"OK Melissa. Let's get you cleaned up."
The footsteps of the girls approach. You can just about reach past the leg gathers, but you can feel that there is still more plastic fabric above it. While you struggle upward, you can feel your body rubbing against the sticky, uneven mess which was pushed all the way up to the edge of this part of the diaper. You grit your teeth and continue.
"I'm sorry I missed the potty, Ms. Alissa," you faintly hear the girl saying.
"No prob, sweety. You just had a little accident. We'll get you a fresh Pull-up to wear, alright?" Alissa replies.
"Okay, thank you. This one, please!"
"Alright, just stand over there, okay?"
You try to push your head through the leg opening, but your head presses against another surface past it, and the wipe your feet are stuck to is tangled in the wad of wipes below. You're not going to make it out like this.
In a stroke of sudden genius, you realize that it is your shoes themselves that are stuck to the wipe, and you can just take them off. You let go of the edge, and sink back a little way into the clump of wipes as they give a little beneath you. Reaching down, you untie your shoes and then remove your feet from them. Now you are free to pull yourself out without also pulling the wipe behind you. You begin to clamber back up again.
"Almost done wiping, here." Alissa reassures the five-year-old. "You really had to go, huh? This one is pretty heavy..."
"Me and Kirsten were playing hide-and-seek, I didn't wanna come out to go potty." Melissa replies with a guilty voice.
"It's okay, sweetheart. But next time, remember playtime can wait, the potty can't."
"Yes, Ms. Alissa."
"There you go, all fresh and clean again. Go wash your hands for me please."
You are about to reach the opening again when you hear the *thunk* of the lid opening again. Alissa drops in a swollen, half-folded Moana Goodnite wrapped around a few yellowed wipes. The heavy sodden diaper lands right on top of the bagged-up Pull-up you're contained in, and you are immediately thrown downwards as it lands. Your body is pushed straight into the mucky wall of waste. It feels as if you were just sat on by a hippo. Your face is once again pressed into the wad of wipes, while the rest of your body is indented into the turd that is now below you. The shock is so forceful, you don't even hear the lid closing afterwards.
The girls soon finish up in the room, and soon you hear the familiar open and close of the door. Compressed, as you are now in the rapidly cooling waste beneath, you begin to panic a little. You try to thrash about, but there is very little give in the pile of wipes above you. Breathing becomes difficult with the fabric of the wipe directly on your face. You are able to pull your arms up to your face and push it away a little. The stink of the girl's mess on your hands is amplified in the tiny bubble of breathing air you have created.
Do you still have the will to continue?
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