tiny Again

Chapter 1
Tiny Again

Tiny Again

By Douglas Greene

My name is Herb Bollia; I’m forty-seven years of age, and twenty-three inches tall.

I wasn’t always this small. Up until a couple of months ago, I was 6’ 2” and weighed 220 pounds.

It all started when I went camping in the woods of northern New York with my ten-year-old daughter, Megan. We’d backpacked about five miles into the Adirondack forest for a father-daughter bonding trip of two nights. It was early summer, just after the departure of the dreaded black flies. The weather couldn’t have been more beautiful.

We set up camp next to small lake, and seemed to have the area all to ourselves. Night fell, and I built a large fire. We were toasting marshmallows and having a great old time when we heard it. A high-pitched humming noise, rather like a small electric motor, but much louder. Then we saw it: a glowing flat boomerang shaped UFO, nearly the size of the entire lake, hovered approximately fifty feet above the water.

I say UFO because I really don’t know what else to call it. It was unlike anything I’ve ever seen. It was dark gray in color, but absolutely glowed, illuminating the woods around us as if it were high noon. I immediately understood that what we were looking at was not of this earth.

I didn’t know what to do. The craft was immense; I couldn’t take my eyes off it. I suppose I should have grabbed my daughter and high-tailed it into the forest. Hindsight being 20-20, I now wish I had.

I’m not sure how much time went by. One minute. Perhaps two. Suddenly, from the ?corner’ of the spaceship, a noiseless beam of intense white light shot out. It hit me squarely in the center of my chest and knocked me to the ground. The beam had substance; it felt like a fist and knocked the breath right out of me. My daughter, standing just six feet away, was untouched.

The thing, whatever it was, disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. The damn thing went straight up; it was the strangest thing I’d ever seen in my entire life.

We would have hiked out of the woods right then and there if it hadn’t been so dark. Instead, we sat around the campfire, talking, trying to figure out what we’d just witnessed. We got into the tent and climbed into our sleeping bags about 2a.m., but I don’t think either of us really got much sleep.

At the break of dawn, we packed up and started walking back to the car. Looking back, I remember thinking that I’d lost some weight. My clothes felt loose, and my hiking boots were slipping, forming large blisters on the back of both heels. It took us two hours to hike out, and another three hours to drive home. I pulled in the driveway before noon.

On the drive home, Megan and I agreed that her mother was the only person we’d ever tell about our bizarre experience. It really wouldn’t help to go to the authorities; they’d only label me as a kook who was dragging his little girl into some sort of hoax.

As it turns out, we weren’t the only ones who saw a spaceship that night. If we’d turned on the radio instead of listening to Megan’s CDs, we would have discovered that thousands of people all over the world witnessed the UFO’s. And I wasn’t the only one who was hit by a solid beam of light; news reports were coming in from all over the earth that many, many people were ?zapped’.

Theories were endless. Visitors from outer space? Top-secret United States aircraft? I didn’t know what I saw, but I agreed with the other people who saw the thing close-up: it wasn’t invented on this planet.

The United States immediately went to a level red alert. The airports closed down, as did schools and most businesses. Throughout the entire world there was the concern that the planet was about to be invaded by creatures from outer space.

However, nothing happened. Well, almost nothing.

Reports started coming in from all over the globe that the people who were hit by the beams were all adults, not one of the thousands that were zapped were children. These people, evenly dispersed from all over the globe, were actually getting smaller, shrinking at an incredible rate of two to three inches a day! The beam had other effects as well. My fingernails and toenails fell out almost immediately, and I lost all of my body hair. I don’t even have eyelashes. My teeth became loose, and fell out one by one over the course of two days.

I suppose I should feel lucky. Some poor bastards ended up as ?short’ as ten inches tall. I’m at the tall end of the spectrum. However, it’s hard to feel lucky when you’re forced to spend your life trapped in a body that’s the size of a newborn baby.

I live in a world where common things seem enormous. My favorite leather chair looks like a prop from a science fiction movie, and I need a stool to climb into my own bed.

Most of the things I used to do are quite impossible now. I had to quit working. I can’t drive of course. Even sitting on books, I’m too small to sit at our dining room table. I didn’t protest when my wife retrieved Megan’s old oak high chair from the attic. I’m almost too small for that!

I can’t prepare my own meals, even if I could eat solid food. I’m not even able to open a can of soda. I’m absolutely helpless at this size.

The indignities that I’m forced to endure are endless.

The only clothes that fit me are baby clothes. Jenny, my wife, did her best to pick out things that were the least humiliating. My closet is now filled with stretch pants and t-shirts, all size 0-3 months. I’m sure that soon someone will begin marketing a line of clothes for all of the new ?little people’, as we are called, but for now we will have to make do.

Although thousands of people were transformed almost overnight, I am still a relatively rare site. In my hometown of 150,000 people, there are only two other people who were belted by the beam. I have absolutely no interest in meeting either of them.

I hate leaving my house. People stare at me when I go out. Keeping up with my wife as she walks through the mall or the grocery store is difficult, and I refuse to be carried. Being picked up and carried about as if an infant is perhaps the worst indignity of all. It only seems to reinforce just how tiny and helpless I’ve become.

My relationship with my wife continues to evolve.

Before this nightmare started, we had a loving, conventional marriage. Although she had a part time job, I was the primary breadwinner. I also tended to make all of the big decisions in our life, and she was perfectly content following my lead. As I lost my height, I also lost my position as head of the family. She makes all of the decisions now, and I have to adjust to the fact that she’s now in charge.

Our love life, of course, has completely changed. She doesn’t seem to care that I can no longer make love to her the way that I used to. Candidly, my penis is only about an inch long. I find her newfound enthusiasm for oral sex unappealing; she aggressively positions me between her legs nearly every night. I grudgingly comply. I think it’s the least I can do since I’ve become such a burden.

Inevitably, she insists on reciprocating. The sensation is both delicious and terrifying. First, she carefully cleans every crack and crevice with a baby wipe. When she lifts me up by my ankles, I almost expect her to slide a diaper under my ass. Satisfied that I am perfectly clean, she easily takes ALL of me in her mouth. I feel like I’m being consumed, eaten alive, the feeling is indescribable. It takes less than a minute for her to send me into a crashing orgasm.

She’s never liked the taste of semen, so she pulls away just before I shoot my seed into her massive waiting palm. She wipes off the tiny drops with a tissue and smiles, then pulls me close and falls asleep. She cuddles with me all night long. I can’t help but think that I’m now nothing more than a useful little pet or toy, a tiny source of amusement, but certainly not a man.

And then there’s my daughter, Megan.

She’s more than twice as big as I am, and I am sure that under any circumstances it would be difficult for her to relate to me as an authority figure. However, her mother’s condescending attitude towards me doesn’t help things one bit.

With my lack of teeth and hair, I look like a strange little baby and I guess Megan stopped thinking about me as her father almost immediately. At times, she almost seems to resent me, as if I were somehow responsible for her father disappearing. I try to draw her into conversation. I want to let her know that I’m still here, just trapped inside a tiny body. She refuses to communicate with me on any meaningful level.

My future terrifies me. Testing has confirmed that the people who were hit by the beam on that fateful night six months ago are gradually losing muscle tone and coordination. No one seems to know how far this will progress.

I recognize that I’m not as strong as I used to be. Initially I attributed it to lack of exercise. Walking is no problem, but climbing the steps in our house seriously winds me, and I avoid them whenever I can.

Chapter Two

It’s been eight months since that night in the forest. Things have gone from bad to worse.

I’ve gotten much weaker. I find it extremely difficult to walk or stand for long periods and my coordination has degenerated as well. Sometimes it’s as if my muscles have a mind of their own. Dressing myself is a challenge. Of course, my wife could do it in minutes, but I insist on being as independent as possible.

My speech is slurred, but I can still make myself understood. Not that I talk very much. What do I have to say?

Eating is a messy event. All of my foods are pureed, and I’m not always successful in getting them from the bowl and into my mouth. Again, my wife or daughter could spoon feed me, but I haven’t quite reached that point yet. Most of the time, there’s more food on my bib at the end of the meal, then in my stomach.

I’m now seriously considering suicide, since living like this is not living at all. I spend my days in front of the television, not watching, but lost in thought, considering just how to end my own life.

I’m sure that there are pills in the medicine cabinet that would do the trick, but the shelf is far out of my reach, even if I were strong enough to pull up a chair.

I own a twelve gauge shotgun, and I’m sure that I could figure out a way to pull the trigger with my head at the end of the barrel, but it’s a pump action, and I simply haven’t the muscles to place a shell in the chamber.

I’ve actually staggered about the house, looking for a good place to tie a chord to hang myself. The idea of slowly strangling, twisting on the end of a string, is repugnant to me. I need to fall from a height so my life ends with a sudden snap of my neck.

I think that Jenny knows what I’m thinking because I am never left unsupervised.

Reports of ?little people’ committing suicide are coming in from all over the world. In the paper this morning, I read about a man who imprisoned his tiny wife in a little cage to keep her from harming herself. She still managed to slice her wrists with a sharp piece of wire and move out of this world and on to the next.

I read somewhere that if you’re serious about slashing your wrists, you must do it lengthwise, not straight across. I wonder if I have the courage. I know that I haven’t much time; if things continue to deteriorate, in a matter of a couple of weeks I’ll be completely helpless and out of options.

I’ve seen at least a dozen doctors. Not one of them had a useful suggestion.

Jenny no longer demands my services at night, and I reject any offers from her. Sex is the last thing on my mind. She’s now genuinely sympathetic to my plight.

Megan avoids me like the plague, and frankly I’m too wrapped up in my own troubles to think much about it. Before I end my life, I’d like to write a note to her expressing my love for her and my sorrow for having to leave, but that is now no longer a possibility. My handwriting has become completely illegible.

I’m forced to wear a disposable diaper at night, as I lose bladder control when I’m sleeping. Jenny tapes it on me just before we go to bed. She even applies baby powder...how fun. I always close my eyes during this procedure and try to think of better days. Last night, when I opened them, I saw Megan staring down at me. Jenny had allowed her to watch the whole process!

I expressed my displeasure as strongly as I could, and I think that Jenny understood that she’d made a serious mistake. I know that it’s impossible for my wife to think of me as a man, especially when she’s putting my tiny body in a newborn diaper, but you’d think that she’d have a bit more sense.

Sense. Nothing about this makes sense. People aren’t shrinkable like a cheap pair of underpants! Were the aliens who visited last year playing some sort of a grand cosmic practical joke on the primitive earthlings? If so, I wasn’t laughing.

Chapter Three

It’s been ten months since I took Megan on that camping trip. Today is her birthday.

“Mom, can I take Daddy out in the stroller?”

“I suppose so,” she replies reluctantly. “But stay in the front yard. And be careful.”

My physical deterioration came to a halt a few weeks ago. I’ve been rendered absolutely helpless. I can’t talk. I can’t walk. I’m even unable to roll over on my own. All of the other ?little people’ ended up the same way.

I avoid mirrors, but I have seen myself. I really don’t look much like a baby, but I certainly don’t look like a man. I’ve become a drooling, spastic little alien.

Jenny and Megan take care of all of my needs. When I recall how angry I was that Megan witnessed my diapering eight weeks ago, I almost want to laugh. Under Jenny’s supervision, she now diapers and dresses me daily; last night she even gave me a bath in the kitchen sink.

I often wonder how the others are coping. To think that there are other out there even worse off than me offers a tiny bit of comfort.

I’m surrounded by all things baby these days. I’ve been moved to my own room, and sleep in my own crib. The room is complete with changing table, and a bureau filled with dozens of little outfits that fit a tiny person like me just perfectly.

I spend much of my time in a little carrier. I often leave the house with my wife, strapped securely against her breasts in a harness designed for a newborn. I’ve suffered so many indignities that I just don’t care any more. Arguing and struggling just takes too much energy.

I no longer eat pureed foods. I allow myself to be fed a special liquid nutritional supplement through a baby bottle. The stuff doesn’t taste that bad. Of course, I fought them at first, but I knew I’d lose in the end. Again, struggling against them all the time is just too much work.

In a couple of hours, Megan will be the center of attention at her eleventh birthday party. Actually, I’m guessing that I’ll probably be the center of attention. I’ll be passed around from little girl to little girl until my wife rescues me and takes me upstairs.

I can’t help but think that somewhere out there, perhaps hundreds of light years away, a civilization that is far more advanced than ours is having a collective laugh at my expense.

Funny stuff.

The end

 

---