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Shrunk Micro on Cheerios (Pictures + Story) - The Mad Shy Scientist Series
🕑 Added 2025-04-11 20:36:43 +0000 UTCThe way I write is kind of chaotic, when I get a good idea, I just start writing and writing until I finish it, and when writing a big series with many chapters like this one, The Mad Shy Scientist, I have also been all over the place! This story takes place in either Chapter 3 or 4, one night Ducky accidentally shrinks her second batch of tiny clones a bit too small, and after a gust of wind from the AC, they get stranded all over her kitchen in different places. This story follows the "adventure" of a micro clone, shrunk to 0.01 Millimeters tall, and got stranded inside a box of Cheerios! In the attachments below are some pov videos! Without further ado here's the story:
I woke with a jolt, my body shivering against something hard and curved beneath me. My eyes fluttered open, stinging from the faint light filtering through an incomprehensible haze. The surface I lay on was rough, a pale, golden-brown expanse that stretched out like a desert, its texture pitted with tiny craters and ridges. I pushed myself up, my hands trembling as they pressed into the grainy terrain, and a wave of dizziness hit me. My skin was bare, goosebumps prickling across my arms and legs, and the air felt cool, almost sharp, against my exposed flesh. I had no memory of who I was, where I was, or how I’d ended up here—just a blank void where my past should have been. My breath came in shallow gasps, each inhale filling my lungs with a sweet, faintly nutty scent that seemed to coat my tongue.
I stood, my legs wobbly, and surveyed my surroundings. The ground beneath me was a single, massive ring, its diameter stretching what felt like dozens of meters in every direction. It was a Cheerio, I realized, its familiar shape unmistakable despite its gargantuan scale. The realization hit me like a shockwave: I was tiny—impossibly, terrifyingly tiny. My mind raced, grasping for some measure of my size. A standard Cheerio was about 1.3 centimeters across. If it looked this enormous to me, like a small stadium, I had to be… I fumbled through mental math, my head throbbing. If the Cheerio’s diameter appeared to be roughly 130 meters in my perception, I was approximately 0.01 millimeters tall—a ten-thousandth of a meter. The scale was staggering, my body reduced to a speck, a mote of existence dwarfed by a single piece of cereal.
My senses felt heightened, raw. The air vibrated with subtle currents, each breeze a tidal force brushing against my skin. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, faster than it should have been, and I noticed something else—time itself seemed sluggish. My neural pathways, compressed to such a minuscule scale, processed signals at a frantic pace, like a fly dodging a swatter. The world around me moved in a syrupy slow motion, every sound stretched into a low, resonant hum. I could hear faint tremors, distant thuds that reverberated through the Cheerio, and my stomach twisted with a mix of dread and curiosity. I was alone, naked, and stranded on this edible island, with no clue why.
The Cheerio’s surface was a labyrinth of texture—microscopic grains of oat flour magnified into boulders, tiny air pockets forming craters that threatened to swallow my feet. I took a step, my soles sinking slightly into the dry, porous material, and the faint crunch echoed in my ears, amplified by my heightened perception. The cereal’s scent was overwhelming, a blend of toasted oats and sugar that clung to the back of my throat. My body felt fragile, my muscles straining under the effort of movement, as if my metabolism had accelerated to match my size. At 0.01 millimeters, my surface area-to-volume ratio was skewed—heat radiated from my skin too quickly, leaving me shivering despite the warmth of the cereal beneath me. I wrapped my arms around myself, my fingers tracing the contours of my ribs, and realized I was lean, almost gaunt, my body honed by some unknown ordeal.
The tremors grew louder, shaking the Cheerio with a rhythmic intensity. I dropped to my knees, clinging to the surface as the entire box—a cardboard skyscraper looming in the distance—tilted. The other Cheerios around me, each one a massive torus, shifted and collided with dull, booming thuds. I squinted upward, my eyes straining against the dim light filtering through the box’s opening, and then I saw her. She emerged like a goddess from the heavens, her face filling the sky, a planetary presence that stole my breath. Her hair was a tangled cascade of blonde, streaked with a vibrant red that caught the light like a comet’s tail, spilling over her shoulders in messy waves. She was young—26, maybe—her features soft yet striking, with a cute upturned nose and full lips curved in a sleepy pout. Behind a pair of slightly smudged glasses, her blue eyes blinked slowly, heavy with the haze of morning.
She was me. Or rather, she was a version of me—a giant, normal-sized mirror of my own face, magnified to an incomprehensible scale. Her skin was pale, dusted with faint freckles across her cheeks, and she wore a loose, faded pajama top, pale blue with cartoon cats printed across it, paired with matching drawstring pants that hung low on her hips. The resemblance was uncanny, from the shape of her jaw to the way her glasses slipped slightly down her nose. My mind reeled, grasping for an explanation. Was I a clone? A shrunk copy of her, some experiment gone wrong? She moved with a languid grace, her hand—a colossal expanse of flesh—reaching into the box, and I realized with a jolt that she was about to pour the cereal.
The box tilted further, and I screamed, my voice a faint squeak lost in the cavernous space. The Cheerios cascaded around me, a landslide of golden rings tumbling toward a distant bowl. I clung to my Cheerio, my fingers digging into its surface, as we fell together, plummeting through the air in slow motion. To my accelerated perception, the fall was a leisurely drift, the bowl—a gleaming white crater—rising to meet us like a moon. We landed with a soft clatter, the impact jarring my bones, and I lay sprawled across the Cheerio, panting. The bowl’s rim towered above, a porcelain cliff, and the giantess loomed over it, her face a serene mask as she shook out more cereal.
Her fingers, long and slender with chipped pink nail polish, curled around a milk carton, its surface slick with condensation. She poured, and a white flood roared into the bowl, a glacial torrent that crashed against the Cheerios with explosive force. To me, it was a tsunami, a frothy, icy deluge that surged around my Cheerio, threatening to sweep me away. I scrambled higher, my hands slipping on the cereal’s slick surface, as the milk lapped at my ankles, chilling my skin. The liquid was a vast, rippling sea, its surface speckled with bubbles the size of boulders, and the cold sank into my bones, my tiny body struggling to maintain its core temperature.
The giantess set the carton down, her movements deliberate, almost dreamlike in their slowness. She reached for a spoon, its silver surface glinting like a polished skyscraper, and I froze, realizing what came next. My heart raced, my pulse a frantic drumbeat, as I tried to make sense of my situation. If she was me, and I was a clone—shrunk by some unknown process—then she might be a scientist, the architect of my existence. The thought sent a shiver through me, not just from the cold but from the implications. Had she done this to me? Why? I had no answers, only the raw, visceral reality of my predicament.
A new sound broke through the haze—a second set of footsteps, lighter but purposeful. Another figure entered the kitchen, her presence announced by a flash of red hair cropped short, framing a sharp, angular face. She wore a purple sports bra and a matching skirt, her athletic build taut and confident as she moved toward the counter. Her voice, a low, melodic hum stretched by my perception, mingled with the giantess’s, their words indistinct but resonant. I strained to listen, my ears catching fragments of sound. “…Rylenne, you’re up early…” the redhead said, her tone teasing. Rylenne. The name hit me like a bolt—her name, and if I was her clone, mine too. I was Rylenne, or some piece of her, lost in this surreal nightmare.
The redhead—Amber, I gleaned from their conversation—opened a cabinet, her movements a blur of purple and red against the kitchen’s muted tones. I couldn’t make out much more, their voices a distant rumble, but the giantess—Rylenne—laughed, a sound that vibrated through the bowl and into my core. She stirred the cereal, the spoon plunging into the milk with a slow, deliberate sweep. To me, it was a silver leviathan, its edge slicing through the liquid sea, sending waves crashing against my Cheerio. I clung tighter, my body battered by the ripples, the cold milk soaking my skin and matting my hair.
Rylenne’s face drew closer, her glasses catching the kitchen light as she leaned over the bowl. Her breath washed over the surface, a warm, humid gale that rippled the milk and sent my Cheerio spinning. I could see every detail—her slightly chapped lips, the faint smudge of mascara under her eyes, the way her red-streaked hair tangled around her ears. She was cute, disheveled, utterly unaware of the tiny life trembling in her breakfast. My stomach twisted with a mix of awe and terror. If I was her clone, shrunk by some experiment, then this was her world—a world where I was nothing, a speck lost in her morning routine.
The spoon descended again, its curve looming like a steel moon. It scooped a cluster of Cheerios, the milk cascading off its edge in slow, glistening streams. I held my breath, praying my Cheerio wouldn’t be next, but the spoon grazed closer, its shadow swallowing me. The metal brushed my Cheerio, nudging it into the current, and I screamed as we were lifted, the milk streaming around us. The ascent was agonizingly slow to my perception, the world tilting as Rylenne brought the spoon toward her mouth. Her lips parted, revealing a cavern of pink and white, her tongue a glistening landscape that pulsed with life.
I was inches from her lips now, the heat of her breath a suffocating wave. The milk dripped from the Cheerio, carrying me with it, and I tumbled into the sticky residue on its surface, my body pinned by the cereal’s weight. Her glasses glinted above, her blue eyes half-lidded with morning haze, and I could see the faint freckles on her nose, magnified to constellations. She didn’t know I was there, couldn’t know, and yet I felt a strange connection—a pull toward her, as if some part of me belonged to her. The spoon tilted, and the Cheerio slid toward her mouth, the milk and cereal cascading into the abyss.
The world darkened as her lips closed around the spoon, the Cheerio—and me—caught in the sticky residue. I landed on her tongue, a writhing, humid expanse that pulsed beneath me, slick with milk and saliva. The taste was overwhelming—sweet, creamy, faintly metallic—a sensory flood that drowned my senses. Her teeth grazed the Cheerio, shattering it with a slow, deliberate crunch, and I was flung backward, tumbling across her tongue’s ridges. The milk swirled around me, a frothy tide that threatened to pull me deeper, and I clawed at the slick surface, my body trembling with cold and adrenaline.
She swallowed, the motion a muscular ripple that tugged at the debris around me. The Cheerio fragments slid toward her throat, but I remained, caught in the sticky film of milk and saliva, a tiny survivor on this living landscape. Her breath roared past, a hot gust that carried me forward, and I could feel the vibrations of her voice—a low hum as she spoke to Amber, oblivious to the life inside her. My body was battered, my skin raw from the cold and the friction, but I was alive, clinging to the hope of answers, of understanding why I was here.
The darkness deepened as her tongue shifted, pressing me against the roof of her mouth. The pressure was immense, a warm, pulsing cage that held me fast. I could hear her heartbeat, a steady thrum that echoed through her body, and I wondered—was I an accident? A failed experiment? Or was I meant to be here, a piece of her lost to the void? The milk dissolved around me, leaving me coated in saliva, my body tingling with the heat and the intimacy of it all. I was Rylenne, or some fragment of her, and this was her world—a world I could never escape.
She swallowed again, the ripple stronger this time, and I felt myself slipping, the saliva pulling me toward her throat. I fought, my hands scrabbling against her tongue, but it was futile—I was too small, too weak. The darkness closed in, the heat and humidity overwhelming, and I fell, tumbling into the abyss. The walls of her throat pulsed around me, a fleshy tunnel that carried me deeper, and I surrendered to it, my body dissolving into the rhythm of her. I was hers now, a fleeting spark in the vastness of her being, lost to the mystery of my own existence.
