The bag landed with a *whump* and remained tightly closed.
Ryan heard the footsteps of whoever it was who carried him into the storage room gradually moving farther and farther away. Hoping beyond hope, Ryan screamed at the top of his lungs, trying to get his attention.
"No! Come back! I'm in here! Don't leave me like this!"
Of course, it was no use. As a jock strap, he didn't have a mouth or a voice. Just mesh and elastic.
Ryan gave up screaming. He listened as the sound of an old, rushy door slammed shut, echoing in the room. He heard the sound of a chain being fastened, then, moments later, the faint sound of another door being closed.
"I'm in the back of the school storage," Ryan said to himself. He looked around, but found it almost impossible to see anything in the utter darkness.
"This can't be happening," Ryan thought to himself. "I could be trapped in here for decades." Then the thought came crashing down on him.
"I'm going to be trapped as a jock strap for the rest of my life!"
If he couldn't get to Vinnie by the time the dweeb graduated, there would be no way for Ryan to be changed back.
And even if the bag WERE eventually found and Ryan pulled out from among the dozens of straps, he would no doubt be doomed to spend the rest of his existence being passed from one hormonally-charged school athlete to another, from one revolting experience to the next. The thought of being drenched in filth and used as a toy by these fetishists and deviants...it was too much.
"This is exactly what that dweeb wanted," Ryan thought. "That's why he threw me into the lost and found. To be humiliated forever."
He thought of his mom and dad, weeping in front of a police officer telling them the bad news that their son was still missing. If only he could get ahold of them, tell them he was okay.
But what would they say if they knew where he was. No... WHAT he was! The thought of his parents holding him in their hands, looking down at him with horror-filled eyes...
No.
"It's better that they don't know," thought Ryan in the darkness. Even though he couldn't move, he could somehow still look and feel. He looked at the straps that were his arms and legs. And yet, he could still, somehow, feel his heartbeat.
How long would it take for his fabric to finally deteriorate to the point where he might "die". How long do jock straps "live" anyway?
"How long am I gonna be trapped here?"