We always like to think we're in control of our lives. Life often throws us curveballs and circumstances may mount, but in general, it's usually not 'too late' to fix things. But here, it really is too late. You're left trapped and wiggling in a big, toony raccoon's gut. You were eaten up with no more care than a hot dog and your frantic attempts to escape are only making things worse. The raccoon's downright enjoying them, basking in those internal tummy rubs as he wanders off, leaving your discarded clothing behind.

It's too late to do anything about this. No amoung of squirms, kicks or words are going to convince this greedy raccoon to cough you up. All you can do is try and stay as pleasing as possible for as long as you can. As soon as those squirms get tiresome, that gut's gonna finish its job. Worse, it won't end there. There will be no awkwardly explaining to the powers that be about how you're standing at the pearly gates thanks to some jerk raccoon. That belly's not letting go of your soul. Your 'afterlife' is just your soul getting trapped in the fat your body will create, used as a spiritual battery to keep the raccoon young, keep him energetic and enhance his pleasure.

It's too late for you. You'll never escape that raccoon gut, not in life or death. It is your everything now. It's too late for you because for all intents and purposes, there is no more you. Everything that was once 'you' now belongs to the raccoon. His belly lump, his pleasant wiggles and soon, his belly pudge. No more you. Just Bags.

Art by  jerberjer