as well as the fact that he was still alive after having what was effectively his head torn off. He reasoned that since he had turned into the entirety of the sandwich, it would take until each bite of him was taken for his life to fully be severed.
Questions continued to swirl around in his mind. At what point would he stop existing entirely between the bite and swallow, why on earth was he thinking about his own death so casually and without the weight it should have…
And why did he feel that he was still trapped within the maw?
Enough time had passed for feeling to fully return to Smack, and with it came the realization that his consciousness did in fact not separate from the force of the bite but instead remained linked. Smack was simultaneously the bite waiting to be swallowed and the remainder of the sandwich in the limbo, both and neither.
The bite only being a comparatively small portion of his being, it took effort for Smack to properly embody it; the only real stimuli provided were warmth and humidity. Any scent of Benton’s breath was easily overpowered by the raw eggs making up the folf, and there was more than enough light in the outside world for his perception to be further linked there. But try as he might, more and more of Smack’s mind moved to whatever of him was currently under the most threat of consumption.
And just as his concentration allowed him to properly hone in on his other half, a second bite brought it sharply into focus. Sharp teeth came together to further divide the sandwich folf into two, then three, then four. Each part of the sandwich was felt both as a separate entity and a part of Smack’s collective being, the only concept remotely relatable being that of a hivemind.
But they would not remain separated for long, as by the time Smack had been divided a hundred times over, the saliva within Benton’s maw aided to bind the parts of bread to the toppings and condiments, creating a mostly uniform bolus. And with the act of chewing complete, there was little more for the bear to do but simply swallow his mouthful.
Smack could tell what was happening even before Benton, saliva starting to pool around his form in anticipation of the act, only helping to stick him further together and making his body some unholy combination of his own consciousness and the essence of the bear. The lack of eyes allowed him to see all around the maw, but he focused directly at the back, just to the opening of the throat, flexing just as it began to yawn open fully.
Muscles contracted as the mush that made up this segment of his being was conveyered past the point of no return, tongue flexing to block out all light from the outside world. And then a massive gulp echoed to confirm exactly what was happening, saliva helping to push him onto the next leg of his journey as just another meal for his boss.
Back in the outside world, the majority of Smack that was not eaten was able to see a lump traveling down Benton’s throat. Part of him, disappearing past the chest as it disappeared fully into his boss. Unable to process that he was currently being swallowed whole and alive, the transformed folf subconsciously spent all his effort blocking out the part of him slowly traveling towards the infernal cauldron of his boss’ gut, lest he go entirely insane.
Instead, Smack’s gaze fell to Benton, who was still seemingly savoring his taste. How the hell did the bear not notice how disgusting he tasted in sandwich form? But either through a lack of proper tastebuds or the folf somehow creating a dish that actually stayed true to his bullshit claim, the CEO licked his lips, seemingly hungry for more.
And that was what finally sealed Smack’s fate.
By the time the first bite made its way down to the stomach, Benton brought his meal back to his hungering maw for the second bite. Smack was once again subject to the excruciatingly uncomfortable sensations of being split apart, chewed, and swallowed; the sensations strengthened through having less of him to attempt tuning out that segment of his consciousness.
Two mouthfuls turned to three, then four, then five. Through each swallow, it became harder for Smack to ignore the growing amount of him that had already been consumed, approaching nearly half of his mass. It was as though he was in the eye of a hurricane, barely clinging on for dear life. Because of this focused determination, he barely noticed Benton finally sighing in contentment before slowly lowering the sandwich back to the plate below.
Finally back on solid ‘ground’, Smack wondered what would become of him as Benton picked up the plate and carried it out from his office, crumbs of his consciousness too small to be experienced through being released from both the bear’s muzzle and folds of fat. Smack didn’t even register that the boss had been shirtless until now, a byproduct of his prior fear—one that didn’t seem to matter as much now that he knew what being eaten was like.
Arriving in the executive kitchen, Benton licked his lips to savor that last taste of sandwich before he stored it away for later. Smack was still trying his hardest to remain focused on his current self, but it wasn’t until the cold cover of cling film swept over his inanimate body that his blinding determination was broken, almost tearing him into the perception of his other half.
The transparent wrap stuck to his damp slices well enough to create a good enough seal for storage, as Benton was sure to save the leftovers of Smack’s creation for a later date. And before long, the plate was once again picked up to bring the sandwich to the same purgatory most food eventually ends up in. The staff fridge.
Even through his protective shielding, the breeze from the fridge’s opening was enough to bring a chill down Smack’s nonexistent spine. Of course it was just a normal fridge, littered with various half-eaten food items from Benton’s past lunches, but to Smack, they appeared as his companions, equally trapped in stasis, unable to move, and representing the horror of partial consumption each and every one had been through.
Placed on a shelf between a few slices of store-bought pizza and a bottle of soda, Smack’s sandwich form lay motionless within the mini fridge, enclosed on all sides apart from the entrance. Since Benton needed to bend down to place his uneaten meal inside, by the time said meal turned his focus to the bear, only his bulge and gut were left unobscured by the frame of the chilled box as Smack’s former boss stood to his full height.
As if taunting the transformed folf, the pudgy stomach ahead of him let out a loud gurgle, likely caused by his other half being digested alive. It was a fact that was increasingly becoming harder for Smack to ignore, that this was his fate now, and even if he was discovered in the fridge, he was likely far past the point of no return. Even if the part of him that was becoming mush was salvageable, would he even want to come back from that? From being…
Smack quickly stopped that thought in its tracks. He knew that spending any time spent thinking about whatever of him was in Benton’s stomach risked his consciousness shifting to that gastric cauldron. He could feel it on the periphery, roaring louder with every passing second as the stomach was far more intense to Smack’s senses than the fridge could ever hope to be.
Feel, scent, and sound were mostly subdued in comparison to the gut, something made far worse as Benton casually shut the door, and with it, Smack’s last connection to the outside world was severed apart from the few crumbs scattered across the floor and desk he had once sat on. With the fridge closed, the lights within automatically shut off, bathing Smack in darkness and removing one more vital sense, at least in any meaningful way.
Trying to cling onto whatever stimuli he had within his cold, dark prison, Smack focused on the smallest of details. From the faint sound of the air-conditioned breeze flowing through the fridge to the discomfort of his juices sticking to the plastic wrap that surrounded his body, any sensation was welcome to just allow him to stay for just that bit longer.
But it wasn’t enough.
All it took was a single falter in his concentration for Smack’s consciousness to immediately shunt the several feet between the fridge and the internals of his consumer. It was as instant a jolt as awakening from a bad dream; however, for the now-mush folf, he found himself trapped in a new nightmare, one all too real.
Even with this horror, it wasn’t just the nature of the stomach that threatened to break Smack’s mind, but the memories that came with it. Even though he had tried valiantly to block the sensations of one half of his body, his shift in perception forcibly had him relive the entire experience of each bite being swallowed down and processed within the acidic chamber.
Minutes of peristalsis and churning collapsed into the single instant of Smack’s consciousness perceiving it, each segment of his mind now combined within the gut. The one silver lining to this explosion of stimuli was that it was what allowed Smack to further distance himself from the happenings in the stomach, something he wouldn’t be able to ignore for much longer.
When first making the sandwich, Smack had little care for how well the ingredients would mesh together into a greater whole or how they would remain palatable when put into the sandwich press. Benton’s tastebuds appeared to enjoy the unholy concoction, but it would take a far stronger stomach than even the bear had to fully agree with the meal.
The unboiled eggs were the worst offender, as since the stomach worked too slowly to digest them in the few minutes it took for Smack’s mind to shift over, they instead fermented within the gut. The acids mixed with them to produce a sulfuric stench that filled the gut; the excess gas occasionally belched out by Smack’s host, much to Benton’s own disgust. Groans and gurgles caused by Smack’s presence didn’t help much, with the boss being sure to mark points down for this aspect of the ‘invention’.
With rhythmic churning helping to properly separate the meal, every inch of Smack was splattered across the walls and base of the stomach as though the gut were a canvas. More liquid than solid by this point, the acids were making quick work of the sandwich to transform it further into a uniform goop, unrecognizable as even food, let alone a former sentient being.
Smack was disallowed even a second of reprieve, his intangible brain filled with constant stimuli as he was spread across the gut. Small globs of what once was bread found themselves nestled in constantly churning wrinkles deep within the folds of the stomach, ans the parts that weren’t being massaged into nothingness were only saved by resting on small mounds of his already digesting portions.
Isolated from the world outside Benton, time ceased to exist entirely. It was simultaneously an instant and eternity before the next action outside the uniform churning and groans occurred, one that would finally, after everything, erase what little existence this half of Smack had left. The cries of the gut were too loud for him to hear anything outside his new universe, so the near-uniform mush only realized what was happening until the opening to the gut yawned open once more and spew out another bolus of food onto him.
There wasn’t any light to determine what Benton’s dinner may have been, and while the texture of the bite as it splattered over what was left of Smack indicated salmon, verification was the least of his concerns. The stomach filling up once again, the sandwich was effectively buried under fish and asparagus, pinned to the base of the wrinkly gut where the acidic solution could finally liquefy him for good.
By the time that Benton went to bed, there wasn’t anything left of Smack. Nothing recognizable at least, most of his remaining consciousness being mixed with the enzymes and other digested food within the gut. Far more liquid than solid, he soaked into the fish in order to have it become more like him. Just fuel for his new host, one that would forever be unaware of exactly who would be added to his hefty form.
Still conscious, the former folf feared about just how much longer he would last. He expected to die just from the first bite; however, here he was, sentient puke. All of his hopes, dreams, and aspirations amounted to a liquid sludge, slowly being pumped through the duodenum for the next leg of the journey all food goes through.
But how much longer would awareness last for him? If digestion didn’t do him in, perhaps his consciousness is unable to ever rest without the folf body he once had, forever bound to whatever the sandwich becomes, even if it’s Benton’s… It was a thought too disgusting to even consider, being shat out and spending the rest of eternity as nothing more than a turd lost in the depths of some nameless sewer, indistinguishable from the rest of the excrement and waste.
But despite all the misfortune that fell upon Smack up until now, luck finally appeared to be on his side just once, even if it was hours too late. Hungry villi that lined the intestinal walls that the waste flowed through began to lap at Smack’s digested form, absorbing it entirely into Benton’s form. By the time the log had finally arrived in the colon, only a minuscule part of his mind had not yet been converted into nutrients, flowing through the bloodstream of his new host.
Diffused throughout the entire body, there was little for Smack to fully anchor his consciousness to, and as such, much like how his mind shifted to the gut through the boredom of the fridge, this monotony of simply being a part or function of a larger whole allowed his perception to simply shift back, once again a half-eaten sandwich. His mind still shattered through the sensation of being digested and absorbed, Smack didn’t even realize he had returned until the next day, the fridge door being reopened for more food to be placed within and forgotten.
After spending so long in constant motion within the gut alongside the rest of the meal, the isolating nature of the dark fridge allowed Smack to finally think clearly for the first time since he had been transformed into a new sandwich, and it was only then that he realized there was no coming back from this. Not a single atom of his old body remained in the physical world anymore; Smack’s entire soul now only existing as a half-eaten sandwich.
Even if, by some chance, Benton figured out what had happened, half of him had already been digested and processed. Would enough of him still be left to be able to properly transfer to some new vessel or form? He would be dissected and probed by other scientists, not even being given the satisfaction of a good death, nothing more than an anomaly whose existence never left the company walls.
As hours turned into days, emotions were all that the former folf had left. Boredom turned to sorrow, and sorrow to rage. Smack had not only figured out teleportation but also a way to cheat death entirely through living in another vessel. Hell, the fact that his body no longer existed had also proven the existence of a soul. He should be winning a fucking Nobel Prize for this, not rotting away in some fridge.
But because of his own clumsiness and idiocy, that was the fate he seemed destined to live through. The cold, dark environment he was trapped within in addition to his immobility would drive anyone insane, and Smack was no longer sure what would expire first: his perishable body or his mind. Time itself ceased to exist, and thoughts blended together into a vast nothingness.
Long stretches of isolation were only broken by the occasional opening of the fridge, either by Benton or by one of his assistants. Each time, Smack simultaneously worried and hoped that he would be picked out from the leftovers to be consumed fully, finally putting an end to his torment. But the half-finished food continued to pile up, with pizza boxes and burgers coated in the same cling film eventually obscuring Smack completely from view.
It had been over two months before anything of note happened, only a mixture of luck and the plastic coating him for Smack to not grow mold. That all changed on a hot summer day, when the constantly running air conditioning systems at TransFurmation were stressed to their limits before shorting out, severing power for the entire complex. Taken out of his trance by the lack of the fridge’s ambient hum, Smack was finally given something new to think about, an anticipation to figure out what the hell was happening.
He wouldn’t find out until the next morning. While the power was only out for a total of eight hours, Benton’s secretary decided to use the outage to her advantage, using it as an excuse to clean the executive fridge of all the disgusting leftovers that her boss would ‘get around to eating later’. And so, for the second and final time, Helen had sealed Smack’s fate.
Even with the power having gone out, the fridge was well enough insulated for Smack to barely reach room temperature by the time the refrigeration kicked back into gear, not enough to render him inedible. But the same could not be true for the yogurts and milk, and Helen was much more easily able to justify throwing the baby out with the bathwater since for all she knew, the food couldn’t possibly be alive.
Only a few seconds had passed since the refrigerator doors opened, far too little time for Smack’s form to properly adjust to the change in light, before the secretary began indiscriminately taking items from each shelf, the plate holding the sandwich included. Without care, the plastic coating was ripped off to expose Smack to the outside world before the plate was tilted to unceremoniously dump the contents into a black trash bag.
Without anything to hold him together, Smack’s contents fell apart as they individually tumbled towards the base of the dark chamber, the fall broken by the wasted food that had already been thrown out. The lettuce, eggs, and various other items that made up the sandwich became indistinguishable from the other refuse, made more apparent as Helen continued to clean the fridge, burying Smack under the rest of its contents.
The time that Smack had spent in the fridge had allowed the runny liquid of the eggs to integrate into his bread, his age making his form far more rigid and stale. Much of the flavor that he once had had been muted by his refrigeration and was now permanently ruined through his separated body being in contact with the various other items within the garbage bag. And without refrigeration or wrapping, any protection he once had from decomposing was gone.
Once the garbage bag was entirely filled, Helen casually tied the top into a knot to prevent any spillage and lifted it over her shoulder as she walked out from the kitchen towards the elevator. Used to the routine, she gave the trash no further thought as she listened to her usual playlist. It’s not like this was any different from all the other times the doe cleaned out that disgusting fridge, a routine that was likely to continue as she was in no position to demand Benton change his eating or storage habits.
The trip down gave Smack a sense of finality, knowing that this was it—the last chance he would ever have to be noticed or recognized gone. The security tapes would have long since been erased, and if anyone had bothered to watch them before then, he would at least have been found, but as a cog in the machine, it was more likely his workplace never even noticed Smack was even missing. For all his coworkers knew, he simply quit his job, a far more likely explanation for his disappearance than having transformed into a sandwich and rotting in a trash bag on a curb outside the office building.
Although Smack was no longer inside a stomach, his conditions helped to simulate one. The heat from the sun shone through the thin plastic of the bag to the point where bacteria and fungus alike began to cultivate, and without acids to neutralize them, a culture began growing on Smack’s top loaf. Given that the bag was thrown onto the curb on a Monday, there were still six days before the garbage collection, plenty of time for the food within to begin molding, and then rot entirely.
Much like in the stomach, Smack was aware for the entire process of decomposition, becoming likewise unrecognizable even as a piece of food. Body mass made little sense as a means to measure what was left, and by the time the garbage truck arrived to take him to his final resting place, there was barely a tenth remaining. Unable to turn off his brain, Smack was left in an endless daze, diminishing to the point where his mind began to shift one more time. E Smack blinked, or at least he thought he did. It had been so long that he was even exposed to the outside world that he couldn’t tell if he had turned back to his normal self through some stroke of luck, or if-
Gurgle.
While most of his form may have appeared to vanish as he was spread throughout Benton’s body, it was instead through being spread out into thousands of Benton’s cells that it only appeared his consciousness disintegrated. It was only when enough of him had faded away that Smack could perceive that part of his form, no longer a folf or even food, but instead an extension of the bear’s own body weight.
Egotistical as the CEO was, it was only a matter of time before Benton went to admire himself in a mirror, allowing Smack to see exactly where he ended up. Nothing but sentient fat, he found himself lining both the hips and rear, most of his vision obscured by gray fur. Smack knew enough about biology to know that even if the bear exercised enough to burn the fat off, only the energy would be exercised, still leaving whatever was left of him to remain a silent observer, at least until Benton died.
Microscopic parts of him still within Benton were able to somewhat escape this fate, either filtered out through the kidneys as bear piss or ending up as mere particles of a belch to float aimlessly through the air. But most of him was left to jiggle uselessly as nothing more than an afterthought of a meal. Smack wanted to be recognized, and perhaps he was in a way, adding to the hefty form that Benton admired so much.
His body scattered across miles, whatever was left of Smack’s mind could perceive everything. His rotting form hidden beneath multiple feet of garbage in an unremarkable landfill, trapped as the pudge of his former boss, even the few crumbs of him still on the floor and desk of the executive suite. This perception was all he had, any coherent thoughts long since gone. He was waste, both in body and in mind.
Forever.