Cry Havoc

Chapter 13
Shred

Chapter Description: from Book Two: Submission

monday 9 october – 1:45 PM

Willis had been right. The next stage actualized considerably more gradually.

So, to best put the incident that went down on Monday the 9th at about 1:45 PM in the halls of Tupper High in its proper context, it’s worthwhile to say a few words about the week preceding it.

On Tuesday the 3rd, the Tigers were in such emotional distress that they were relieved by the mere act of stepping on a bathroom scale only to find that they hadn’t lost any additional weight overnight. The three of them rose to unique challenges they hadn’t considered at first: caloric intake had to be greatly reduced, food intake would fall in turn as their stomachs shrank, and maybe they’d just have to find some new hobbies. If that all sounds as if they were merely grasping at straws, well... their chief concern was to regain a quantum of the respect they once enjoyed before a single day ruined it. They’d even give up the lording of intimidation over others if it meant no longer being shoved and jammed into lockers. They could doctor their personalities as long as they didn’t lose any more weight.

On Wednesday the 4th, the Tigers found that they had lost weight. They had begun to turn against one another... “You didn’t eat enough!” “Well, you said you were too full!” “You’re the one who decided against going to the gym!” This went on ad nauseum, until Loudmouth, whose observational skills had little peer, noticed that the bottom cuffs of his blue jeans were all scuffed up.

“Look at the shit on Loudmouth’s jeans, guys.”

Loudmouth had taken some time off from his leather boots, switching to a pair of more practical sneakers until he figured out what the fuck was happening to his body. But the cuffs of his jeans told a far more disconcerting story.

The scuffs were an inch long.

“You don’t think--”

Without further ado, the trio raced for Impulse’s tool drawer and removed a tape measure. Loudmouth stood up first, straight as a board, while Impulse did the measuring.

“How tall are you, Loudmouth?”

The boy wordlessly pointed to his mug shot, which he had kept as a souvenir. The photograph indicated 5’9”.

“Fuck.” The ticks on the tape measure clearly indicated 5’8”. “Now do me,” Impulse said to Recon, and the gang leader suddenly discovered that he was no longer 6’1”, but an even six.

“Don’t even bother,” Recon sighed in resignation. He allowed the tape measure to clatter to the floor. “I’m 5’7” now and I’ll be 5’6” tomorrow.”

On Thursday the 5th, Rico “Recon” Velez was 5 feet, 6 inches tall.

“Well,” Impulse shrugged, “if it’s any consolation, so’s Jon Stewart.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“Shame the only weight loss products that work also ruin your life.”

Let’s switch gears for a second with regard to Friday the 6th. You all know math. You all know how tall they were on Friday. But what you might not know is that a lot of other interesting transformations were sneaking their ways into the limelight as well. Worse yet, none of the Tigers could say with any certainty whether these changes had their roots in physiology or hallucination.

It was already a tragedy for Impulse, Recon, and Loudmouth to lose all of their lean upper body mass. But it was during this week when they came to learn of a new situation: Their legs were going tits-up, as well. Growing thinner and thinner, clumsier and clumsier, and, ultimately, taking the boys’ waist sizes with them.

The blue jeans were finished. Their waist sizes were too big, their cuts were too long, and, honestly, a shrinking geek can’t afford to keep replacing them. The garments would’ve had no hope to begin with... but when you start adding superfluous chains and status symbols, you’re not looking for pants. You’re looking like a crumpled-up belt for your ankles.

Saturday the 7th and Sunday the 8th were the shopping days. They had to be. The kids ranged from 5’3” to 5’8”, insisted on wearing their comically oversized undershirts and leather jackets (which, naturally, retained their steel), and wore old preteens’ pants they’d manage to scrounge from dusty chests in their attics that Saturday morning.

The jeans for which they had to settle were lightweight, baggy compositions perfect for people entering junior high. The Tigers actually had to train themselves to snake their eight- and nine-inch cocks down the thighs.

Impulse didn’t mind that part so much. He ambled aimlessly about the store, enjoying the sensation of his enormous, throbbing cock fucking his remarkably smooth thigh, held fast by the jeans he was at least considerate enough to purchase before engaging in his little experiment. He bit his lip, a wry smile crossing his face, as he felt his balls unload streaks of white-hot semen down his leg and into his brand-new Keds.

From across an aisle, Impulse could see Loudmouth shrugging his shoulders, arms outstretched. He took the opportunity of his afterglow to compose himself and approach his fellow gang member, who indicated he’d had no idea to where Recon had run off.

“Recon’s lost?”

Loudmouth nodded.

“God, I love irony.”

In truth, Recon had snuck away to another department. At first, he was a little nervous about inquiring to the clerk, but, paradoxically, his 5’3” height gave him a little more confidence.

“How can I help you, young man?”

“I... uh... I had an accident last night, the first since I was five, and I was kind of hoping they had--”

“Absorbent underwear,” the clerk smiled. “Of course.”

So, there you have it. Impulse found a pair of jeans he could fuck, Recon had another accident that night in his “absorbent underwear,” and they all lived happily ever after, until Monday the 9th at about 1:45 PM in the halls of Tupper High.

“Hey, fucker!” a random student screamed as he plowed his fist into the side of Impulse’s face. “Not so big any more now, are ya? Are ya!?”

“Please... just don’t...” Impulse couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Was he actually... begging?

Loudmouth got kicked right in the stomach. “Yeah, yeah, we get it,” another student thug spat. “You don’t talk. Real cute gimmick. Go back to China and build me something.”

Recon struggled to get away, crawling along the tiled hallway floors with all his might, but he could’ve sworn he was two yards from the door when he felt a third bully grab his ankles and start dragging him right back to where he started, his nose and face being abraded along the filthy floor all the while. “Anyone wanna see a Tiger Beat?” hissed the bully.

“So whady’all think we should do with ‘em?” This one sounded like the same guy.

“Give ‘em more of their own medicine?” Definitely the guy who had kicked Loudmouth.

“Nahhh,” said the first, audibly and obnoxiously chawing on tobacco. “I say we take away their medicine altogether.”

Suddenly, all three Tigers felt strong fists wrap around the rear collars of their treasured leather jackets. With the extremely reduced size and weight of the people inside of them, it was a cinch to pull each jacket, heavy, dangling chains and all, off the Tigers, and throw them against the opposite side of the hall. They slammed into the lockers with loud, steel clatters.

What was left on the other side of the hall was pathetic. Three tiny students, clothed in only undershirts and ridiculous children’s pants -- one punched, one kicked, one dragged -- moaning and trying to recapture their bearings.

“Whaddya say, boys?” sang #1. “Should we keep ‘em as trophies?”

“I dunno... they’re really expensive to feed...”

“Not the Tigers, asshole. The jackets.”

“Please don’t,” Impulse whined. The jacket -- everything it had ever represented it to him -- constituted his identity. “Have mercy.”

“Mercy!?” #1 chortled, unable to withhold a wide-open grin. “Troy Fucking Impulse Delvecchio’s interested in mercy all of a sudden? Well, fine. I’ll show ya mercy.”

With that, #1 whipped a straight razor out of his pocket and started slashing at the leather jackets. He went for the tiger emblems first, mutilating them until they were nothing but orange shreds of useless felt. But, drunk with rage and catharsis, he didn’t stop there, slashing at every last square inch of those jackets, stopping only when he stood in a pile of chain links and stinking confetti.

The Tigers were speechless. They had never seen such psychosis. And they never hoped to again.

#1 returned his switchblade to his pocket and followed his cronies out the front door of the high school, leaving Recon speechless, Impulse with a hole where his soul used to have been... and the strange, eerie, echoing sound of Loudmouth sobbing.

Impulse stuck his left thumb into his mouth and began to suck. If not now, when?

Fifty yards away, Vice Principal Benes had hidden behind a corner, using a blind spot as a vantage point to have seen the whole thing.

He shook his head.

“That’s a damn shame.”

to be continued