Warning: This short story contains flattening! And girls with bright pink hair! Be warned!


Sasha cautiously prodded her hot-pink pig tails, each reaching past her shoulders. Soon after, she adjusted her school uniform, rinsing her hands and taking a peak outside the restroom. She was certain that her class mates wouldn't have left her, after all, she had told two of her closest friends. Although, when Sasha stepped out of the bathroom, the hallways where deserted, excluding well-dressed business types adorn with expensive suits. "Dammit, where are they?" Sasha muttered hopelessly, only to spot a half-opened door down the hall.

The relatively young girl sprinted past a couple of surprised and scowling workers, only pausing to walk through the door, ignorant of the large yellow notices pasted aside the doors, warning those who enter to wear ear and head protection. Sasha found herself standing on a rather rickety steel catwalk, leading across the impressively large room, crossing at random intervals as though she had entered a maze. "Hello? Anyone? Margie? Sam?" A lack of response, combined with the abrupt slam of  a door on the other side of the room drove Sasha to sprint a tad bit faster than what her small red shoes would allow for. The girl instantly slipped over a stair, making a terrible decision to rely on a short railing for support. Sasha fell painlessly onto a conveyor belt, evidently leading toward the production line, of what seemed to be posters. "Whoa.." Sasha grumbled, trying to regain her bearings while the machine continued to rumble away, bringing her closer and closer to the high-pressure machines. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me!" She yelped, not realizing exactly how close she actually was to the crushing pistons of the astoundingly simple production line. Blam! Her legs, now bulging at the thigh, where her feet and shins had been crushed to a paper-thin form. "Yikes! Oh, sho-" Sasha shouted, as the piston slammed against her midsection, flattening her breasts, thighs, and hands. "Whoa.. this is.. weird.." Sasha mumbled, feeling insanely dizzy from the entire ordeal. Lastly, a third piston slammed downwards, flattening the bright girl into a paper-thin replica of herself, complete with shocked, ditsy look. It was a bizarre feeling, being flat. It was as though she had vertigo, whilst also staring up at the sky, unable to get a good look of the awkward posture she had been forced into. The rollers carried her to her next destination, some form of plastic sheet being laid against her skin, then heated to fit around her. Her body shining like a diamond, she was sent into another machine, then another. Finally, she was spat out on the end of the machine, two figures awaiting her.

"Hey, this is really detailed, isn't it?" A man's voice questioned. "Hmm.. It's more detailed than what our artist does. This should be on the newest cover of that beauty magazine Jenna's covering. It'd be perfect." A gruffer man's voice replied. "Hey, is it just me or is it's eyes moving."
"That's preposterous. Let's get this reprinted stat." Sasha watched with hazy eyes as she was folded in half, only to be slipped under the arms of a busy advertisement analyst.