Was I to die some ignominious death, here, in pitch darkness, in a carboard box, inside the warehouse, or on the shelves of some supermarket? The next stage would be to put the tampon together with it's applicator. A loud beep and a flashing amber light indicated that the hopper containing the cotton waste had jammed up. It got bigger and bigger in my hands until I was forced to let go and I dropped These things jammed up fairly regularly, and a few prods would normally be enough to get things moving again. I realised that something was wrong straight away, as I found myself going further and further in.
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Not that this gave me any great relief. I could only put it down to a side effect of the shrinking process, but somehow, my normal bodily processes seemed to have been put on hold. My arms and legs were pinned by the compressed cotton around me, but I hadn't been exactly in the middle of the mould. There isn't much to tell about the days that followed.
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