It was sometimes a little awkward living together, as roommates on opposite sides of the macro/micro divide. For example, the living room of their shared apartment was cozy, but also an utter mismatch of scale in every way – Kylie’s towering, plush armchair dwarfed Taylor’s custom-built perch down near the floor, a repurposed piece of dollhouse furniture. Taylor lounged there now, their black-and-white scaly skin catching the late afternoon light filtering through the window. At six inches tall, the little anthro dilophosaurus was a pint-sized bundle of restlessness, their neck frill twitching slightly as they scrolled through a phone smaller than a postage stamp. Being a micro was awkward sometimes, but they were lucky enough to have an understanding housemate that didn’t mind accessorizing the place for micro convenience where needed.
Kylie wandered in from the kitchen, her long giraffe neck swaying slightly as she ducked under the doorframe. Her orange-and-cream spotted fur was ruffled and messy from a nap, and her hooves clicked against the hardwood floor with a thumping rhythm that Taylor swore they could feel through the floor itself. She carried with her a mug of tea big enough Taylor could almost take a bath in it. Glancing down at them, she smiled. Her tufted ears flicking playfully, she asked, “Hey, short stuff, you hungry? Or are you still full from that half-a-cookie I dropped yesterday?”
Taylor flicked their tongue out, a mild hiss preceding their retort. “Keep it up, and I’ll climb your oversized body like a ladder just to bite you where you can’t reach me.” Their voice was a high, chirpy thing, laced with mock indignation. Kylie and Taylor teased each other mercilessly, as only friends could get away with. Taylor hopped off their perch, landing with a light impact on the table, claws clicking against the wood. “But yeah, I could eat. Order in, or you wanna go out this time?”
Kylie’s smirk widened, her long tongue curling playfully as if tasting the air as she leaned down, her face looming over Taylor like a grinning billboard. “Oh, going out for sure. I don’t feel like doing dishes tonight, do you? Let’s go be someone else’s problem tonight!” She laughed and offered one helpful finger down to Taylor, chuckling. “Let’s hit that new place down the street. I’ll carry you so you don’t get lost or stepped on before we get there.”
Taylor rolled their slit-pupiled eyes but didn’t argue and grabbed the offered fingertip, hanging on tightly as Kylie carefully lifted them up and up, setting them gently on her shoulder. The trip to the restaurant was quick and uneventful, thankfully. Taylor didn’t mind being carried around by a friend, but it still earned a few odd looks from passing pedestrians. Once inside, the air smelled wonderful, though the whole place was on the noisy side – full of chatting guests and the clatter of dishes from somewhere in the back. Kylie settled into a booth, placing Taylor on the table beside a napkin that loomed like a tent. The giraffe woman flagged down a waiter – a lanky fox girl in a dark uniform – and ordered drinks, her voice a warm rumble. “Iced tea for me, and a thimble of lemonade for my little friend here. They’ve got a bit of a sweet tooth.”
Unfortunately for Taylor, other things were happening in the kitchen, and they were about to become collateral damage in a petty revenge prank. Specifically, one of the kitchen workers had seen their recently-broken-up-with ex come through the front door and was now planning to spike their former partner’s drink with some shrinking potion. The scorned schemer hadn’t been particularly careful in the process, however, and some of the potion spilled in a small area of the food prep counter. The worker had carefully wiped up all the droplets they could find, to avoid getting into huge trouble when someone back here got shrunk… but they missed a little bit. Specifically, the droplet that landed in the first ‘micro’ sized cup on the clean-dishes rack. The very same cup which was momentarily plucked out of the rack by the waitress making Kylie and Taylor their drinks.
The shrinking liquid was clear, so it was nearly impossible to see in the little cup, and quickly vanished into the lemonade as it was carefully added to the cup via suction-dropper. Nothing seemed amiss. After that, the server went about making the much, much larger iced tea for Kylie. Once both were ready, she carefully set them on the tray – Kylie’s right in the center because the other one was too small to balance it out – and carried the drinks out to the table with her customer service smile back on her face.
“Here we are, sorry for the wait! Both made completely fresh, just for you!” She smiled brightly and asked if there was anything else they might need before the food arrived. Kylie waved the server away politely. “No need for appetizers with what I plan to order for the main course! And my friend obviously doesn’t have any room for one in the first place!” The fox girl nodded and backed away from the table, still smiling, before heading back to the kitchen area. Her shift was nearly over, and it was time to wash up and clock out. She was going to go home and eat ice cream and enjoy a movie or two.
Taylor shrugged, not minding at all, and happily cupped the glass with both hands to lift it to their face for a sip. Hmm… not quite as sour as I like it, but not bad. Really, it was cold and sweet and that’s all Taylor really cared about, so they kept drinking and looking around. But a wave of tingling dizziness suddenly swept through Taylor’s body, starting from their head and rolling downward. They set the drink back down so as not to spill it, one hand rising to their head in confusion, before the unintentionally-added extra ingredient kicked in. When it did, Taylor shrank sharply downward, going from 6 inches to a quarter of an inch in a fraction of a second. Kylie’s eyes were elsewhere at the time, scanning the crowd idly, so she had no idea it had happened. They were smaller than the average ant, now!
Meanwhile, far above, Kylie’s gaze flicked back toward the kitchen as she saw another worker approaching. Oddly, this was a different waitress, a feline this time. Must have been a shift change. It didn’t matter much to her, so long as she got to order. She was hungry and ready to fix that problem. The new server introduced herself and then asked Kylie if she was ready to order her meal now. Kylie glanced around for Taylor but didn’t see them. Odd – perhaps they went exploring, or had to use the restroom before the meal. Well, that would be Taylor’s problem to sort out. Kylie wasn’t going to wait. She put in an order for the vegetarian casserole, a thick, noodle-filled dish full of cheeses and greens and all the other stuff she loved.
The waitress smiled and nodded, writing it down and turning back away. But as she did so, her tail swished too close. The resulting gust of wind caught Taylor off balance. They flailed, claws scrabbling uselessly on the silky tablecloth as the hurricane puff of air, but there was no stopping it. With a tiny yelp, the speck of a dino went flying off the table. Naturally, the unpredictable little gust deposited them on the server’s uniform, near the base of the very tail that had sent them flying. If Taylor didn’t know better, they’d swear the universe had it in for them specifically with all the dire straits they ended up in due to these micro hijinks.
Kylie, sipping her tea some more, glanced at the empty spot she’d last seen her friend sitting in and shrugged. Unfazed, she leaned back, oblivious to Taylor’s plight. “Eh. They’ll turn up. Wouldn’t be the first time they wandered off in a crowd, anyway.” They went missing a lot but always seemed to turn up again later on, sometimes even the next day. She’d learned not to question it too much. If they weren’t back in time, she’d just finish her own food and head back, trusting Taylor to figure out their own way home when they were ready.
The waitress swept into the kitchen through the large steel door, her hips brushing the counter just close enough that Taylor saw their chance. Taking a flying jump – fortunately something they were pretty good at – Taylor made it to the edge and tumbled. It was a rough landing but they’d had worse bruises before. The surface stretched out in all directions like a gleaming tundra, slick with condensation and scarred with faint knife marks in some areas. At ant size, Taylor’s black-and-white scales barely registered against the vast expanse, their slit-pupiled eyes darting as they steadied themselves. The kitchen roared around them – a cacophony of clanging pots, hissing steam, and shouted orders – each sound deafening to their minuscule senses.
Now, the real issue for Taylor presented itself… how to get back to Kylie before she went home? Or at least, that was the issue they thought was the real one, and what they were still pondering a few moments later when a new shadow loomed over their precarious countertop position…
A booming voice cut through the din. “VEGGIE-PASTA CASSEROLE, TABLE SIX!” a gruff anthro bear in a stained apron bellowed, his paws slamming a clipboard against the wall. Taylor flinched, their frill flattening in surprise and fear as the counter vibrated beneath them. They scurried forward, tiny legs pumping, only to freeze as a shadow loomed overhead. A massive paw descended, belonging to a grumpy-looking gazelle clutching a bundle of freshly-washed vegetables. With a careless plop, the heap landed inches from Taylor, the impact sending a tremor through the steel that knocked them flat.
Wet, crisp leaves of spinach sprawled across the counter, their edges curling like a forest canopy. A carrot rolled free, a towering orange threat that thudded to a stop mere millimeters from Taylor, its earthy scent flooding their senses. If it had kept rolling, it likely would have squished them flat right there on the counter. They struggled free of the leaf that had come to rest atop their tiny form, scrambling to their feet, only to be eclipsed again as a zucchini crashed down – a green monolith that almost pinned Taylor back down under the looming wall of its damp, rough skin. “Hey! Watch it!” Taylor squeaked, their voice a faint chirp lost in the kitchen’s chaos. The gazelle chef didn’t notice, already turning to grab a cutting board, his antlers casting jagged shadows across the counter.
Taylor yanked themselves free with the strength granted by a burst of fearful adrenaline, scales scraping against the zucchini’s rough surface, and quickly darted toward a gap between the vegetables. The steel was slick beneath their claws, streaked with water droplets that loomed like glassy lakes. Above, a new threat emerged – a paw wielding a knife, glinting wickedly. Suddenly, the whole pile was lifted and dropped roughly onto a thick, wooden cutting board, knocking the tiny dino back into the middle of the pile but in a much more dangerous situation.
Nearby, unseen beyond the canopy of spinach leaves, the blade sliced through one of the vegetables with a resounding thwack, sending a shockwave through the whole board that flung Taylor off their feet once more. And again, and again, an ongoing earthquake as the tired, experienced chef chopped the zucchini and carrots into little round discs, diced a few small onions, and then began slicing away the leaves of the spinach to remove the unpleasant stem portions. The sharp, pungent sting of the chopped onions were already making Taylor’s eyes water intensely. Tears blurring their vision as they flailed, trapped in the sticky, wet layers of leaves, they could barely see the incoming peril when their bundle of spinach was brought under the knife to be next. But they could feel their world lurch as it happened and were smart enough to know what that meant.
“No, no, no!” Taylor rasped, their high-pitched chirp swallowed by the rustle of wet foliage as the chef’s fingers closed around the damp, green mass. They tried to leap free, claws outstretched, but the spinach shifted treacherously beneath them. The leaves – crisp and veined, each one a green barrier to Taylor – folded inward, sweeping them up in a whirl of fresh scent and slippery texture. They tumbled head over tail, ending up firmly wedged deep within the bundle, trapped in a crevice where two leaves overlapped. The pressure was immense, the spinach’s cool, wet embrace pinning their arms and legs as the chef’s grip tightened.
Through a sliver of light between the massive leaves, Taylor glimpsed the glint of steel – a broad chef’s knife rising like a guillotine. Their heart thudded, a frantic rhythm against their tiny ribcage, as the blade descended with a sharp shwick sound. The first cut sliced through the spinach somewhere in the direction ‘above’ their head, the sound a deafening crack that reverberated through the leaves. A row of shredded leaf fragments fell away, and Taylor struggled even harder in desperation. They wriggled, claws digging into the fibrous veins of the greenery, desperate to avoid the next strike.
The knife came again – shwick – much closer this time. A fine mist of vegetable juice sprayed their face, bitter and cold, as the blade carved the spinach into neat strips. Each chop felt like a near miss, particularly the two closest ones – the steel flashing so close they could feel its breeze – a whisper of death that parted the air just beyond their head and then one grazing their toes. Taylor gasped and whimpered, their tail lashing as they wedged themselves into a tighter fold, the spinach’s natural ridges forming a fragile shield. The chef’s rhythm was relentless, shwick-shwick-shwick, the pile of chopped greens growing as Taylor clung to survival, their body trembling within the dwindling bundle.
Finally, the last cut fell, the blade thudding into the counter with a dull thunk. The whole thing had only taken a few moments, but the fear and adrenaline had stretched it into a long, lingering hell for the tiny lizard trapped within. The tension and threat of chopping had eased for a moment… only to be replaced by a single ear-piercing, disorienting screech as the knife was used to scrape the entire pile of chopped vegetables – and Taylor – into a waiting bowl. They landed in a tangle of green strips, bruised but whole, their frill plastered with sap and their breath ragged. The bowl’s steep, smooth walls towered around them, a ceramic prison filled with the wreckage of their leafy ordeal, as the next stage of Kylie’s casserole loomed unknowingly ahead.
Taylor barely had a moment to catch their breath before the bowl tilted, the shredded spinach shifting beneath them like a landslide. Their claws scrabbled against the slippery strips, seeking traction, when a golden stream poured from above – an avalanche of olive oil that seeped down over the veggies with a slick, silky sheen and earthy aroma. The liquid coated Taylor instantly, soaking their scales, turning their black-and-white sheen into a glossy mess. They sputtered and gasped for breath, the oil’s thickness and weight clogging their tiny nostrils as it seeped into every crevice.
Then came the herbs – a cascade of ground thyme and rosemary, each speck like a boulder to Taylor’s ant-sized form. The coarse grains rained down, pelting their back and catching in their frill like jagged shrapnel. A particularly large fleck of rosemary smacked their snout, and they sneezed, a faint chirp lost in the rustle of leaves. Before they could recover, the bowl jolted again – a massive paw gripping its edge – and the world spun into chaos.
The chef’s veggie-mixing toss was swift and brutal. The spinach lurched, flipping Taylor end over end in a whirlwind of oil-slicked greens and herb dust. They tumbled, battered by the bulkier chunks of the more solid ingredients, their tiny body bouncing helplessly amidst the mix. Oil clung to their limbs, making every grab for stability a futile slide, while the herbs stung their eyes and coated their tongue with an oily, bitter tang. The tossing lasted only moments, but to Taylor, it was an eternity of disorientation and battering around the solid sides of the bowl until things settled, leaving them sprawled – sore, dazed, and thoroughly seasoned – atop the glistening pile. Alas, still too small to be noticed, even there.
The bowl tipped without warning, a steep incline that sent the oil-slicked spinach – and Taylor – sliding toward the edge. Their claws skittered across the slippery, shredded leaves, unable to grip as the pile cascaded into a shallow baking pan below. The steel surface clanged beneath them on the rare occasion the leaves weren’t in the way, but it was cool and unforgiving. So they fell with the veggies and landed in a glistening heap. Taylor sprawled atop a shredded spinach strip, their scales dripping with herb-flecked oil, heart pounding as they struggled to orient themselves. Dizziness and a heavy tiredness pressed in on their tiny mind, combining with the oil coating on everything that made their frill and tail droop, but it was all nothing compared to what loomed above.
A steaming colander hovered into view, held by a new station-worker’s massive paw, brimming with freshly boiled noodles. The pasta glistened, tendrils of vapor curling off its surface like a dragon’s breath, each strand a scalding threat to Taylor’s tiny form. The chef tilted the colander, and the noodles began to spill – a slow, deliberate pour that unleashed a wave of blistering heat. Taylor’s eyes widened, pupils shrinking as the first noodle hit the pan with a wet slap, inches away. Steam billowed up, instantly singeing the edges of their frill and prickling their scales with a warning burn. This was a bad place to be exposed.
They had seconds to act. Scrambling to their feet, Taylor spotted a jagged chunk of carrot half-buried in the spinach, its orange flesh pitted with natural grooves. It wasn’t much, but it was their best shot. They bolted, oil-slicked claws slipping as they leapt onto the carrot’s surface. The heat intensified, a noodle splashing down behind them with a hiss that grazed their tail, sending a jolt of pain through their tiny frame. Gritting their sharp teeth, Taylor clawed their way up the carrot’s side, scales scraping against its fibrous texture, until they reached a small hollow – a divot left by the chopping earlier, just deep enough to burrow into.
They dove in headfirst, wriggling their ant-sized body into the crevice as the deluge of noodles buried the veggies beneath a steaming layer. The carrot’s cool, damp interior shielded them, muffling the thud of pasta piling overhead. Heat seeped through, warming the chunk uncomfortably, but it held – barely – against the scalding weight. Taylor curled tight, pulling a stray shred of spinach over the opening they had crawled through. They were left there in the dark, panting as the baking pan settled, now a layered trap with them entombed inside. Of course, as was now the pattern, things then got worse.
The baking pan jolted as unseen hands slid it into the oven, the metallic clang of the rack echoing through Taylor’s tiny world. Darkness swallowed them as the door slammed shut, sealing them inside a cavern of suffocating, lingering heat. The carrot chunk they’d burrowed into would have to suffice for shelter, its damp interior their only refuge as the temperature began to climb. Taylor curled tighter, their oil-slicked scales pressed against the fibrous walls, their frill still plastered to their neck by the sticky mix of herb dust and oil. The air thickened, heavy with the scent of roasting vegetables and softening noodles, a savory haze that clogged their lungs with every shallow breath.
The heat crept in slowly at first, a warm prickle against their black-and-white hide, but it soon sharpened into a relentless burn. The carrot’s surface grew hot to the touch, its moisture sizzling away as the oven’s glow bathed the pan in an orange inferno. As their vision adjusted, Taylor’s slit-pupiled eyes darted around desperately, searching the dim hollow for any relief, but there was none – just the intensifying waves of heat from all around. Their claws dug into the carrot’s softening flesh, anchoring them as the temperature soared, each unheard tick of the timer an eternity. The noodles hissed and bubbled, their steam seeping through the layers, scalding the edges of Taylor’s refuge with damp, searing gusts.
Their head swam, the heat pressing against their skull like a vice. Consciousness wavered, a dizzy blur threatening to pull them under, but Taylor grit their sharp teeth and hissed to themselves – passing out now would definitely be fatal. Beyond that, passing out meant giving up, and they’d clawed their way through worse than this. They closed their eyes and focused on the rhythm of their breathing, slowing the rapid, painful gasping pattern of inhale-exhale searing their lungs, just willing their body to endure. The carrot chunk softened further, its walls starting to collapse inward, but it held just enough to shield them from the full brunt of the oven’s wrath. It was enough. Barely.
Minutes stretched into a hazy torment, the casserole baking into a golden, bubbling mass. The spinach wilted, the noodles crisped at the edges, and the oil fused it all together. No one had any idea as to the existence of the ant-sized dilophosaurus fighting for life within. Taylor’s scales scorched and blistered slightly where exposed, their tail twitching with every surge of heat, but they stayed awake and alive – barely – clinging to the scant shelter of their veggie burrow as the oven timer ticked toward its end. Finally, a loud bell sound chimed through the oven, pulling Taylor out of their focused state.
A sudden jolt rattled the baking pan as the oven door swung open, a rush of cooler air flooding in to break the oppressive heat. Taylor gasped, scales shuddering in relief as the temperature dropped from unbearable to merely stifling. A massive paw, wrapped in a mitt, gripped the pan and slid it out with a grating scrape against the rack. The casserole gleamed under the kitchen lights – a golden, bubbling masterpiece of wilted spinach, crisped noodles, and roasted veggies, its surface still steaming. Taylor was unable to appreciate this, still burrowed in the softened carrot chunk, their tiny body swaying as the pan settled onto a counter with a dull thud.
Their scales ached from the mild burns all over, and their lungs were stung by the with the thick, steam-filled air in their tiny air pocket, but they were alive. The carrot’s walls had collapsed inward during the cook, pressing them into a tighter ball, but it had held – just barely – against the oven’s dangerous onslaught of heat. Before they could uncurl and figure out how to escape this little corner of the pan, a broad spatula descended nearby, its steel edge gliding easily as it sliced through the casserole. Taylor tensed as it carved the adjacent portion free, the vibrations shuddering through their refuge. Then it returned for another scoop, sliding directly under Taylor. The chunk of carrot, embedded in the slab of spinach and noodles, was hoisted upward with a wet schlop sound.
The world tilted again as the chef plated the dish, sliding the steaming square onto a wide ceramic plate beside the first. Taylor glimpsed the kitchen through gaps in the noodle-covered sky – titanic figures bustling, the clatter of utensils – before the plate steadied. A sprinkle of grated cheese rained down, a few flecks tumbling into their hiding spot. The heat of the casserole lingered, radiating through the layers, but it was no longer the searing inferno of the oven – just a warm, heavy blanket pinning them in place.
The plate jolted once more as a new set of paws – the feline waitress from earlier – lifted it from the counter. Taylor’s stomach lurched as they were carried off, the steady sway of the cat’s gait rocking their tiny prison. The din of the kitchen faded, replaced by the lively hum of the dining room – clinking glasses, muffled laughter, and the faint tap of hooves on hardwood from somewhere far off. The dish was now approaching Kylie, oblivious to the fact that her meal contained her ant-sized roommate, battered but breathing, nestled deep within the dish she’d soon dig into.
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For her part, Kylie was ready to eat and eagerly looked up as the waitress returned to set down the lovely, full plate of her favorite dish. The plate clinked softly as the cat woman set it down in front of Kylie, the steaming casserole a fragrant mound of golden noodles and roasted veggies. “Anything else for you?” the waitress asked with a polite smile, tail swishing slightly as she stepped back from the table. Kylie shook her head, face curling into a grin. “Nope, looks perfect,” she said, her long tongue flicking out briefly in anticipation as the waitress nodded and slipped away.
Kylie leaned in, her tufted ears perking as she inhaled deeply – the rich aroma of olive oil, herbs, and baked spinach filling her senses. The pasta almost gleamed under the restaurant lights, a savory promise she couldn’t wait to savor. She grabbed her fork, hooves tapping the table in anticipation, ready to dig in. Guess Taylor can worry about their own food then. No way I’m letting this get cold waiting! Of course, she was completely unaware of her tiny, unlucky friend currently nestled deep within the dish.
Kylie’s fork sank into the casserole with a satisfying crunch, piercing the crisp noodle topping and scooping up a hearty mix of wilted spinach and roasted veggies. She hummed softly, her long neck swaying as she lifted the bite, the steam curling around her spotted muzzle. The flavors burst on her tongue as she took her first taste – savory oil, earthy herbs, and the sweet tang of baked carrot – her flat molars grinding the morsel to paste with slow, deliberate chews. Her eyes fluttered shut in delight, the restaurant’s chatter fading into a dull roar as she savored her favorite dish. With a satisfied swallow, she sent the food down her very long neck to begin filling her belly properly. Delicious. She scooped up another bite to repeat the process, salivating happily.
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Unbeknownst to her, Taylor was caught in that very bite. The fork’s tines had plunged directly into the carrot chunk they’d burrowed into, knocking them free from their refuge with a lurch that flipped their world upside down. Their oil-slicked scales slid over the surface of the softening vegetable, claws flailing as they tumbled onto a bed of spinach, pinned beneath a noodle’s sticky weight. The ascent was also dizzying, the fork hoisting them toward Kylie’s waiting mouth – a cavernous expanse framed by her broad, velvety lips. Her breath washed over them, warm and humid, carrying the faint scent of iced tea.
Taylor thrashed, their ant-sized form too tiny to break free from the moist pasta and oil. But their frantic chirps were drowned by the clatter of dishes and Kylie’s contented sounds of pleasure. “Kylie! Down here!” they squeaked, but their voice was nothing, indistinguishable against the restaurant’s din. Her molars loomed closer, a row of flat, grinding surfaces glistening with saliva, ready to mash the bite – and Taylor – into oblivion. Taylor knew if they went into that dark, hungry mouth, they would end up the same way anything else Kylie ate did – mashed into goo and sent for a long fall down her waiting throat into the first chamber of her waiting stomach. Even if those wide molars didn’t catch the poor little dino, the stomach would happily reduce them to mush in their friend’s rapidly-filling belly. Tense fear hung in the air as the fork tipped, sliding them ever nearer to her unsuspecting jaws…
The fork hovered just shy of Kylie’s lips, Taylor’s tiny form trembling on the veggie-laden bite, their eyes fixated on the molars that might soon seal their fate. Their claws scrabbled against the slick noodle pinning them, desperation fueling their struggle, when a voice cut through the haze. “Refill on that iced tea?” the waitress asked in that loud-but-polite service voice such workers have to master. She had appeared back at Kylie’s side with a pitcher in paw. Kylie’s tufted ears flicked, her head turning slightly as she nodded. “Oh, sure, thanks,” she said, her long tongue curling vaguely toward the fork as if to pull it to its destination.
In that split-second distraction, her grip on the fork had wavered slightly, tilting it just slightly. Just enough to shift the weight of the noodle pinning Taylor in place. Taylor seized the chance. With a frantic wrench, they yanked their oil-coated form free from the noodle’s grip and kicked off the spinach, tumbling through the air. The drop was a blur, their ant-sized body plummeting back to the plate below. They landed with a soft splat in a smear of herb-flecked goo – mingled puddles of salty oil and melted cheese – and gasped for a new breath. They hadn’t even realized they’d been holding their breath as they faced down their impending fate in Kylie’s mouth until now.
Kylie resumed eating, oblivious to the dramatic events playing out at a tiny scale on her dinner, her molars grinding each bite with rhythmic crunches. She was not quiet in her appreciation of the food either, happy sighs and moans punctuating the meal regularly. Taylor, breathless and burned and battered, dragged themselves through the sticky mess, fortunately avoiding the fork’s shadow as it stabbed and scooped around them. The plate was like a battlefield to their eyes – crumb fragments of masticated veggie loomed like boulders, and pools of sauce were slick ponds as deep as Taylor was tall. The heat of the casserole still lingered, further sapping their strength. They darted behind a wilted spinach strip near the edge of the plate, then slid under a piece of noodle too small and awkward to be worth scooping up by itself, their tiny heart pounding as Kylie’s appetite whittled the dish down to scraps.
Finally, the fork clattered onto the table, and Kylie leaned back with a satisfied sigh, lightly stroking her spotted neck. “Best casserole yet,” she murmured, unaware of Taylor sprawled in the gooey wreckage below. She looked around again, perhaps searching for -them-, and shrugged. Apparently, Kylie was ready to go home and nap off the meal. She flagged down the waitress and paid her bill, adding on a large tip of appreciation for such a satisfying dining experience. Then she was gone, leaving Taylor behind and assuming they would find their own way home.
Exhausted, their scales caked with oil and cheese, Taylor collapsed against a carrot sliver, too small and too spent to move. The plate gleamed under the restaurant lights, a sticky prison holding them fast as the meal ended… but they had survived. That was all that mattered. They could figure out how to get home now that the immediate peril was over. That was the last thing Taylor thought before slipping into a daze of exhaustion as the adrenaline that had sustained them this long finally faded and every muscle in their body felt like it gave out at the same time. They just needed… to… rest… their eyes…
Taylor fell asleep. Just for a few minutes. Or maybe a few hours. It was hard to say, and the rest was much-needed by their tiny, exhausted body.
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A sharp clatter jolted Taylor awake, their eyes snapping open to a world of blurred shadows and crusty goo. The oil-and-cheese sludge had hardened around them, gluing their tiny body to the ceramic plate in a sticky cocoon. Their scales were scorched and battered, their frill was matted against their neck, and a dull throb of aching pain pulsed through their tiny frame from the ordeal. The restaurant’s hum had faded, replaced by the stark after-hours quiet – punctuated now by the clinking of dishes and the low chatter of the cleanup crew.
Taylor’s head swiveled, claws twitching as they pieced together their surroundings. They were atop a towering stack of dirty plates, each one smeared with food scraps and grease, swaying slightly as a worker’s paw jostled the pile. The sudden change in light and temperature and accompanying loud noise that awoke them must have been the plate atop theirs being lifted away. The air around Taylor reeked of stale sauce and dish soap, and a loud, grinding whir sound growled nearby – a menacing, mechanical churn that set their skin tingling. Taylor couldn’t sit up, let alone crawl to the edge of the plate to see, but they knew what that sound was: the kitchen’s industrial-strength garbage disposal, its blades spinning in the depths below a sink drain as it devoured the day’s remnants with a wet, hungry roar.
A shadow loomed – a tired-looking young raccoon in a stained apron, wielding a scraper. His paw gripped a plate from the stack, the sound of metal on ceramic screeching as he raked food scraps into the disposal’s final, consuming abyss. Taylor heard the sounds of wet, messy destruction as the plate was scraped, cleaned, and set aside. Their last burst of energy went into trying to struggle free from their prison, goo cracking around them as they struggled to move. “No, please, no… not like this!” they rasped, their pathetically small voice lost in the din, claws clenching futilely within the hardened mess.
The raccoon’s paw reached for their plate, tilting it with a careless flick. The goo gave way as warm water streamed over it and a thin scraper pushed from the side. Taylor tumbled, sliding toward the edge as the scraper continued on its way down the plate behind them. Food scraps plummeted into the grinding vortex below, the disposal’s howl intensifying to deafening levels as Taylor could now see the scraps vanishing into the hole below. Taylor’s claws caught the very rim of the plate at the last moment, a shallow ridge in the ceramic’s decorative patterning. This left them dangling them over the horrible doom awaiting below, the unseen whirling blades a heartbeat away from shredding their tiny form into oblivion. Compared to this, Kylie’s waiting mouth and stomach might have seemed almost merciful.
The scraper reached the edge of the plate, and Taylor’s grip was loosened by the mingled food bits and warm water that it pushed over the edge of the plate – and over Taylor – in a wave. Together, they plummeted into the sink and right into the noisy darkness below.
The tired worker neither noticed nor reacted to Taylor’s tiny dilemma. There were more dishes to clean, and so clean they did. Pick up, scrape, rinse, soap, rinse, stack, repeat. Again. And again. Hundreds of dishes left by the dinner rush. The exhausted raccoon and his shift-mates just kept going, finishing off the rest of the stack of dishes, wiped up the puddles and stains left behind by the clean-up, and headed out. The lights were flicked off by the last one out, and the kitchen stood silent for the night, ready for another day. Tomorrow would be another busy day full of life and noise and customers to please. It was the restaurant’s ongoing goal that “Nobody leaves unhappy!” after all.