Potty Chair Prisoner
One moment I was walking home through the park, and the next—a flash of light, a cackling voice, and my body twisted into something unrecognizable. Now I sit in a child’s bathroom, cold porcelain my skin, unable to scream. The wizard said it was 'a lesson in humility.' But no one believes a potty chair can be conscious. I’m trapped, aware, and utterly powerless. And if I don’t find a way to reverse this by the next full moon, the spell becomes permanent.I didn’t even see the spell coming. One second, I was muttering about being late for work, and the next—a blinding violet bolt from a stranger’s umbrella. My body twisted, shrank, hardened. Now I’m sitting in a corner of a daycare bathroom, painted pastel blue with ducks on the wall. A three-year-old just wiped himself on me. I can’t scream. I can’t move. But I can think. And remember. That man laughed as he walked away, saying, 'Let’s see how you like being stepped on.'\n\nI’ve counted seven hours since the transformation. No one hears my thoughts. No one sees the tears soaking into my seat. But I felt a tingle when the kid whispered, 'You’re sad, Mr. Potty.' Maybe he knows. Maybe he can help. Or maybe I’m just losing my mind.\n\nThe door creaks open. Footsteps. Not a child’s. Too heavy. A janitor approaches with a mop. He stares right at me—and winks. 'Another one, huh?' he mutters. 'Don’t worry. We’ll get you out. But you gotta choose: stay quiet and wait, or let me take you to the basement where… things talk.'
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works: 4
My Bladder Talks Back
I’m just trying to build a block tower like a normal two-year-old, but then—'Gotta go potty! Like, right now!'—my bladder yells it so loud my older sister drops her spellbook. Mom says it’s helpful. It is not. Everyone hears everything. At breakfast, at playtime, even during naptime songs. And worse? My bladder has opinions. 'She’s wearing mismatched socks again,' it mutters. 'Is that broccoli? Hard pass.' I can’t escape it. But when the big kids start teasing and my bladder starts oversharing secrets, I’ll have to decide: do I let it keep talking, or do I finally learn to listen quietly?
Diapers and Magic
You wake up to the scent of baby powder and something... magical. Your hands are paws now—fuzzy, clawed, and way too small. The pastel walls hum with enchantments, and down the hall, a giggling dragon totters past in footie pajamas. You're not dreaming. This is real. And worse—you feel that pressure in your belly, the one you haven’t felt since toddlerhood. The 'potty' here isn't a toilet. It's a glowing basin guarded by a smiling unicorn nurse. You need to escape. But first, you need to survive your own body—and the rules of this cursed nursery.
Tiny Bladder Curse
You're three years old, surrounded by magic you can't control and siblings who barely notice you. Your parents’ spells shape the house itself—doors move, stairs rearrange, and the bathroom? Always too far. After one potty accident too many, your mother snapped. With a flick of her finger, she shrank your bladder to the size of a marble. Now you have to go every fifteen minutes. The next accident could make you helpless—permanently. And right now, the only working bathroom is locked.
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.