Christine found herself lying face-first on the floor. Just a moment ago, as she recalled, nothing was out of the ordinary. She was getting ready to put an end to a long workday, ready to finally take off that silly mascot costume and take a much-needed shower. Then, without warning, she was slumping over where she stood, every part of her body suddenly and inexplicably gone numb. Now, she was trying to push herself up off the ground and ... nothing. Her arms, one of which seemed to be crushed underneath her torso while the other splayed out at an awkward angle from her side, gave no response, and neither did her legs.
Panicking, Christine figured she must be having a stroke, or something a lot like it. When she took the job, they warned her that the heat could get to her in that oven-like suit on a sticky summer afternoon like this, but she didn't think this was what they meant. Her next thought was to call for help, but she couldn't will her body to do that, either. She couldn't even feel her mouth - it was as if the front of her face, pressed harshly against the concrete, had been sealed up completely and her teeth and tongue had just vanished. That sensation led her to the disturbing realization that she wasn't even breathing - she tried to inhale through her nose, but was once again met with nothing. That nearly drove Christine hysterical with fear, certain that she was on the brink of death, until she realized she wasn't even suffocating - the feeling of desperate oxygen withdrawal, like she had experienced as a kid when a friend would challenge her to see who could hold their breath underwater the longest, wasn't coming to her now. It was more like time itself had just stopped. Her body was just totally inert. Lifeless.
Christine had no time to consider the implications of this any further before the illusion of stasis around her was suddenly broken. She could hear the door of the breakroom swing open behind her. A moment later, from her lowly vantage point, she could see two pairs of feet approaching the spot where she lay.
"Well, there's the costume," said a voice that Christine immediately recognized as her boss, Clark. "It's the weirdest thing. She didn't clock out yesterday, and she didn't leave it in the locker like she normally would. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought she made off with it. Now we've got the suit back, but Christine still isn't answering any of the messages I left her."
"How long do you think it's been lying there?" Christine didn't know him that well, but she was pretty sure the other voice was Ian, the coworker she shared her mascot role with. He was a pretty short man, which made him a perfect fit for a unisex costume, size small, like the one the zoo had. And he usually only came in on the days Christine wasn't working, which made her even more confused. What on earth were the two of them talking about? Were they thinking the suit was just lying there empty? How could they not notice that she was still inside of it?
"I checked everywhere again before I closed up yesterday, so either somebody got past security in the middle of the night or they dumped it here just a minute ago. Frankly, I'm still more worried about Christine. She's always been a responsible employee, this is so unlike her. I just don't get where she would have gone..."
"So should I go ahead and put it on, get started for the day?" Ian asked, clearly not as concerned about his colleague's whereabouts.
"Hmm? Oh, no, it's still dirty. Clearly hasn't been through the wash since yesterday. Take it to the laundry room, give it a quick run-through, and get out there when you're ready."
Ian bent down to pick up the suit. Finally, Christine thought, they'll try to pick it up off the ground and they'll realize I'm still in here. But to her total confusion, he lifted her entire body easily, and she draped limply over his arm. As if that wasn't disorienting enough, he promptly reached down and pulled her head off of her body, pinching it under his other arm.
As Christine was carried down the hallway, she could hardly believe what was happening to her. But there was really no other explanation aside from the most absurd one. She had somehow become the costume she was wearing. The loose sheets of fabric that were supposed to be her limbs were now dangling against each other, while the front of her stomach was pressed against the small of her back with no internal organs to get in the way between them.
Ian reached the laundry room and unceremoniously tossed her head into the nearest available washing machine. It bounced at the bottom of the basin and rolled onto its side, allowing Christine to watch as he fiddled with the rest of her body. He undid the zipper that ran along her back, which was an indescribable but certainly unpleasant sensation as her skin was ripped apart. Once she had been fully disassembled into a scattered heap of cushioned paws and patches of skin, he shut the door, leaving Christine in total darkness.
Then the machine started to rotate. She could feel every disembodied piece of herself, all knocking into one another and jumbling into one order after another. It wasn't long before she could no longer even guess whether the thing that smacked into her snout was a foot or an elbow. It wasn't painful, exactly, but it was definitely torture - she would have confessed to anything to make it stop.
After what felt like an eternity, the world's worst waterpark ride came to a stop, and a ring of blinding light appeared that resolved into Ian's bored-looking face. Christine knew better than to even hope that this was the end of it, though, because she could feel that she was sopping wet, that the fabric which had replaced her skin was absorbing moisture and it had to come out somehow.
Sure enough, next came the dryer. This time, there was a window, so she could actually see what was happening to her. Of course, this hardly helped matters, especially since her vision was coming from a head that careened randomly all over the place. It was nauseating, but she had no ability to throw up, so her dizziness just kept getting worse and worse until it resembled a migraine.
Finally, it stopped, and she tried to catch her breath - only to remember once again that she had no lungs. Still, it was a relief, and a part of her felt the same relaxed warmth that normally went along with getting out of the shower. For a moment, she thought the worst was behind her now, as Ian slowly picked up the pieces of her body and reassembled them one by one to sit in the locker where the costume remained when not in use. But all those positive thoughts came crashing down when, now that everything was still and she could think straight, she realized the hopelessness of her situation. She couldn't communicate with anyone. For all she knew, she was stuck like this indefinitely - which meant she would be getting the same rough-and-tumble treatment every day until her threads frayed and she was tossed in the dumpster. But as Ian finished putting the pieces together, it occurred to her that next was likely going to be the worst part of it all. She was about to be worn!