Brett screamed as the now garage-size ball rolled over him pressing him on the concrete. It was an indescribable sensation as he was pressed flat with his flesh conforming to the rough surface of the ball. He'd fortunately turned his head so that he could still see with one eye. His other either was firmly plastered to the ball. The ball was slowly rolling down the driveway toward the street. Each revolution pressed him more firmly on to the surface of the basketball. He couldn't even cry for help. The fact that he was still alive after being reduced to an immobile 2 dimensional object seemed completely beyond Brett's comprehension. It had to be a day-dream or some kind of hallucination. Perhaps he'd fallen and banged his head on the concrete. Yeah, that was it. It had to be.
He rolls into the gutter, and then...