I’d looked up the word ‘school’ on the internet before, but I never imagined that I’d actually be going there. The topic was pretty foreign at home, and Mum never brought it up. She’d simply shrug the idea off, and change the conversation’s path abruptly. When I turned thirteen, I almost thought I’d gotten through to her about it, but of course, that hasn’t been something we bring up at the dinner table anymore.

 My little brother, Max went to school though. He’s nice enough, as little brothers are, but I try not to get on his bad side, well, because let’s just say that I’m not exactly the strong fighter girl type. Max is turning 14 this year and has just gone through this massive growth spurt, which wouldn’t pester many, but in my case it’s borderline hazardous. Now, I have to watch where I step just to avoid getting squashed by his bus-like feet! Just to let you know, I don’t usually complain about ‘feet’, or the danger they are to someone like me, but seriously! Sometimes I wonder whether he even watches where he’s walking as he bounds through our home.

Every day, I watch him from my seat on the kitchen bench as he leaves for school and yearn with all my heart that I was different. That I could go with him. That I could pack my bag the night before as he does and sprint through the front door each morning to catch the early bus. What I get instead are the weekends, in which he lounges around, sometimes inviting his friends over to keep him company. I generally make an effort to keep clear of them and given my… situation, any smart person would. Fourteen year old boys always seem to have a knack for small, fragile things like me, the one exception being Max. To be honest, he doesn’t like his friends fussing over me either. That’s the one thing we had in common, I guess.

So when mum asked me about school a few days after my 16th birthday, I was pretty shocked. I’d been home-schooled ever since I could talk and after our countless arguments (all of which I’d lost), I’d really never thought I’d ever go to a real school and make real friends. Heck, I don’t even know any of my neighbours. I guess I’m not really a people person.

At first, I was scared by the idea of school, having so many people my age and therefore so much noise. Another odd thing about me is that I’m highly sensitive to noise, to the point where my ears pop at everything above a whisper. It’s why I prefer to wear earmuffs whenever I go somewhere other than home. Mum and Max try to keep it down around me, because as I said, a single shout could make my whole body vibrate. It’s just one of those things I’ve had to live with since birth, and will most likely be something I’ll never get a cure for. But hey, when I thought about finally starting school, my ears became the least of my worries.

After a few weeks of tossing the idea through my head, I told mum that I wanted to go to a proper high school. She’d pursed her lips when gave her my long anticipated answer, but nodded all the same, knowing that is was in fact her idea, after all.

 “I think a smaller school would be better for you though, Amy. Less noise.” She’d suggested. I nodded at that, rewarded me with a small smile that basically summed up her confidence in what she was agreeing to. She asked me if I wanted an interview with my principal, which I declined as it made me nervous. I’m not shy or anything, but people do scare me sometimes. I’m definitely used to their size after sixteen years of experience, but I don’t know anyone besides mum, Max and a few of his good friends. My dad left mum when I was born, more out of fear than anything. I guess he wasn’t all that happy about my… changing.

Ok, ok. I think by now, I’ve dropped enough hints about the fact that I’m a little ‘different’ to your average sixteen year old. I guess I should just spill the beans. When I was born, I had a rare cancer called Shrignakemia; the only cancer documented that one can be born with. And as you would have gathered, I was one of those unlucky babies who came out into the world riddled with the disease. Now, mum hasn’t ever told me much about my whole ‘cancer at birth’ dilemma, apart from the unfortunate details.

See, the kemo therapy that should have cured me wasn’t entirely perfected. An oncologist, Sally Ryan was testing a new serum that didn’t cooperate with my blood type. Don’t get me wrong here: It did cure the cancer, but the side effects weren’t all that spectacular. The aim of the serum I was injected with was to concentrate the cancer molecules and ultimately shrink them down to about a twentieth of their original size, which would kill them off… and what the doctors forgot to mention here, was that if the chemical combination of my blood cells was as rare as my own, there would be a somewhat awkward reaction.

Sally Ryan’s serum made not just the cancer but the rest of my bones and muscles shrink down to about a twentieth of their original size. So yes, I’m pretty small for my age. Small enough to fit in someone’s hand. Small enough to ride on their shoulders. Small enough to call myself five and a half inches tall.

Ok I’m seriously overkilling the word ‘small’, which is actually pretty weird, given how much I hate that word. I suppose it just makes me feel the way I look.

Small.

Miniscule.

Tiny.

Basically, I’m scared of Max’s feet because they could squish me like a bug. I have a permanent grudge with his friends harassing me, because they can easily grab me, suck me up using (my personal BFF) the vacuum cleaner or stuff me in a jar and on the bad days fill it with honey. I’m sensitive to sound because when someone shouts the sound is magnified by almost 20 and never fails in raining hell down on my eardrums.

Yes, it can be made clear that I am in face small. And to be completely honest, I don’t really know any advantages of being my size… but I’m working on it, I swear!  Well, it’d be a fair call to admit that I’m amazing at hide and seek. When I was younger, it would take mum and Max hours to comb through the house looking for me only to come out of it all empty handed. I’ve never lost a game. Ever.

But now, I’m 16, and games aren’t really what interest me anymore. Heaps of people feel sorry for me, in that sense. I’m pretty sure mum does, to say the least. She’s made me a bunch of things to help me cope with my disadvantages height-wise, anyways… When I was little she used to buy me Kellie Dolls, which was basically where I got my clothes from. They always had to be shortened around the waist, but hey, I manage. I’m quite tall, come to think of it (for my size) and slender, so doll’s clothes have always been a tad wide on me. Nowadays though, mum has taken to sewing me jeans and things, tailored to fit a little better. Shoes are hard though, so I tend to stick with a simple pair of socks.

Technically, I don’t really need a bedroom of my own given the amount of space I actually take up, so I sleep in mum’s room, in an old bookshelf which we bought from Lifeline a while back. It’s got heaps of rows, but I generally stick to the top one, which I’ve painted and decorated myself. Of course, I had to use the smallest paintbrush mum could find and held it like a long stick with both hands, but I managed to complete the task all the same.

People have this automatic assumption that I’m handicapped (which I kind of am, but hate to admit it) but I guess that doesn’t deny me from my rights to have a good time… which is basically what sums up my reasons for wanting to attend a real high school, at least for two years before I graduate. I pondered the topic for most of the night, wondering which electives I should run for, and what I want to get out of it. Maybe school wasn’t going to be so bad. Naturally, I was well prepared for it. I knew that I’d get the stares and the double takes I’ve had to cope with for my entire life. I knew I’d have to keep off the ground as best I could to avoid getting squashed. My mind was equipped with the basics of high school knowledge… but my body wasn’t.

The bookshelf shook as mum shut the door behind her, having finished brushing her teeth. I watched her with drooping eyes as she practically collapsed into bed. I crawled over to my own bed and wrapped myself up a thick square of polar fleece I’d bought on our last trip to the textiles store. I slid my eyes shut, as mum opened her mouth to speak.

“I’ve enrolled you into  St Agathas School after the holidays. According to the principal, it’s quite small. Has about 200 kids.” She said softly, and I groaned from my sideways position in bed.

“You do know that my description of ‘small’ is quite a bit different from yours.” I pointed out with a yawn, nuzzling under my covers.

“It was either that or the ‘Special School’.” Mum replied with a laugh, and in all my desperation, I was almost tempted to go there. Because to be truthful, two hundred skyscraper tall teenagers bounding around did little to motivate me about my future as a student. I’ve never actually been anywhere so busy before. A few times I’ve gone shopping with mum in the pocket of her handbag, or riding on her shoulder. She bought me a nice watch to use as a clock in my room, once. But even at the shopping mall the people kept their distance, and when they actually saw me, I was ridden off as a hallucination. It wasn’t like I moved much or greeted anyone, anyway. At school though, the students would know who I was and where I was. They’d know all about my size and how I was different. It terrified me.

 “You start after the school holidays.” Mum continued after a pause. “They last for the next two weeks.”

“Ok.” I replied slowly. “Max doesn’t go to St Agathas though, right?” That was yet another fact about this new school that shocked me: Max didn’t even go there. Nope. He attended the much larger and much more popular state school a few blocks away from our house.

“I know, so I’ve organised for your cousin Gabby to come stay with us over the next week. She goes to St Agathas and has offered to show you around on the first day.” Mum explained in reply, and my mouth dropped open. I didn’t know many of my relatives, aside from my grandparents, who would occasionally come visit. They were always nice, but I’d never met any of my cousins before. Mum has always thought it best to keep my little (pun intended) secret away from the public. I know she’s embarrassed, and a part of me doesn’t even blame her.

 “Does she know?” I asked after another episode of silence, and not even mum had to know what I meant by that. She sighed.

“Yes, and so does your Aunty.”

I didn’t reply to that. I was already scared to meet someone new, and even if that someone had even been informed of my unique size, there would be no telling how they would react. I’m already shocking at first impressions, anyway!

I closed my eyes as mum whispered her goodnights and rolled over onto my side to sleep. We rarely talk for long in bed due to the fact that I was always tired out of my mind. To put you in perspective, a trek around the house for me is like a hike up a mountain for everyone else. So in other words, the moment mum said goodnight, I was asleep.

*****

Marcus hadn’t been hard to capture.

 I came across him for the first time on a regular school day three and a bit years ago, though  it’s not like I count. He was thirteen; same age as me. A bit older though, as he told me on my first encounter. He’d been kept down a grade and was turning fourteen that year.

Now, I have to admit the first time I saw him I was shocked. I’d seen pictures, obviously, from my mother’s files, which were kept in a folder in her room. Marcus was one of the first documented there, with about a hundred or so cases following him. I think there were about twenty actual pictures of the effected in total, though. Of course, there wasn’t much special about the people in the photos, apart from one minor detail.

They were all the subject of my mother’s failed cancer treatment. It had shrunk them down to less than a tenth of the normal human size. The only organ not affected by the treatment was their vocal chords, which was thankful; otherwise they would have sounded like chipmunks for the rest of their lives.

So yeah, my best friend at the time happened to be a twentieth of my size. I was pretty much Marcus’s bodyguard, taking him places and steering him away from prying eyes. He was my friend though, and I will never forget that, no matter what.

 Not that he’ll ever forgive me for what I’ve done, though. I guess don’t really blame the guy.

Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself now… Anyway, three years ago, as I said, I met… No this is wrong. Ok. I should probably introduce myself. My name is Thomas. Thomas Ryan. I like my name; mum used to say she chose it for me the moment she first looked me in the eyes. If anyone wanted a visual of me, I am tall, quite muscular (if I might add), with blue eyes and tanned skin from years of working in the farm I live on. My hair happens to be dirty blonde, and I usually keep it cropped short. I don’t have many hobbies, aside from soccer, so I guess you could say that my life is pretty simple all in all.

My mother studied as a doctor for seventeen years, and begun to take an interest in cancers and tumours; the study of oncology.  She often explained to me about what she was doing, but hey, I get Ds for medical science in school. So basically, I had no idea and only now am beginning to grasp the concept.

She had the breakthrough before I was born. Basically, she and her partner Dr Jack Andrews had done it; they’d discovered a cure for a rare cancer, Shrignakemia which effected about 500 people in the long run. My mother saved lives, one of those being Marcus’s. But, her fame ran out as soon as the anomaly occurred.

 Just over 16 years ago, a baby born with the cancer developed… irregular side effects to the treatment, as I said before. Doctors linked the sufferers following the baby girl by their blood type; AB positive, which unfortunately also happens to be mine, for the trivia side of this. AB positive is so rare a blood type that my mother hadn’t even bothered testing it while trialling her cure. That was the biggest mistake she ever made.

Over twenty percent of the people affected by Shrignakemia, children and adults alike (and even newborn babies) were shrunk. Mum got off the hook at first, but when we discovered that protests had begun as a result of the failed treatment, we had to move to Australia, where we stayed in Sydney for some time. This was when I was ten. The protesters died down eventually, but when I was 14, they started up again. Mum and I had no choice but to move again, this time to a distant country town in Australia, with a small population and school- St Agathas.

By that time, I knew all about Marcus and the other shrunken people years before meeting them, through my mum’s work. She had a profile for each of them and recieved news on who was against her cure by Dr Jack, who had also gone completely incognito during the protests. At one point I’d heard that he’d had to change his name to avoid getting himself arrested or terrorised. The cure itself was still in use but wasn’t administrated to AB positive blood types unless they had permission.

Mum had several portraits of Marcus, growing up and all. She only kept them to check for signs of regrowth size-wise. There was none, of course. The effects were permanent. When Marcus and I were friends, mum was his role model. He loved seeing her and thanked her every time for saving his life. He had nothing against his size, or the consequences of it, like vulnerability and bullying. I always liked seeing mum’s face after she’d seen him. I knew she was proud that she had changed someone’s life and while neither of us truly understood how getting shrunk could improve someone’s outlook, Marcus did. That was all that mattered, at the time.

Then came the sentence.

The parents of one of the shrunken, Ebony Sawyer, who was seventeen and struggling with depression at the time, sued my mother for her lack of ‘research’ whilst trialling her serum. We both knew that she couldn’t hide herself away from this. She had seven days to appear before the court or a legalised arrestment would take place.

 The court hearing didn’t last long. Mum was whisked away before I could say goodbye into a cell.

A cage.

Forever.

I could only see her once a month. I don’t know what came over me after that. Maybe it was the foster care. Maybe it was the murdering of my father for attempting to kill Ebony and her family after the hearing. Maybe it was my school and the overprotective foster parents, Julie and Mark who arrived shortly after to raise me. I never figured it out.

 I stopped acknowledging Marcus, who struggled without me. He began asking his twin brother Cameron to transport him between classes while his other friends weren’t around. At one point he stopped turning up to school altogether.

Thoughts began to consume me.

It was them.

The shrunken.

They had put my mother in prison to rot in a cell.

They had ruined my life and killed my father.

So, after a month of letting anger and hatred boil inside me, I captured Marcus when he returned to school. He protested, kicking and screaming- biting, even, but I wasn’t fazed. All I could think about was revenge for imprisoning my mother. When I took him home, zipped up in my lunch bag, he never stopped swearing and screaming at me. I’d betrayed him as a friend, yes, but I didn’t care. He deserved to suffer the way my mum was.

Marcus screamed and cursed for weeks on end. He cried, rattled at the bars of the old bird cage I kept him in. He refused to eat anything I gave him, but of course that didn’t last. Months after imprisoning him, I broke both his legs, more scared than anything that Julie and mark would hear his pleas for help. I was afraid I’d done some serious damage, but he’d taught himself to walk again after they healed.

After that, he never spoke a word to me again. Something dark consumed him. Something I’d never seen before in a human being. A part of me feared the looks he gave me as I scrutinised him from outside the cage.

Marcus gave up after his legs healed.

But he broke something that would never be repaired when I got my hands on Ebony herself, a year later. They had known each other since the beginning. The connection between them shifted his shredded gears back into place and sent him raging and cursing again, louder than ever. I didn’t injure him as harshly again, but kept him in a jar beside my bedside table for weeks while he settled down. By the time that was over, nothing human remained in his tiny body. Not even hope.

I found others in the coming year, but none caused Marcus to react as harshly as he had with Ebony. To me, that was always a mystery.

The birdcage is a secret. I never told either my mum, or foster parents. They assumed that I kept the cage in my bedroom for my budgies, which I’d freed as soon as Marcus came along.

I told myself over and over again that revenge was the only way to live and that he deserved to be imprisoned, just like my mother. And the scary thing was that eventually, I believed what I was saying. Remorse and mercy left me. I forgot what it meant to have a heart, or a best friend like Marcus.

And now, after three years, remorse is trapped in a prison cell in my brain, with Sally Ryan.

With mum.

But why should I care?

After all, it wasn’t the judge that put mum in prison. It wasn’t the gun fired by the policemen that day that stole my father’s last breath.  

It was their fault.

And it would stay that way.

The next morning I woke up early, slipping into my usual routine that meant that I didn’t have to walk all the way to the kitchen. Without my mother’s helping hand in the mornings, I’d have had to climb down what I like to call heartbreak hill (or in my case heartbreak stairs) and let’s just say indoor rock climbing isn’t the nicest way to spend one’s morning. When I was younger I busied myself by working out different ways in which I could get around easier, like hang gliders and parachutes, but after I got caught in mum’s line of fire while vacuuming trying out a new invention, I solemnly swore never to tempt my own fate again. I’ve always had this weird phobia of the old vacuum cleaner.

Still half asleep, I rolled out of bed and meandered over to my closet, which was a cute little thing I bought at my favourite shop in the world, ‘Johnson and Son’s Dollhouse’ last year, when my clothes collection exceeded the limits of a lunchbox container. Sifting briefly through my various shirts, shorts and jeans, I selected a simple red tee and ¾ length tracksuit pants off a wire coat hanger and yanked them on. My hair was a lost cause as per usual, so I ran my fingers through it to get some of the major knots out, before tying it up with a small peg, like I’d seen ‘Arrietty’ do, in my childhood favourite movie, The Borrowers. Of course I looked nothing like the actual movie character, with my chocolate brown hair, bright green eyes and knobbly appearance, but I’ve never bothered much with looks. I haven’t really had anyone to impress before aside from Mum and max… until today.

My cousin, Gabby would be arriving at ten, and according to the wristwatch strung up on the far wall of my bookshelf bedroom next to an IPod Touch, that was sooner rather than later. As if on cue, Mum yawned, having just gotten out of bed. I watched patiently from my usual perch atop my bookshelf as she went about her own morning routine, which involved freshening up and throwing on her dressing gown. Within minutes, we were both ready to start the day.  

“Morning.” I called, as she stepped out of the bathroom, her hair a mess of wet blonde curls. I looked nothing like my mother, who resembled Max in almost every way. According to mum, I had my father’s chocolaty hair and green eyes… but he’s long gone now. Mum knelt down before me and held out her left hand, whilst checking her watch with the other.

“Good Morning Amy.” She replied wearily as I stepped on, only to scramble to her shoulder as she stood to her full height. I winced slightly as the usual wave of vertigo from the sudden change in altitude dulled my senses. Composing myself, I threaded my hands through her knitted dressing gown as she descended the stairs I so nearly had to tackle myself. When we reached the kitchen, I slipped off mum’s shoulder and landed on the bench, dive rolling to absorb the impact of the fall.

My body is used to wild, physically exerting stunts like that, having grown up too small to access things the normal way. For instance, in order to get from room to room, I’ve trained myself to use what few advantages I have over everyone else to their limit, one of which being the amount of gravity actually enacting on me. See, any normal person would only be able to jump about forty to one hundred centimetres into the air, give or take, but since gravity doesn’t affect my smaller body mass as significantly, I’m able to perform tasks which proportionally defy the laws of physics. Take leaping for instance. While a normal sized sixteen year old girl could cover about three metres in one leap, I could cover triple that. There are limits of course, which have never actually fazed me, like the fact that I would still die if I fell the scaled equivalent of one hundred stories, but being the resourceful person I am, I’ve found other ways to get around those barriers.

Mum rubbed her eyes and busied herself in making a jug of coffee for the two of us. It had been discovered around two years ago that with the caffeinated goodness fuelling my system I actually had a hope in going through an entire day without sleeping. On my opinion, coffee is the true reason why I even bother getting up in the mornings. It’s addictive.

 I walked over to the fruit bowl, which at my size could serve as the length and width of a house. Mentally scaling the height of its rim, I took a small run up and lunged upwards, landing in a crouch. I teetered on the edge of the bowl for a moment, before yanking a football sized grape off the bunch and dropping back onto the bench. I nibbled on the rubbery skin having taken a seat with my back propped up against the bowl, and waited for mum to make our coffee.

Between bites, I heard Max sprint downstairs. The kitchen bench I sat atop vibrated a little as he hit the wooden floor hard with bus sized sneaker clad feet.

“Morning.” He said to both of us, coming to a stop at the fridge. I rolled my eyes, knowing he’d probably spent the last minute or so getting himself ready for school, which started in less than half an hour. It made me wonder whether or not I’d slip into that routine when I finally started grade eleven in the coming term.

 “Morning.” I replied with a yawn, as he slammed a plastic cutting board down beside me to make a sandwich. I tried not to flinch at the turmoil the noise brought to my ears.

“I’m late for the bus.” Max mumbled more to himself than anyone as he spread peanut butter and jam on the sandwich. He fumbled with his school bag for a good minute or so before shoving the makeshift breakfast in his mouth and making for the front door.

 “Have a good day!” Mum called as he left.

We were silent for a while after that, which gave me time to swallow my last chunk of syrupy grape and lick my lips. “What’s on your agenda today?” Mum finally asked, filling me a thimble full of coffee.

I shrugged absentmindedly. “I don’t know. I guess I’ll just hang around until Gabby arrives.” I said.

Mum’s jaw dropped. “Shit! She’s coming today?”

“That’s what you told me…” I replied, sipping at my coffee.

“Damn it!” She hissed, skulling her own drink and glancing at the clock hanging on our wall. “It’s already nine. I’ve still got to bake cookies, get dressed, make lunch, clean the house…”

I listened to her blabbering as we go back upstairs from my usual perch on her shoulder. As she dropped me off at my bookshelf, I expelled a sigh of relief. At least I’d get an hour to compose myself before I’d meet one of my cousins to the first time in my life.

As it turned out, my hour of ‘me time’ was short lived. Gabby arrived at nine-thirty, earlier than expected. I laughed to myself as Mum swore under her breath from the bathroom, frantically doing up her hair and crashing downstairs again but my face fell almost as soon as she’d left.

I hadn’t hitched a ride down myself.

“Just great, Amy.” I muttered sourly, sliding off the bottom row of my bookshelf and landing in a roll on the thick carpet floor. Each tuft of wool reached my ankles. “It’s going to take me so freaking long to get down there…”

Now deflated, I trudged across the carpet with my arms crossed. “At least she’s left the bedroom door open.” I muttered to myself, squeezing through the two centimetre wide gap and entering the colossal hallway. My eyes flicker boringly over each piece of towering furniture, their size completely normal to my five inch tall wired brain. And it’s true, in a way that I know no different to living at my scale. Let’s not forget who was shrunk hours after actually living.

It took me four minutes, jogging, to reach the stairs. I tried to catch a glimpse of my cousin as she was ushered into the kitchen for a few of mum’s famous choc chip cookies, but almost comically, I was too short to see her. Grumbling under my breath, I perched at the edge of the first stair. The first drop was always the biggest, on my opinion. I leant back onto the balls of my feet for a split second, before springing forward, leaping down to the first stair. With practiced movements, I absorbed the impact of the jump with one leg, before using the momentum to drop to the next one. By the time I’d reached the bottom, my leg muscles ached from the constant strain and it was almost too much of a hassle to trek the last few metres into the kitchen. It was lucky for me that aside from the staircase, our house is pretty small.

Nearing my destination, I could already hear mum talking. I sprinted the rest of the distance to the kitchen and peeked around the corner of the doorway, thoughts buzzing. The tile floor stretched out before me like an ocean, and the bench loomed a full metre above, but I was still able to get a glimpse of the mum, who was sitting down with Gabby. I smiled to myself. From what my diminutive height allowed me to see, my cousin was beautiful, even with her back turned to face my mother. She was quite short (not that I’m one to judge, of course!) with straight blonde hair that curled in around her ears. Her skin was the same pasty white shade as my own, and she wore a simple red shirt and knee length jeans. Judging by the mouth-watering smell filling my nostrils, mum had already put out a plate of her cookies and was smiling and chatting to Gabby. I leant against the wall to listen in.

“It’s really lovely to see you, Gabby!” Mum gushed. “We haven’t had the chance to catch up with your family; at least not since Amy was born.”

From my angle, I couldn’t get a glimpse of her face, but I was sure that Gabby smiled in response. “I’m really excited to meet Amy, Aunt Leebeck.” She said, reaching for a cookie. “There was a boy, Marcus, in eighth grade who’d had Shrignakemia as a child. He was really nice!”

Mum lit up almost instantly, and I could sense the uneasiness about the topic of my meeting her draining away. Gabby’s words got to me, though. I had no idea there was another kid my size way out in Kingaroy, my town, let alone the rest of Australia. Automatically, I was bubbling with the anticipation of actually meeting him.

Mum seemed to be on the same wavelength and asked: “Really? Does he still go to St Agathas?”

Gabby’s face fell and in an instant I could tell that this conversation had just taken a turn for the worst. My cousin’s throat tenses as she swallows her bite of cookie. “Marcus was… he was…”

Gabby sniffled a little and my stomach dropped.

“…he was…”

She sighed.

“Marcus was killed. Three terms into high school. His family moved away six months later.”

“I see.” My mother said, her eyes filled with sorrow. I felt the colour drain from my face as I envisioned the boy, Marcus, my size and going through high school so early into his life. I pictured him smiling with friends and telling jokes. I pictured him attending classes, raising his hand to answer a question. I pictured someone not looking what was on the ground as they walked between class and smashing his fragile body to pulp.

And then I winced, knowing that the two of us are on the same boat, his sunken and mine barely keeping above water…

“Where are Amy and Max?” Gabby asked, breaking the silence left from my mother’s words. Her voice was quivering, after mentioning poor Marcus.

Mum was quick to reply. “Max is at school right now- it’s his last day so he’ll be home for the rest of your stay. Amy’s just…” Her eyes widened, probably realising she’d left me in her room. I couldn’t help but smile smugly at the reaction, despite the previous topic of their conversation chilling me. “Upstairs.” Mum finished, pursing her lips

Realizing I should probably intervene before mum went to get me, I sighed under my breath and cleared my throat.  “Actually, I’m right here, mum.” I interrupted, stepping out into the open and folding my arms across my chest awkwardly.

Obviously hearing me, Gabby turned around. Her eyes skimmed over mum in confusion for a moment and then finally settled on me, as I stood in the centre of the kitchen doorway. I felt my cheeks heat up as she met my gaze. I watched her swallow tightly in surprise.

“Oh… hey!” She whispered, half in shock. I drew in a long, agonizing breath and waited for her to continue…

****

“Thomas.” Marcus called from the birdcage, his voice weak from exhaustion but firm enough for me to catch. I didn’t answer, instead focussing on the soccer magazine I was reading.

“I know you can hear me.” My tiny captive’s voice dropped a little in volume. I heard him sniffle as he paced around the birdcage.

“Don’t ignore me.” Marcus yelled out again, growing angry. Irritated with his racket, I gave in and turned my head to the left to face his prison, which sat atop a stool opposite my bed. The five inch tall boy stood propped up against the bars, his skin white and pasty and eyes framed with purple bags. His ice blue eyes were hard as they bore into my own. Marcus was becoming a ghost; his only lifeblood being the flittering hope he’d always had, that I’d realise my mistakes and free him from his version of hell. I singed that a few months later.

“What.” I snapped, not in the mood for conversation.

Marcus’s eyes narrowed at the harshness of my words but he replied anyway, having gotten my attention. “How is my brother?” He asked tightly.

I didn’t speak for a long while after that question, not knowing how to phrase my response. Finally, I let out a sigh and shifted a little on my bed to get a better look at my old friend, starving and borderline insane as he stood inside the cage he’d spent the previous year locked in. He deserved to know what I was about to confess. Despite the wrongs he and the other shrunken had done in the past.

“Your brother left six months ago.” I told him. “I don’t know where he moved to.”

Marcus didn’t speak to me again after that, but for hours on end whispered the one word that to this day still sends pity coursing through me.

“Cameron…”

“Huh…?” I jolted awake, startled by the memory of two years ago.

“Got something to share, Mr Ryan?” My history teacher, Ms Smith asked instantly, her mouth set in a firm line. “Why don’t you tell the class about the dreams you were having?”

I lowered my head angrily, cheeks beginning to redden. My heart raced uncontrollably from the painful memory I’d just relived.

“No thanks, Miss.” I muttered to the teacher, as she commenced the remainder of our final lesson before the holidays kicked in.

Mum was bending down to help me up onto the kitchen bench in seconds. I smiled gratefully as she scooped me up with practiced gentleness and deposited me beside the pool sized plate of biscuits she’d made. My stomach gurgled before I could stop it, and I heard my apparent cousin giggle ever so quietly under her breath. Mind you, no sound ever escaped my sensitive ears, whether it’s a whisper or a yell.

“S-S-Sorry.” I said, stumbling over the word. A part of me had almost forgotten about the presence of my gigantic cousin… until now. Gabby looked more curious than anything, which surprised me. For a first timer, she seemed to be handling my somewhat odd size well. It didn’t seem too weird, I guess, since she’d once gone to school with a Shrignakemic boy, but it sure made the situation even more awkward than it otherwise would have been. I have no idea how that was even possible, but hey, neither is my size, come to think of it.

“Well… this is Amy.” Mum told Gabby, breaking the silence that had spread after my stomach’s rumbling. To combat that dilemma, I quickly grabbed a crumb from the plate of cookies and stuffed it into my mouth, chewing. The trek downstairs must have taken more energy out of me than I’d originally thought. As I busied myself in eating, I took the time to study my cousin’s face, which had been turned away from my view during my little eavesdropping session from earlier.

To put it simply, Gabby Leebeck was beautiful. Not like a model or anything, but she had a raw, natural beauty that I couldn’t quite describe using words. Her rounded green eyes were soft and gentle, only just higher than the glossy blonde ringlets of her hair, which curled inwards slightly at her ears. I couldn’t help but notice how alike the two of us looked, aside from our hair colour.

I was nervous talking to a complete stranger (even though we’re related) and given our dramatic size difference, that was totally understandable. If I made the wrong impression, she could easily crush me under a car sized hand… or flick me off the bench like you’d do to a bug. Of course, it’d be horrifying if such an innocent looking girl would actually do something like that, but hey- I can never be too careful.

For that reason, I decided to start with introducing myself to break the silence accumulating between us. “Hi.” I said in the most clichéd way possible. “I’m Amy.” And that, ladies and gentlemen is how I made my first friend… or cousin, to be more specific.

“I’m Gabby!” My cousin replied, without missing a beat. I was surprised by her answer, not because it was too complicated for my tiny person vocabulary or anything, but because she spoke so… naturally. It brought a swell of relief to my chest that she wasn’t judging me because I missed out on a growth spurt during puberty. It sure calmed me down a bit, to say the least.

Mum, however, appeared mortally shocked. Her eyes darted between us over and over again, before an amused smile made its way to her face. Eventually, she simply shook her head and stood up. “I must say, Gabby: whatever reaction I was expecting from you after seeing Amy’s condition was hardly this! I’ve gone and bought a few buckets, in case you vomited or something!”

Automatically, I rolled my eyes. “Gee, thanks, mum. You really know how to spring a compliment.” I said sarcastically, earning a soft giggle from my cousin.

Pink flooded mum’s cheeks. “You know what I mean, Amy.” She laughed. “Remember when your grandparents first saw you?”

I huffed out a laugh myself. “Don’t think I could ever forget it.”

“Your grandmother fainted from shock and we had to call the ambulance.” Mum explained to Gabby, eyeing me slyly. I stifled a groan, those particular memories beginning to swirl around in my brain. Let’s just say my introduction with my grandparents didn’t go quite as smoothly as we’d hoped.

“It wasn’t that bad.” I butted in quickly, noticing Gabby’s teasing smirk. “When she woke up three days later we got to know each other a little better…”

“Amy, you’re being modest.” Mum chimed in almost instantly, giving Gabby a faux sad smile. “She was in a coma for two weeks.”

This time, I didn’t bother hiding the groan. “Why don’t we change the subject?” I suggested loudly- not that my voice is loud in general, that is.

Luckily, Mum seemed to sense my annoyance and clapped her hands together lightly, as to avoid hurting my earmuff covered ears. “Do you girls want to watch a movie?” She asked with a smile.

I couldn’t help but sigh in relief at the idea. I was already tired as hell from mountain climbing downstairs and I knew only too well that whenever we’d all sit down to watch a movie, Mum would always bake something scrumptious. I licked my lips, envisioning chocolate cake, muffins, more cookies, sweets…

“It’s up to Amy. I’m easy.” Gabby said cheerfully, breaking my day dreaming session in seconds.

“Sure.” I smiled up at her, beyond glad that she wasn’t as curious as she could have been about my obvious size gap. While it struck me as a little strange that she wasn’t trying to poke or grab at me, it was a welcome change. And it meant that I could actually consider trying to relax. In fact, my entire morning had been spent fretting about meeting another sixteen year old girl. Now, it all seemed like a huge joke. It made me want to find out more about how Gabby had managed to grow used to people like me and this… Marcus.

I watched wearily as both Mum and Gabby stood up from their seats, easily towering over me as I sat on the kitchen bench. Brushing the cookie crumbs off my pants, I followed suit, only to realise that the two of them had already begun to walk into the lounge room together. “Really?” I hissed under my breath, jogging to the edge of the bench and cupping my hands around my mouth to shout out. “Gabby?!”

Mum was the first to turn around and she stifled a giggle at the sight of me, left behind in the kitchen. Gabby seemed to pick up my dilemma in following them and walked back over, coming to a stop inches in front of me. I stared into her stomach for a moment from my vantage point before craning my neck to meet her eyes. It was like staring up at the penthouse of a skyscraper. In other words, my neck cramped after two seconds.

“Um… Do you mind if you give me a lift?” I asked, feeling a blush form over my cheeks. “I’m sorry- I just… take a long time to get places, if you know what I mean.”

“Course.” Gabby replied, gently offering me her hand, palm facing up. Before I stepped on, I glance over at mum and mouthed: Did you tell her to do this? Mum shrugged in response, just as shocked to see how calm Gabby was with me. I was hardly complaining, but again, it was quite a change from all the bug eyed curious stares I’d grown so used to over the years.

“Thanks, Gabby.” I smiled up at her, trying to shake away my amazement as I tentatively stepped into the centre of her palm. Her skin was colder than what I was used to, but the way she curled her fingers protectively around my seated body was enough to make me feel just as comfortable as I am when mum holds me. I shifted to the back of her hand, leaning against the tree trunk sized digits like a fleshy couch. “You’re good at this.” I found myself saying, as she begun to walk into the lounge room with mum again.

I felt her giant eyes flicker down to me. “What?”

My blush increased. “The whole handling thing.” I explained quickly as she walked. “This isn’t your first try, is it?”

I felt my cousin’s pulse speed up beneath her skin. Her cheery smile drooped. “No.” She agreed after a tight pause. “No, I used to do this kind of thing all the time with… Marcus.”

There it was again. The mention of that Shrignakemic boy, who’d apparently died three years back when he’d been fourteen. It made my heart swell with grief for what Gabby and the rest of his friends had gone through. It also made me even more curious as to what exactly happened to the kid.

I didn’t bring it up though, afraid that I’d a nerve. Instead, I allowed Gabby to place me gently beside my doll’s pillow, which sat beside the normal sized couch on a coffee table in front of the TV. Mum had sewn it for me when I was ten to make lounging around a tad less hazardous, especially if someone didn’t see me on the couch before sitting down.

As my mother busied herself in picking out a movie for us, Gabby sank into the couch and turned to face me, still bathed in silence. I looked up at her and smiled again, trying to change the topic of our conversation. “You know, you’re the first person I’ve met who hasn’t tried to touch me.” I said, kicking my legs back as I sat with my head propped up with my pillow.

“I spose I’m used to people… your size.” She replied almost carefully. “Not that I’d ever do anything like that to you, though. It’s invading your privacy.”

“Heh, I’m used to it.” I said, waving off her statement. At that, she gave me a funny look and tilted her head to the side with a frown.

“Marcus used to say that.” She told me, sadness in her eyes. I opened my mouth to reply but found that I couldn’t. I bit my lip while I tried to sculpt my response.

“Gabby,” I started, chewing on my gums. “Could you… I mean… I’m curious about this Marcus.” I took a deep breath, praying she wouldn’t be offended or too sad to answer. “H-h-how did he die?”

As if on cue, Mum returned with a few DVDs for us to choose from. Gabby sighed softly in obvious relief that she’d dodged my question and instantly began scanning the covers. “You like 21 Jump Street?” She asked me, her brow furrowed in a mixture of sadness and desperation to change the topic.

 I forced myself to laugh. “Actually, it’s my favourite movie.”

“Great,” She said, looking over the other titles. “You have The Borrowers? I used to like that one.” She commented, glancing over at me.

I shrugged. “It was a childhood favourite. Although, I still find it pretty cool…”

We settled on 21 Jump Street and there was little conversation between us, aside from my retarded laughter on every funny scene. God, I sounded like a dying chipmunk. Halfway through the movie, Gabby spoke up, her head propped up on the couch’s arm rest.

“The TV must be like a cinema screen to you.” She said.

I shot her an odd look. “What’s a cinema?” I found myself asking, having no idea what she was going on about. Gabby turned to face me, and even from a distance I could feel her warm breath tickle my skin like a heater in wintertime.

“You don’t know what the movies are? Do you ever go outside?” She blurted out, taken aback.

Feeling oddly uncomfortable, I shrugged. “I’ve been shopping a few times with Mum, and things like that…” My voice trailed off. Wow, Amy. I realised. Your life is so mind-numbingly boring.

“What do you do during the day then?” Gabby warbled on, her shock growing by the second. “Don’t you have any friends?”

“No.” I replied, pursing my lips. “Most people kinda scare me, and I didn’t actually know there were more like me, let alone here.” I explained.

For a second, Gabby looked almost as though she was about to cry. Pity flooded her trashcan sized irises, probably aimed at me. It’s a common occurrence for normal sized folks to feel sorry for me due to my obvious disadvantages height wise, but I’ve seen it on such a large scale before. It practically made me pity myself too.

As the movie finished, I stood up, stretched my tired legs and stamped on the bus sized TV remote beside me to turn the movie off. Being the good host that she was, Mum returned from what smelt like baking with a smile on her face. Hell yes! I thought, perking up at the familiar scent. She’s baked us cupcakes!

 “What do you want to do now?” Mum asked with a smile, and before I could open my mouth to make another suggestion, Gabby spoke up.

“I’m going to take Amy to the mall.” She said, and it was as if the temperature in out snug little house had dropped. Mum and I collectively began protests in our heads. My mind raced. The MALL? I mean- who in their right mind takes their five inch tall daughter to the mall?  

Luckily, Mum is the first to come to my rescue. “I don’t know, Gabby.” The says gently, flashing my cousin a soft smile. “It’s not very safe for Amy with so many people around. Maybe you could just stay here.”  

“I’ll look after her. She said she’s never been to the mall before!” Gabby insisted in an instant. Hmmm. Apparently it wasn’t just Mum and I who had a habit of rehearsing their speeches. I frowned at her eagerness, but turned to Mum as she spoke up again.

“I suppose it’s up to Amy then.” She nodded at me. “Would you like to go shopping?”

Oh shit. They’re both looking at me now. I thought, eyes widening. Did I want to go to the mall after so many years cooped up in my own home? Heck- what did I even need there?

That was the thing.

After over a year without shopping, barely anything I owned seemed new and exciting. The last thing I bought was a custom made dress from this awesome shop called Johnson and Son’s Dollhouse. Cheesy name? Yeah. Do I care? Nah.

That was pretty much why I felt my lips forming the answer I knew I would regret.

 “Ok then…” I said, signing my life away to Gabby.

“I don’t have any money.” I told mum sheepishly  as Gabby went to get her jacket. Mum had her arms folded and was glancing at me with a classic worried expression as I sat cross legged on the bench in front of her. It was an expression that basically summed up her feelings on my expedition to the mall, which was of course, no.

She sighed. “Honey, I can give you some money. I’m just worried about your safety. What if you fall out of Gabby’s pocket?!” And so began her frantic pacing around the kitchen, ranting about the dangers of my future trip to teenage girl haven. I had to roll my eyes. 

“Come on, Mum!” I laughed lightly at her anxiety, trying to soften the mood. “It might be good for me to get out of the house!” 

Mum sighed, and locked her eyes with mine for a second. “I know you barely go anywhere, Ames. That’s why I thought of school.” She said, just as my cousin returned.

Gabby was now clad in a faded blue cardigan which bore a small chest pocket at the front (for my benefit of course). She smiled brightly as she approached us in the kitchen, and came to a stop just beside me. 

“Ready to go?” She asked, holding out her hand just in front of my sock covered feet. 

I returned her smile and nodded like the excited teenager I was embarking on their first trip to the mall. Without hesitation, I leapt into her waiting palm and allowed her to slide me into her front pocket, out of sight.

I could feel her soft heartbeat against the cardigan wool. Gabby looked down at me with a giant (even to my standards) smile and I gave her an awkward but excited thumbs up. My legs always feel like jelly when I’m in someone’s pocket, so I sat down and stared at the woven wool around me, which was loose enough to give me a pretty good view of the outside world. 

“Bye mum!” I called out as Gabby strode out into the open. Sunlight blinded my eyes, even with the shield of wool covering me. I squinted at my giantess of a mother and held out my hand in a wave. She returned it, and closed the front door behind her. 

I gulped.

Gabby moved quickly. Her feet pounded against the concrete path like drums. I threaded my fingers through my wool enclosure and stretched the weaving slightly to peek outside. Sunlight instantly blinded my eyes and I blinked to steady myself. Crap the world was big. Our house seemed enormous to me anyway given my stature as it was but as Gabby walked out into the neighbourhood I could safely say that it was tiny. Huge trees towered over even Gabby’s head and blotted out the sun in canopies. I craned my neck to stare at the green leaves, each bigger than me height wise. Cars zoomed past like jets. God- the whole world made me feel so, so incredibly small. I shrank back into the warmth of my pocket and curled up into a ball, trying to block out my unease. 
“You ok?” Gabby asked as she walked, obviously noticing me tense up.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and took a few shaky breaths. “Yeah. It’s just a bit full on!” I called up to her over the roar of cars passing. “I’m not really an outdoorsy person!” 

“Don’t worry.” Gabby laughed, smiling down at me. “Neither am I.”

I settled to look up at the sky from my pocket after that. I watched the white clouds float past like the cotton wool buds I use for pillows. Trees whistled in the light breeze. I opted to listen to Gabby’s slow breathing to try and ease my growing anxiety. And then, we were there.

The first thing I smelt was vanilla. Mixed with grease and McDonalds fries. 

“You can look, you know.” Gabby whispered to me. I slowly raised my head out of the pocket to get a glimpse of the mall I’d only been to once before. Shit. There were people everywhere. They bustled past Gabby, some with babies in prams, some with children by their side.  Some were clad in business suits and held briefcases at their wastes. Others, farmers probably, simply strode around smiling in overalls and straw hats. Being a country town, it was understandable. The smorgasbord of flashing signs and colours got my attention and I peered in wonder at the many lined stalls and shopping centres before me. Loud pop music pounded in my ears. I continued to peer in awe out of the pocket, until we reached the first store and I had to duck back down to avoid getting eyeballed. 

“It’s called Diva.” Gabby whispered as she moved to the corner of the store where there weren’t as many prying eyes. Hesitantly, I raised my head again to examine the store. “Sells jewellery and knick knack sort of things.” My cousin explained.

Girls crowded around the items on display and chatted to each other. Rows upon rows of shiny silver necklaces and bracelets were strung up in an orderly fashion, colour coded and everything. Gabby steered us to a stop in front of a rack of thin silver chains with different shaped pendants hanging from them. I watched Gabby’s hands sort through the necklaces from position at her chest. It really was surreal to be in such a clichéd teenage area, even at my scale. 

“They’re beautiful.” I breathed, as Gabby fingered through the necklaces.

“I know.” She agreed, modelling one against her neck in front of a mirror. 

“That would look so good on you.” I commented, glancing down at the charm it bore, which was shaped like a heart.

We continued on like this. Gabby would wander around in the stores and I would just look at whatever was in front of me. It was interesting, I have to admit. There were so many shops that caught my attention with their bright names. 

At the end of our little shopping spree, Gabby had bought a bag full of items. She told me she had a part time job at a nearby McDonalds when I’d asked how on earth she could afford it all. I could almost imagine her wearing the classic Maccas uniform and serving customers. It made me laugh. 
Gabby steered us to the back of the Mall eventually, and peered down at me. “There’s something I want to show you.” She said with a smile, and before I could ask what, we were inside the store. 
“Well shit!” I exclaimed in an instant, not even bothering to keep my head ducked out of sight as I took in the store. I mean- it was the same as any other store in this mall. There were rows upon rows of clothes laid out across a few tables, and a number of knick knacks I’d only seen in my dreams. It was ordinary- just like Diva had been. The only difference was… mind boggling. 
Everything was scaled perfectly to my size.

“It’s called Johnson and Son’s Dollhouse.” Gabby told me, before I could utter out something crazy. My eyes were wide as tiny person sized saucers as I took in the contents of the store. 

“I know!” I called up to her, swallowing the excited lump in my throat. Quite frankly, at this point I couldn’t care less whether people saw me. I just wanted to look at everything! It got me thinking, actually- was this the kind of mental drug that enters through a teenager’s body when they enter their favourite store? I’d always known this was my favourite store, anyways. I remembered coming here once when I was ten and I’d fallen in love with every single thing. Mind you, I hadn’t actually left my mother’s pocket that time. Now, after learning about Marcus, I just don’t care.

“Um, Gabby?” I called up to her, watching in satisfaction as her giant head turned down towards me.

“Yeah?” 

I blushed. “Stand still, will you? I’m coming out.” 

Gabby raised an eyebrow, but complied, coming to a halt halfway through the doorway of the store. In an instant, I’d scrambled up to her shoulder using the thick wool of her cardigan as handholds. I plonked myself down a few centimetres away from her mane of short blonde hair and sat up straighter to take in the store better. I felt Gabby’s eyes shift to mine.

“Marcus used to do that.” She mumbled, looking away again.

I shot her a confused glance. “What? Mountain climb up your cardigan?”

Gabby laughed a little “No, sit on people’s shoulders.” She said wistfully. “He used tell us it felt like he was normal sized up there, cause he was level with everyone.” 

I patted her shoulder gently. “I can see the appeal.” I said, deciding on a quick change of topic. “Wanna look around?” I suggested, gesturing to the store. 

“Okay.” Gabby agreed, smiling sadly. I decided to refrain from discussing this Marcus guy in front of her. While I didn’t know him myself before his apparent death, it sure hit Gabby like a ton of bricks at the mention of his name. I wondered what his personality was like to make him sound so… cool? Yeah- I’ll stick with that description.

“Hi, welcome to Johnson and Son’s Dollhouse.” A cheery voice brought me back into the real world and I jolted unintentionally on Gabby’s shoulder at the sight of the young man in front of us. 
“Are you looking for something in particular, ladies?” He asked, and I had to frown. Why isn’t he fazed by… me? The guy stood a few metres in front of us, wearing a button up white shirt and sunglasses. His dark black hair fell over his covered eyes. 

Gabby was the first to recover. “No, thanks. We’re just looking around.” 

The man smiled faintly and nodded, moving to turn away, but I gritted my teeth and stopped him in his tracks. 

“Wait!” 

“Hmmm?” He asked pleasantly at my comment, his head turning a fraction to meet my eyes. 
I swallowed back my nerves and sighed. I had to know. I really did. “Aren’t you… shocked? To see me, I mean?” 

“No…?” He said, cocking an eyebrow. After a pause though, he merely let out a sigh and pointed to his tinted glasses. “Can’t actually see you, anyway, I’m afraid. I’m blind.” 

The news was alarming, and kind of sad, but it explained everything. With a jolt I realised that with this guy, I could have been any other normal sized teenage girl entering his shop and looking around. To this guy, I was probably just a voice, perhaps softer than everyone else’s but still just a voice. 

Unfortunately, though, his next comment changed all that.

“I know you’re a Shrignakemic patient, by the way.” The man said quietly, taking a step towards us. “You’re… um… on your friend’s shoulder?” 

I flinched at his sudden closeness and Gabby edged backwards slightly, looking just as shocked as I do. “How do you…” I warbled, my palms beginning to sweat as I gripped the living daylights out of Gabby’s cardigan. 

“Were you a friend of Marcus’s?” He interrupted, taking us both by surprise. 

“What’s it to you?” Gabby snapped. 

The man stiffened at her harshness, and his shoulders drooped. A greyness seemed to surround him like a cloak at her question. “He used to work with me, here.” He said finally. “We were friends.” 
“Marcus worked here?” Gabby asked in shock.

“Y-Yeah. He was a really great guy. Always so…” 

“Positive.” She whispered, her giant eyes brimming with tears. She sniffled and wiped them with the back of her hand. Yet again, the mention of the strange boy, Marcus, left my stomach twisted into knots of sickness. I tried not to let the hollowness get to my head.

“Yeah.” The man sighed, looking down at his black leather shoes. “Never let anything get in his way.” 

Gabby smiled sadly, biting back a sob. “Everyone looked up to him in school, you know. And he’d always point to himself…” She laughed at the memory, although her face gave away her true emotions. “And he’d say: ‘How do you even do that? You’d have to be pretty damn small to look up to me.’”
“Heh.” The man grunted, smiling himself. “He’d say the same thing to me.” 

The two stood awkwardly in silence for a minute, their eyes drawn to the beige tiled ground. I pictured Marcus in my head once again, just as Gabby had described him. I wish I'd had the guts to tackle high school at such a young age. 

Then again, I wish I'd done a lot of things to make my life worth something. It's sad, to sit back and realise that I haven't actually left my own home in over three months, when others like me deal with their problems every single day. People assume that I'd be the most adapted to my size, being born like this. In reality, though, I'm just a regular girl trapped in a body too small for the world around her. I spend my days wishing I could just get a taste of being normal. I spend my days with my head in the clouds, watching years pass by before my eyes. I watch people grow up and go to uni, knowing that there's a high chance I'll never get to experience any of that. It made me feel dead inside.

Finally, the man offered his hand to Gabby. “I’m Kyle.” 

“Gabby.” She returned the smile, and before I knew what was going on, she'd shaken hands and he was now facing me, a warm smile on his face. He brought his free hand towards me and my mouth fell open, thinking he was about to trap me within those huge fingers. But the hand came to a stop just in front of my face, index finger raised. I sighed quietly in relief, before straightening up and grasping his offered finger in my whole hand. 

"I'm Amy." I said.

Mum was waiting at the front gate when Gabby walked down our path that evening. Her eyes skimmed nervously over Gabby but relaxed when I poked my head out of the pocket to wave at her. As we re-entered the closure of the house, I exhaled in relief. Being in new places always sends me on edge, despite the new attitude I've tried to stick with after hearing about Marcus.

Gabby ferried me into the kitchen after mum, who strode ahead to stir the Spaghetti Bolognese she'd been cooking prior to our arrival. "How'd the shopping go, girls?" She asked, pausing to taste the pasta sauce by the stove.

I’ve never liked the stove. Once, Max’s retarded friend James tried to boil me in it when Max went to the bathroom. Thank the gods Max found me just as the water reached the temperature of bathwater, or I'd quite literally be boiled alive. Of course, James still exists in my younger brother's friendship group, but mum has banned him from coming over while I am around. In other words, both of them now hate me for it.

"Really well, thanks." Gabby said pleasantly, dumping her bags by the island bench and taking a seat. I took the opportunity to vault over the rim of the pocket I'd been seated in for the past half an hour and come to a rough landing on the bench. Instantly, I began my routine stretching, working the feeling back into my cramped muscles. Travelling by pocket isn't ideal, and it almost always leaves my legs in a bad shape afterwards. "We bumped into a really nice guy at the doll's shop." My cousin continued with a smile. 

"Oh, Alex?" Mum asked, blushing. "He's a lovely man. I always talk to him when I'm there buying Amy's clothes..." 

'Mum!" I groaned, knowing full well of mum's 'crush' on the owner of the store. Every time she returns from a trip there, there's the same romantic expression on her slightly wrinkled face. I've always wondered whether Alex acted in the same way after their encounters. "It was Kyle, not Alex! Kyle's his son."

"Kyle?" Mum gushed, turning the stove off. "Oh, he's the splitting image of his father, that boy..."

It was like an angel had descended from heaven to break up the awkwardness when we were interrupted by Max sprinting into the kitchen with a schoolbag slung over one shoulder. I smirked over at my giant little brother as he came to a halt in front of Gabby. 

"You're late." Mum said, glancing at the clock hanging on the wall nearby. "Were you out with friends again?" 

"Sorry!" Max replied with a huff. His eyes flickered across the bench between Gabby and I, the expression on his face giving away everything about his thoughts. "You two get along, right? Hey Gabby, by the way." 

I rolled my eyes, as Mum served up the spaghetti. It was extremely noticeable that my portion was far smaller than the others- I had a small strand of pasta with a drizzle of meat sauce. To the others, it was pretty dismal, but in my eyes, the serve was far too much. It's lucky I exert myself to get around; otherwise, I'd be pretty damn huge.

We all sat down to eat, and Gabby giggled at my tiny portion as she shovelled mounds of her own meal into her mouth. 

"Very lady-like." I commented sarcastically, and she rolled her eyes, making a show of chewing her food with her mouth open. Max let out a loud snort. It felt almost natural, to have my cousin around. Sure, she was ten times my size and just as daunting as anyone else, but she treated me like an equal. Not many people have ever given me that privilege, and I'm used to that. I has been a nice change, though, and I hope that high school will benefit me in the same way. It'd be nice to feel normal, for once. Pretty damn amazing.

****

I looked in my mother’s files, scanning them for the profile pictures of the shrunken. They were kept in my wardrobe, away from my foster parents. Nobody knew I still had them. My mother’s studies were incinerated. The cure no longer belonged to her, at least not after the prison sentence. It was the government’s now. Kept in research facilities worldwide for modification, although from my knowledge, no one's come close to unlocking the reason behind why the serum induced shrinking. 
I was sitting on my bed, feet resting on a pillow. I didn’t know the time; three o’clock maybe? School had ended a few minutes ago and I’d just got home. My room was littered with the usual- socks, clothes, homework and… tiny people. I was used to their presence. Hated their guts and never talked to them, but I was still accustomed to seeing their small frames. My doors and windows were closed to prevent them getting out, but I had my curtains open to look at the countryside. 

I lived on a farm just outside Kingaroy in Queensland. It wasn’t a heavily populated area, but it had a main street and shopping centres etcetera. I liked looking out the window to see the cows, the rolling hills and the chooks in their coop. The farm calmed me, almost succeeded in draining my anger and sadness for my mother. I was lonely out here. I had school and all, but no close friends.
Not like Marcus… No. No.

He wasn’t my friend. 

I hate him. 

I scanned the room for him reflexively. He was sitting in his usual place on my desk, with his tiny legs drawn tightly to his chest, as though he were caving in on himself. His vacant eyes bore holes into the wood below him. 

Marcus never left that spot, I noticed. I only let the shrunken out for two hours a day, partly for entertainment and partly for the company. I never used to when it was just Marcus, Ebony and Russel, but once I nabbed Harriet, James and Abigail, I decided it was fair. 

Aghhh! I keep getting ahead of myself.

Ok. This is 2015 now and I have six shrunken. They live in the birdcage in my room, as I have mentioned before, and yes, I hate their guts. My room is quite large with a bed, a desk and a wardrobe. I don’t have much, since my mum is no longer here to support me. I have a timber floor, which isn’t even relevant, and a space for my schoolbag. In essence, my room is exactly what you’d expect from any normal teenager’s. 

The shrunken’s birdcage is in the far corner by my window. It used to house my two budgies, but I haven’t told my foster parents that I’d let the birds go yet and they still buy me bird seed. The shrunken are pretty much just a name I made up for the tiny people. Mum and I have used that term since the beginning. People probably think I’m mental and cruel for imprisoning them, but if they had suffered the way I had, maybe they would understand. It’s not like I have the life of dreams, after all. 

The occupants of the birdcage are Marcus, Ebony, Russel, Harriet, Abigail and James. I hate everything about them and only talk to them when I need to. Their company bothers me, more than it probably should. It used to be different with Marcus, but now I think their kind is disgusting. They hate me, but I don’t care. That’s how I want it to be. They can try to kill me for all I care. Maybe that would end my pain…  Ugh. These negative thoughts are beginning to get to my brain. 
Anyway, I was looking at my mum’s files… They were kept in a large blue cardboard folder and contained pictures of all the recorded shrunken in the world. I flicked through the pages lazily, scanning Marcus’s for a second. A feeling entered the back of my brain. Sorrow. It never reached my thoughts though. It was caged up, like the rest of my emotions. All I let free were hatred and anger. 

Nothing else mattered. 

Marcus in his pictures looked so different. His eyes were bright and happy, filled with colour and he was smiling with the enthusiasm that I used to admire during our younger years. His face was sprinkled with freckles and his sandy blonde hair was vibrant and roughly trimmed. Now my old friend is pasty and dull, without any hope left in his tiny little heart. 

I refuse to let myself pity them. They were there because they deserved it, simple as that. 
I continued looking through the profiles of the other shrunken, stopping at a thin, brown haired girl with dimples and pale skin. Funny; I’d never heard of her before. Maybe she lived in America or something. Most of the shrunken were there, seeing as mum and I had once called the USA home. I was lucky as hell to have got my hands on six of them. 

The girl’s name was Amy. A last name wasn’t given; maybe mum didn’t know much about her. She was sixteen. Didn’t look it, I noticed. She had a doll’s face and looked more like an innocent child than anything. I shrugged to myself and kept skimming through the files. The faces  flickered past my eyes and I forced myself to memorise them all. A young man in his twenties named Mark. A woman, Suzy, with two children growing up to quickly around her.  I felt a dull pang of the memories flooding to my thoughts, as I looked over each profile. I saw mum explaining her folio to me during my childhood, showing me her ‘miracles’, which she used to nickname the shrunken.

I pushed them away. 

They just pulled the hole in my heart open wider. 
And nobody could stitch it back up.

****

Mum carried me upstairs after dinner, with Gabby following close behind. Max hung with us at first, but muttered something about TV and jogged to the next room eventually. 

“Ten minutes, then shower!” Mum called out to him as he left, successfully splitting my eardrums. She dropped me off gently onto her bed with Gabby and went to have her own shower. I sat down awkwardly on the soft doona and sighed, the particularly adventurous day catching up on my weary brain. 

“Do you sleep here?” Gabby asked me, the silence of the room shattering. I laughed and shook my head at the mere thought of sleeping in a regular sized bed. 

“I would sleep here, but mum rolls over in her sleep so it’s unlikely for me to survive the night.” I explained, flopping onto my back amongst the soft white doona.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Gabby giggled. 

A thought struck me, and I sprang back to my feet, ankles sinking into the cotton ocean below. “Wanna see my room?” I asked, pointing to the bookshelf by the door. Gabby stared at it for a few minutes as I lay back down again to rest my aching muscles. 

“Nice paint job.” She finally said, and the absurdity of the whole situation forced a laugh out of my mouth.

“Thanks. Did it myself.” 

"Neat." 

Gabby sighed, and stretched out on mum's bed beside me. Her weight sent me on a bit of an incline on the mattress at first, but as she rolled over, it flattened itself out. I stumbled over the thick blankets so that was in line with her face and settled myself down beside her. 

“Thanks, Gabby.” I whispered; I figured I didn’t need to shout because her ear was one: only slightly smaller than me and two, I was lying right beside it. 

She frowned. “What for?”

I paused to stare up at the ceiling before responding. “For hanging out with me, I guess. For accepting me, despite the obvious.” I said, drowsiness beginning to take over.

Gabby sighed. “You know, Amy, you’re such a strong person, and that makes me guilty, because the reason my mother sent me here was because I’ve been sad lately with my life. She thought meeting you and seeing your ‘struggle’ would help me appreciate what I have." Her words trailed off, before she continued in a quieter tone:  "I guess I  needed another Marcus in my life  to give me my strength.” 

I swallowed, not really knowing what to say at this point. There it was again: The mention of the ever so famous 'Marcus'. Man; I really wish I could've met that guy. “It’s not as bad as it seems though, being like me." I said eventually. "I’m happy with who I am, and it's pretty much all I know. That’s all that matters.” I said. And to be honest with myself, I think I meant it. 
“You’re right, you know. I’ve just been stressed with school and stuff. That’s all.” She admitted. 
“You go to public school? What’s it like?” I asked instantly, changing our pretty morbid topic. She didn’t say anything for a few minutes but then sighed. 

“School is good. I have a few okay friends. I go to a small school though so it’s hard to meet new people.” 

“Yeah? What school?” I asked. 

“St Agatha’s. It’s catholic.” Gabby replied. “It’s good cause there are no uniforms.” She added, and I swear that the smile that lit up my faced at that point was wider than the limits of my jaw. 
“Hey, I’m going to St Agatha’s after the break. Maybe you could, you know, let me hang out with you and your friends. It’s up to you of course… I just don’t think I’ll make any friends otherwise.” The words spilled out, like they always do with me. It must be a Leebeck thing, I guess. 

Gabby didn’t need to think about my request for long. In seconds, she'd turned around to face me and smiled. “Of course, Amy! Geeze, I wouldn’t leave you on your own anyway!” She said, and the reassurance of having someone around to look out for me made me relieved beyond belief. I actually allowed myself to relax, as I muttered my next words.

“The only bad thing is that I’m not allowed to do sport or music. Instruments are way too big. And… if someone hit me with a soccer ball… I would probably die.” My cheeks went red as I spoke. 

“Lucky you,” Gabby mumbled. “Sport sucks.” 

“If I was as big as you, I would try everything.” I laughed. "Seriously! Sport sounds awesome!"

I tried to shrug the whole situation off, just as I pictured Marcus doing. It never did any good to fantasise being a normal size. I would try everything, though, if those particular dreams came true. The first thing I would do was get a licence and travel the world. Naturally, it would feel smaller than it does now, but I want an adventure.

As for reality? I don't exactly have a life plan. It wouldn’t change much, after all. I’d always need someone to help me around to avoid being trampled. I used to dream of becoming a builder and creating myself a home, but I can’t even lift a tennis ball without help. 

"Well, I'm off to bed." I said, getting to my feet and hobbling towards the edge of the bed. With practiced movements, I slid off and quickly grabbed the thick doona to soften my fall. My toes touched the wooden floor and I lowered myself to the ground, muscles straining from the effort. Gabby sat up and watched my actions with an expression that looked like curiosity as I climbed into my bookshelf and wrapped myself in my blankets. 

“Stop staring at me, you perve!" I laughed, as she gazed almost fondly at me in bed.

She rolled her eyes and stood up. "Sorry, sorry! I'm leaving!" I smiled to myself as she bolted out of the room like a maniac. We had more in common than I'd first perceived.

I wrapped the blankets tighter around me and let the darkness close in. I knew that tomorrow would be the same; a day where I felt so fragile and weak. And small. I know I'll feel that way every day. It's just a part of who I am. Who I'll always be. Until that is, someone, most likely by accident, will kill me.

I went to see my mother that day. It was the school holidays, so I had a full day with her. It had been a while since my last visit, and my heart beat excitedly in my chest as we drove in silence to the prison. My foster mum, Julie, took me to see her. She's been my legal guardian ever since the sentence, along with her husband, Mark. They're good people. Good parents. They're just not mine.

I told Julie that she could wait outside the prison when we arrived and she nodded. “I’ll be here all day, Jule. You can go home if you want.” Of course, I tried to sound reassuring, but failed. I always had too much on my mind. Today it was that strange black welt on my chest. It wasn’t pus, but a weird mass of snaking tendrils, too big for a bruise. Whatever it was though, I didn’t really care. Nothing at this point could deter me from seeing my mother as I entered the prison doors after waving goodbye to Julie. I stuffed my hands in the pockets of my jumper and whistled to myself under my breath. Rick, the prison manager, grunted at my presence and waved.

“She’s having lunch now, mate. Go on in to visit.” He grumbled.

“Thanks.” I said, without looking up. All the prison guards know me, and since I’ve been coming for three years now, so it’s not hard. I don’t hate them, seeing as they’re only doing their job. I try to blame most of my mum’s life sentence on the shrunken, and after a few speed bumps of sympathy, the method works. It makes me feel better. It makes me able to tackle school and get through the day easy. It's cruel, but it keeps me sane, having someone to blame for everything.

 I wondered through the prison hall soundlessly, my shoes squeaking a little on the shiny concrete floor. The place was huge; a tangle of wide hallways and cell doors with numbers scribbled on the slabs of metal. Each ward was guarded by a few security guards, most with scraggly beards and stout builds. Cameras were mounted here and there, although I never even spared a glance anymore.

The Prison was way out, in Brisbane, capital city of Queensland. It had taken, what, three hours to get there from Kingaroy. But it was worth it. I would get to see my mother, after almost a month of counting down the days. My visits are short, and I know that. There are lockdowns, drills and set schedules to follow, and just not enough time to compensate for visitors. It doesn't bother me as much as it used to, though. These days I was just grateful to hug my mother, even if it was just for a second.

 She greeted me when I entered the food court and visiting area. The room was large, covered with incognito security cameras and guards clad in black. The food was served in the far side of the room and rows of tables lined the floor. Mum, wearing the usual orange prison suit skulled her coffee and rushed over to me. She’d been sitting with a mob of rough looking prisoners, both male and female. There were about 100 in total in the food court, some with visitors nervously looking around and making small talk with their relatives. Perfectly normal.

 Mum’s hair had grown longer and her skin pastier but otherwise, she was the same person I saw every month. I yanked my hands from my pockets and gave her a hug, burying my face into her chest. It was good to see her, as always. Sally Ryan looked exactly like me; blue eyes, tanned and sandy haired. Dad had looked different from memory, but we'd loved him all the same. Watching him disappear from our lives had been almost too much.

Mum and I sat down next to Hugo, one of the cellmates. He was tall and lank, with grizzly brown hair and a chin long overdue for a shave. His grey eyes flickered over me, before returning to his lap.

“Hey Hugo.” I smiled and mum hugged me tighter. Hugo nodded a hello and pushed his fork lazily through his soup.

 “So,” Said mum. “How’s school?”

“Good.” I replied hastily. “I miss you so much, though.” Mum sighed and looked down at her hands, which lay motionless in her lap.

“Me too, honey.” She said quietly. I leant over to kiss her cheek.

“Are they treating you well?” I asked. Mum nodded.

 “Yes, I’m ok. Melinda’s nice.” Melinda was mum’s roommate. Their cell was somewhere in the middle of the prison. I needed a guard to show me where it was every time I visited.

 “What about food? They do know you’re vegetarian…”

 “I’m good.” She said. “Don't worry about me, sweetie. What about you? Are Julie and Mark ok?”

 “Yeah, they’re good.” I said.

We never had much to say anymore. I guess we just liked each other's company. It felt so good to hug her, to see her. It made her life in prison easier, and it made my own struggles disappear for an hour or so a month. I've always clung to that fact.

 I took her hand gently. “Let’s go outside, mum.”

Outside referred to the courtyard and prison oval. There wasn’t much- just an old basketball court and benches. Guards were positioned everywhere, and the perimeter was lined with a ten metre high electrified fence of barbed wire that curled over at the top.

 Mum and I sat down on a bench, and I put her frail hands in mine. “I’m going to get you out of here.” I whispered, as I do every time.

“Honey, we’ve been over this.” Her eyes were sad.

“I will. You don’t deserve to be here.”

“Thomas, it isn’t worth it.”

“No. I will get you out of this dump.” Mum hung her head.

“Baby…”

A loud wailing sound interrupted us. A siren blast. The nearest guard sprinted over to us and took my hand firmly. He yanked me to my feet.

“Lockdown. You’ll have to leave.” His gruff voice rang in my ears.

 “Robert, please… I haven’t seen him in months…” Mum begged, but the guard, Robert, only sighed.

“He’s not safe, Ryan.  He'll see you next month. I’m sorry.” The guard tugged me away roughly. I tried in vain to pull my arm free and give me mother another hug. Just one more touch. I wanted this to be real. I needed it.

“Not now Thomas! Visitors to the hallway!” Robert snapped, continuing to lug me towards the glass doors of the entrance. In the background, people roared: 'FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT!', but I ignored it and reached out to mum for the last time. She grasped my free hand and we stood there like that for a long, long moment, lost in each other's sorrow.  

“I love you, Tom!” She called out over the yelling accumulating around us.

Before I could reply, though, a glass door slid across, separating me from her tear filled face.  

“Mum!” I screamed weakly, though I knew it wouldn't do much.

It’s not like I hadn’t seen a lockdown before. They happened about three times a year. I just wished it hadn't been today.

Robert’s grip on my wrist relaxed and I pulled away and pressed my palms against the glass. Sirens rang in my ears, morphing into white noise as they adjusted. I mouthed a goodbye to my mother as another guard proceeded to lead me away. She watched me through the glass, one hand on its surface. A tear slid down my cheek as she dropped her gaze and was swallowed by the crowd of orange suits.

I had to get her out.

She didn’t deserve this.

****

The rest of the holidays passed in a blur. Max and I exchanged wry comment after wry comment, to the point where we had to be separated in mum's fear of a civil war starting up within our house. Towards the end of the two week break, she began lecturing me about school and friends. I listened most of the time, but wasn’t too fussed about it. I could do this. I was ready for anything... right?

Unfortunately though, that all changed when I woke up on my first day of school to the sound of mum calling Gabby. My cousin in question was going to give me a lift to St Agatha’s with her mum every morning, as organised by the parents. I was even put in the same classes as her and, according to mum, the students were well aware of my size. That news improved my mood... a little. To be honest, most of my confidence rode on the fact that these kids knew about people like me, having been with Marcus three years ago. It was a long shot, but hey- who lives short, anyway?

Yeah, yeah. I know what you're thinking.

I didn’t know what to wear, so in a haste I shrugged on a long sleeved shirt and jeans. My feet, as usual, were bare but I made an effort to slip on a pair of black socks to cover them. I tied my hair back tightly with a thick strand of wool and took a few deep breaths to contain the butterflies settling in the pit of my stomach. I could handle this… couldn’t I? Yeah. I could. I can handle anything. Even regular school. I'm going to be fine. It's all in my head. All in my head...

I leapt out of my bookshelf, feeling frazzled as ever. Questions were circling irritably in my head, like bees. As I braced my aching body to trek down the stairs, I barely even registered the giant shadow coming over my five inch tall frame, nor the tree trunk sized appendages that accompanied it. An involuntary yelp escaped me as I was scooped into a fleshy palm to land on my backside.

“Jesus you scared me!” I called as my brother lifted me up with ease.

Max ignored me, and instead chuckled to himself, practically jogging towards the staircase. I gripped the living daylights out of his thumb to avoid being whipped off his upturned palm.

“First day at high-school, Ames! You excited?" he asked, taking the stairs two at a time. I grumbled as I was dropped off at the kitchen bench in my usual spot next to the fruit bowl. Hands on my hips, I turned around quickly to survey the giant I called a brother.

"I've told you, like, a hundred times not to pick me up like that! I have to avoid getting a fricking heart attack every time!"

Max smiled evilly and winked. "I know, I know. Just couldn't resist."

"Well, resist next time!" I grumbled back.

"We'll see, big sis." He smirked, turning on his heels towards the front door. With another wink, he gave me the thumbs up, before departing for the bus.

 I rolled my eyes and took a seat on the bench, back against the rim of the fruit bowl. Mum mouthed good morning from across the hall. She was on the phone; probably with Gabby’s mum about my getting to school dilemma. Seeing as Max went to the town's public school, there wasn't really a possibility of him taking me, but after learning of Gabby's previous enrolment to St Agatha's, mum saw the convenience in the situation and was instantly begging her sister to drive me there each morning. She worked full time, after all. It was hard for her to afford to take care of two children (although I'm a hell of a lot cheaper to feed than Max) without Dad to support us.

Meanwhile, I grinned at the sight of fresh pancakes on the table. Mum used a syringe to make my pancakes and an eye dropper to squirt on the syrup. I chewed on the sweet cakes as mum got off the phone.

“Gabby’ll be here in ten. You ready?” she asked. I nodded and licked the syrup off my lips, relishing the sweet taste on my tongue. Mum only looked at me, a concerned expression on her face. Her lips pursed, the way they always do when she's unsure. “If school doesn’t work then it’s ok to come home early. Just relax a little about it. You’ll be ok.” She said.

“Yeah, I know.” I assured her quickly as I polished off my last pancake. Only when Gabby arrived did I leave my relaxed position on the bench  let mum scoop me up in her hand so I could say hi. She stood in the doorway, looking almost as frazzled as I did and was wearing a pink tank top and jeans. Her short blond hair spilled neatly around her face. It made me regret my own choice in clothing completely. Hey! After being cooped up inside all their life, it's hard to develop a fashion sense!

“Hi Amy.” Gabby smiled, and I returned it, the butterflies back and reproducing at an alarming rate in the pit of my stomach. I swallowed back the sudden influx of nerves and held my hand up in a dorky  wave.

“How were your holidays?” I asked.

“Good, actually.” Gabby said. “I caught up with a few of my friends- they’re excited to meet you!”

 I grumbled. "Once they realise how retarded I am, they'll seriously regret it!"

“Nah, Amy. You're not even half as bad as those girls!”

"I beg to differ." I smirked, already envisioning myself going to school and meeting Gabby's long list of friends. From memory there was Nina, Kaitlin, Emily, Ella, Sharon... I couldn't even remember half of those names.

“Nah, they’re really nice. You’ll like ‘em.” She said with one of her famous warm smiles. “Well, we'd better get going then. School starts in like, ten minutes.”

"Oh. Okay then." I barely stifled a gulp of anxiety as I was transported onto my cousin's shoulder. Mum took a step backwards and forced a smile. From a glance, I could tell that she was almost as nervous about the whole ordeal as I was.

But then Gabby closed the door and she was gone. There was a car waiting for us outside. My aunt, who I'd never even met before. Suddenly, everything was becoming more and more real. The big day I'd been waiting for the past two weeks had finally arrived...

And I felt like pissing my pants then and there.  God. I'm a wuss.

Gabby’s mum smiled at me hesitantly from the driver’s seat as she slid into the back of the four wheel drive. I was jostled around a bit on her giant shoulder, but was able to steady myself just in time to meet the curious stares from my aunt.

“Hello Amanda.” She said, flicking on the ignition. "It's been years."

I felt my face going scarlet. “Erm, hi. You can call me Amy though, if you’d like.” I replied in a haste. As the car began a quick ascent down my street, Gabby clipped on her seatbelt and sighed.

“Haven’t seen you in a while, Amy.” She said. “But I swear to god you’ve gotten taller.”

“Yep. Grew half a millimetre over the hols.” I said smugly, puffing out my chest. The faux confidence disintegrated instantly though, as Gabby's mum made the first swerve of the steering wheel. The shoulder beneath my tilted sideways a bit, and I clenched my hands around my cousin's shirt strap to avoid flying in pursuit of the windscreen. “I forgot why I haven’t been in cars many times. I hate them.” I swallowed nervously.

The rest of the journey continued in a similar manner. I was jostled around from my position to the point where I had to focus my attention wholeheartedly on keeping balance. So basically, it was almost poetic when we arrived. It was heaven for the first few seconds of Gabby leaving the scary-as-hell car. And at that point in my life, I received my first view of where my life would take a dramatic turn for the worst. I blinked the sunlight out of my eyes instantly, to take it all in.

School, let’s just say, was three times as big as my house from first glance. Teenagers swarmed around the front gate like flies and patted each other on the back as they met for the first time since the holidays. Tall trees grew haphazardly around the front so the main building was showered with leaves. People played games of handball on the concrete courtyard at the front. I almost jumped every time they whacked the tiny ball to send it flying across the court, to the point where Gabby had to  touch my slumped back with the tip of her pinkie finger in reassurance. Suddenly, it felt so strange to do this now. It made me really feel tiny. I've never truly had the space for those kind of thoughts, seeing as I know no different than being five inches tall. But now, watching teens my age running around and chatting made reality hit me like a brick. And for someone as small as me, that brick would do more damage than just a sore head and a concussion.

 For that reason, I tried to hide my face as Gabby walked through the grounds. I sensed people staring and pointing and a blush crept up my cheeks. Some muttered words like 'she's like Marcus' behind my back, and others who had never met Marcus were simply ogling me over. Gabby took me around the side of the building and through a hallway filled with chattering boys. One of them caught sight of me and yelled after Gabby:

“Is that the new girl the teacher told us about?”

His words send shivers down my spine, and I squeezed my legs against my chest and took a few deep breaths. My head throbbed with embarrassment from the constant scrutinising. It made me feel sick.

We rounded a corner and Gabby stopped. Big mistake. Automatically, we were surrounded. People I didn’t recognise shoved their huge heads in my face, their mouths forming slurred words I couldn't pinpoint individually in the crowd. Their voices were so loud that my ears started ringing dully. I held my hands to my ears and prodded at my temples. I was slowly getting a migraine.

"Yeah, yeah. Keep on yelling about shit, while my eardrums burst. You know, the usual Monday morning routine." I snapped more to myself than anything, but it seemed like most of my new fans got the message.

"Crap, sorry." A gangly boy with acne said, backing away. Most were boys that surrounded us, with prickly chins and long, un-kept hair. They breathed in my face like a hot wind.

"Yep. I get it." I called out over the crowd, folding my arms. This was definitely not how I'd envisioned high school as. It was seriously starting to tick me off. "The whole staring at the tiny girl thing. Keep it up, for all I care!"

"Y-You're her!" One of the giants breathed, almost in awe, which caused Gabby to snort. "I've seen you on TV! You're the one who was born with that cancer..."

"Yeah, that's me." I rolled my eyes. "I'm that chick who's grown up like this. Sucks."

That caused a few of my newly acquired fans to giggle. Man, my sarcasm was good.

"What's your name?" A girl called out over the crowd, and I stood up on Gabby's shoulder to get a better look at her face.

"Amy. Amy Leebeck."

"Nice to meet you, Amy." A few guys smiled, and I waved in their general direction.

"You too."

Someone new came into view from just above the sea of heads. She was a young woman, maybe about thirty, with short black hair. She wore a light blue dress and soft shoes, and just under her shoulder was the faded tattoo of a bluebird. I'd seen this woman before, yet only on paper.

My teacher. 

“Hey guys.” my apparent teacher said with a soft smile, as she fiddled with the lock on the door to our classroom. Instantly, the mob of students crowded in the hallway parted, to reveal her tugging open the worn wooden door. She straightened up and beckoned us to go in. I watched from my vantage point on Gabby’s shoulder as the crowd of teenagers began to file into the classroom, chatting amongst each other. My cousin walked up to our teacher last, and I was regarded with the classic look of curiosity as she took me in. But what can I say? I expected that much from my peers. Mum had filled me in on everything. What I didn't expect though, was my teacher's first sentence.

“Hi girls!” She beamed. "You must be Amy, am I right? It's been a while since... since I had someone like you in my class." There was a sharp pause between her sentence, where she brought her hand to her cheek and exhaled. I could only guess the cause. From what Gabby had old me during her stay, this teacher had been working there when Marcus had attended St Agathas. Apparently, he'd been in her home class, and the two of them had become pretty good friends. The mention of the boy's name always made me feel hollow inside, despite my best efforts to keep my confidence up.

“Well, my name is Ms Harrington." The teacher continued quickly, recovering from her moment of grief. "I’ll be your home teacher and maths teacher during your year. I’ve put you next to Gabby here in the seating plan. I'm sure she'll show you around. There's even a... um... small desk in my prep room, that one of my students used to use. he was like you."

“I know about Marcus.” I said gently, forcing a smile. "Thanks."

Mrs Harrington opened her mouth as though she wanted to say more, but closed it abruptly and continued inside the room. Eventually, Gabby and I followed. As soon as she'd chosen one of the desks at the back of the room though, all eyes were on me. Someone gasped loudly. A few people began muttering in hushed words to each other. The girl who'd asked for my name before smiled.

I bit the inside of my mouth as the nerves settled back in. After a minute, I leapt off my cousin's shoulder onto the hard wooden desk below, earning a few more gasps of shock from my peers. It made me want to groan.

Seeing no improvement in their interest in me, I focussed on the room’s contents. Ms Harrington had closed the door behind her and was settling herself down on a larger desk at the front of the room. Overhead was a clock that ticked away in the background. A huge blackboard stretched across the wall with haphazard scribbles and notes on its surface. Bookshelves containing textbooks and what looked like calculators lined the other walls. There were a few pictures hanging up here and there and posters littered any space of wall that wasn’t already covered. It was just like the classrooms I'd read about and seen in movies. The only thing odd about it was, well, me.

Ms Harrington coughed loudly and to my relief, most of the staring teenagers swung back around to look at the teacher. She placed her work bag on her desk and stood in the centre of the front wall, the same gentle smile on her face.

“You guys must be so excited to start the school term after a long break! Anyone wanna tell me something interesting that happened to them?” She asked the class, clapping her hands together.

 A few hands were raised. Gabby’s was one of them. Ms Harrington’s eyes scanned the room and she pointed to the gangly kid who'd apologised to me earlier. He seemed fairly nice.

“Yes, Daniel?” She said. The boy lowered his bony arm and grinned.

“I went to see my uncle in America.” He told the class, and I couldn't help but frown to myself. I'd never been anywhere, really, let alone somewhere as distant as America. Was this one of the things normal sized teens could get to do all the time? Travel? Man, it sounded awesome. Ms Harrington continued pointing to the teens with raised hands and listening to their stories. I listened in intently, too. It was a relief to find that most of the stares had gone... all but one.

It was a boy, tanned and visibly muscled, with sharp ice blue eyes and an intimidating glare. I almost yelp at the hardness behind those eyes as they took me in. They radiated hunger. Power. I forced myself to concentrate on the rest of the class, but my legs were shaking uncontrollably at the thought of those giant eyes, scanning me over like prey.

Mrs Harrington pointed to Gabby and smiled. "Yes, Gab?"

“I went to see my cousin for the first time.” She said, and my worried expression melted into a grin at the realisation that Gabby meant me. Now, there was only one guy left with their hand raised. I gulped loudly, noticing that he was that kid with the tan and blonde hair I’d just had a stare off with.

“I went to see my mother in prison, cause pretty much all the tiny people in the world hate her.” He said with exaggerated enthusiasm when Ms Harrington addressed him. Some people laughed. My eyes widened and then narrowed in on him. What did he mean by tiny people hating her? Somehow I had a feeling that this was aimed directly at me. Ms Harrington rolled her eyes at his answer.

“Very funny, Thomas.” She sighed. The boy, Thomas, smirked back at her, although in seconds his eyes were trained on my again. I did my best to ignore them, but I couldn't shake off the feeling that he had something against me. That comment he'd made- what exactly did it even mean?

 Ms Harriet silenced the class with a clap. “I was actually going to introduce our new class member, Amy Leebeck, but as she’s already been very subtly mentioned by our new class clown Thomas, I don't feel the need to anymore.” She said. "I think Thomas should introduce her for us."

In response, Thomas stood up and glared at me icily before speaking. “Yes, this is Amy. Let's all just take a minute to congratulate her for trying to fill Marcus's shoes as the school's midget.” He said with a voice laced with sarcasm. I chewed on my lip; this guy was making it painfully clear that he didn’t like me. I was tempted to yell at him but shut my mouth almost immediately after I went to open it. He'd mentioned Marcus's name, like it was a sick joke. Why would he say things like that?

Ms Harrington rolled her eyes again and walked up to stand in front of Thomas’s desk with her arms folded. She put her face up right next to his and hissed so quietly that only I could hear it:

“Your parents are going to receive a little call from me about this. You are 16, yes. But you obviously still act like a baby because you’re judging people you haven’t even met. If you criticise this girl or anyone else for that matter, I will personally see to it that you are suspended.”

Thomas blinked in shock and nodded, but there was the same smug defiance in his eyes. "You'll have a hard time getting onto my real parents, seeing as one's dead and the other's locked up for something she had no control over." He muttered, too soft for the teacher to hear. I caught every word though, and it sent shivers down my spine. I stared down at the desk below me and tried to focus my entire attention on its surface. It only worked for a second.

 Mrs Harrington regained her original posture and smiled at the class. “Well, we’ll start with a little revision worksheet I have for you. To refresh your memories.” She said, her voice quivering slightly as she spoke. She began to pass out huge A4 sheets of crisp white paper, bigger than my bed. There were scratching sounds of the teenagers writing in answers in pencil as they received the quesions. When she reached Gabby and I, her eyes flickered to me.

“You can share this desk with Gabby if you’d like, or there is an empty one for you beside her.” She said with a smile. I nodded, and she handed me a smaller A7 sized piece of paper which I gripped with both hands. Printed on it were a neat set of questions.

My teacher shrugged. “It’s the smallest size we can give you. I can’t even read it but I’m sure you can.”

 I smiled gratefully. “No, this is perfect. Thanks.” I said. The teacher placed an A4 sheet next to me for Gabby and moved onto the next student. I shuffled to the edge of the desk with my own paper so she could have room to write.

“I can’t believe you can read that!” Gabby marvelled, squinting at the words on my tiny sheet.

"Well, you can't cheat off me, if that's what you're thinking." I laughed, giving her a lopsided smile. Gabby grabbed a pencil case from her bag, which was sitting next to her chair and pulled out two pacer pencils. I looked at the heavy things awkwardly, knowing one of them was probably for me.

"Uhhhh..." Gabby began, placing the second pacer at my feet. We both giggled at the sheer size difference.

“Thanks.” I said, wasting no time in gripping the tip of lead at the top of the pacer and snapping it off. It was probably miniscule to her but fit in my hand perfectly. Gabby huffed a laugh, and the two of us began filling out our sheets. Some of the maths stumped me, but I didn’t find the work too confusing, mostly because I liked to read in my spare time. I don’t even want to know how many mathematics books I’ve read in the past. Well, obviously enough to let me skim through the sheet quickly.

I laid my pacer lead on the desk when I was done and waited. I decided to smile casually at the people catching glances of me from their seats. Not many people were done, so I sat patiently, taking in the class. I caught the Thomas kid looking at me again, but this time I stared at him back with the same amount of ferocity as he'd given me before. Our eyes locked for a moment, but he turned away soon after, clearly startled by my comeback stare. I smirked to myself at the change in his attitude.

We were handed two more worksheets after the first one and I seemed to finish them easily, which made me realise just how much of a nerd I truly was. I really needed to get out of the house more... The teacher looked at my work through a magnifying glass, which was a little awkward to be honest, and nodded.

“Good work. I’m impressed.” She muttered, before turning to address the rest of the class.

****

Why did she look at me? I knew who the shrunken was, of course. It was the doll-faced girl I’d seen earlier in mum’s folio. Amy. I felt a sudden urge to run and grab her, but forced the thought away.

Not yet, I told myself. I could get her later. It wouldn’t be as easy, though. She seemed to be glued to Gabby, the annoying chick who hung out with a bunch of skanks. We'd been friends once, when Marcus was around, but now I was so isolated from the rest of the class that we barely even exchanged a smile.

 I snuck a glance at Amy. She was looking the other way, peering intently at the classroom. I wondered if she’d ever left her house before; I have to admit, as much as I hate them, the shrunken make me curious. Once I pictured myself that size, traipsing around avoiding feet, the way Marcus used to without me. The thought left my head as quickly as it came.

]I focussed back on my work dully and scribbled in a few answers. My mind was side-tracked though,  by Amy. The stare she'd given me before radiated defiance. She was different from the others. Too... relaxed. I expected that much from someone who'd never been normal sized, though. Even Marcus hadn't been that calm in the beginning.

Ms Harrington whisked over so suddenly I jolted in my seat. She said nothing, but whipped my worksheet away and gave me a stern look. I glared back icily. I wasn’t in the mood to behave.

"Take another look at question three, Thomas." She snapped, but said nothing more, instead placing my paper into her folder and walking away. I sighed to myself and rested my head on the desk sleepily, thinking of ways I could confront the Amy girl.

****

Class continued like this for a good hour and a half before another ear shattering ring of the school bell sounded. I held my hands to my ears to mute the noise.

“Next lesson, people. Good work today though. Thomas, stay back. I want to talk to you.” The teacher called. I slid my little piece of lead into the pocket of my jeans and glanced up at Gabby as she packed her things away. Ms Harrington had collected our work sheets beforehand.

Our next period was art and because it was early April, we were decorating the shells of Easter eggs. I used a bunch of hair to paint mine. The theme of our egg project was to capture a normal part of our lives in order to ‘appreciate what our lord Jesus has sacrificed his own life for’, according to our teacher, Mr Archwood. Gee whizz that guy was religious. The whole 'catholic school' thing was really growing on me. The egg itself was wider and only slightly shorter than me so it provided a perfect big canvas. The other students were fiddling with their huge paintbrushes as they tried to include intricate details and designs. I decided to draw my perspective of looking up at the kitchen.

I dipped my jumbled strands of hair into the coloured paints and blotted a rough sketch of the back of my head on the base of the egg. I made my hair flow around me like a rush of long black swirls and added tiny white specks of paint for detail. My picture started to come to life as the kitchen bench stretched around my egg like a long stripe. I painted the faded pink and white tiles and the fruit bowl and sink. I almost felt guilty painting it; I mean- compared to everyone else, my life was pretty boring and dull. Staring up at the kitchen in the morning was quite possibly one of the most exciting things in my day, and that was only because I got to eat at that time! I loved food...

Gabby glanced across at my sketch and dropped her mouth. “Wow Amy! You’re so good at this! I can’t get in any detail on this tiny thing!” She muttered, holding up her egg in annoyance. She’d drawn herself amongst a bed of flowers that looked like the ones in our garden.

 “Yours is beautiful!” I said encouragingly. She looked surprised at my comment but shrugged.

“I spose I need to work on the colours.”

 I continued painting, adding colour to what was once bare. Well, that was what I was doing in technical terms. I tried to think like that for the rest of the day, and soon for the rest of the week. Adding colour to a life that was dull and bland. I started to talk to people, show them what I could do and in turn, make friends. I guess life was like that; unpredictable.

Of course, Thomas made no effort to communicate, but I received about a million snickers and frowns from him every day. I was never too sure of why he hated me, but eventually, his blonde hair and wondering eyes blurred into the crowd of students. I didn’t think anything bad would happen to me at school. I let things slide when they got tricky and soon, everything was almost okay. Until, it happened, that is.

****

How could I get her? She was never alone- always with someone. Her friends, her mum and her little brother. She was always staring curiously at me in class, and I hated it. I gave her dark stares when she looked, causing her to avert her gaze and redden. I watched her go about her days happily, almost easily. She reminded me so much of Marcus in that sense.

I started following Gabby and Amy home on my bike. They got lifts from someone, Gabby’s mum, as I suspected. I learnt that Amy lived nearby, off the suburbs and out near the country. Her house was small, almost like a cottage, but it had two floors and a nice enough garden. I don’t judge people by their houses, of course.

I decided after a while to confront her after Gabby’s mum had dropped her at her house gate. It took her a while to walk from there to her doorstep so all I had to do was sneak up on her, climb over the fence with a jar perhaps… The possibilities were endless.

I learnt a little bit about Amy before I got her alone. She could do what people called free running or parkour. It was like acrobatics. Pretty much all the shrunken could do it. I watched her sprint up her driveway and backflip onto her doorstep, or dive through a gap in her fence to get inside. She was good at it- better than the others. I wasn’t worried about it, of course. She could run fast, but I could walk faster. She could dodge but I could grab. I could put a jar over her as easy as putting a jar over an ant…

****

Weeks passed so quickly, to the point where I barely had time for mum and Max with all the homework. My brain was always tuned into work and study and never seemed to register people around me.

That was probably why I didn’t register the dark, hovering shadow nearby as I waved goodbye to Gabby and her mum in the afternoon, after they dropped me off at home.

I stood on the rough pavement and turned to walk inside. The sun cast a warm glow over my skin. I clambered up onto the doorstep and prepared to shout out for mum but suddenly the warmth faded. A cold shadow washed over me like a wave and I spun around in shock. My eyes didn’t have time to take anything in before I was shoved into something hard and clear. I let out a startled yelp, but when my head whacked the side of the jar, everything went black...

I didn’t even know I'd been captured... until I woke up in a cold, dark environment. "Well, shit." I muttered, rubbing my arms.

The back of my head throbbed, and a bruised lump was forming near my neck. Breathing slowly, I opened my eyes. Light flooded my vision and I blinked instinctively. I wasn’t sure what to expect, to be honest. My abduction had occurred so quickly that I didn’t have the time to consider where my captor would take me. I was sitting on a soft knitted blanket in a small, clear walled room.

An empty fish tank, I thought. The walls were made of thick glass and a battered water filter was attached to the ceiling. There were even a few doll’s pillows and other knick knacks scattered around me, but other than that, my prison was bare.

I was alone in a room without a clue where I was.

Great.

And outside the tank was the inside of a wardrobe. It was pretty small and cramped, but a large lamp was turned on beside me, among the dirty socks and crumpled clothes on the shelves. It cast a soft light overhead. I actually snorted at that; I mean- of all niceties, my capturer had even had the decency to light my prison. "Good one, dude." I rolled my eyes, standing up on slightly wobbling legs. I brushed a few dust motes off my jeans before rolling up the giant pocket I'd sewn on near my ankle. Inside was a tightly wound length of fishing line attached to a shiny metal safety pin. I yanked it out, whistling to myself as I wrapped the thick plastic rope around my hand and prepared to throw my grappling hook at the rim of the tank. My lips curled into a smile as the safety pin hooked itself to the glass pane on my first try.

Now, I know what you're thinking. Being this size my whole life, I'm not really scared off this situation as much as I probably should be. This wasn’t even that bad, when I thought about it. Max and his friends had put me through worse in the past. I’m not saying being contained in a glass fish tank was good or anything, but at least I wasn't suspended upside down from the ceiling or something. in fact, it seemed as though my captor had underestimated me so much that he'd even left the wardrobe open slightly. Today, luck was definitely on my side.

Once I'd made sure my grappling hook was secure, I hoisted myself up and onto the rim of the tank, before unhooking the safety pin with the casual flick of my wrist. I never left home without the rope strapped to my pants. It was like anyone else wearing shoes; they're just something you guys do routinely. The same principle applies with me. I can still get around pretty well without my grappling line, but it opens up many of the height barriers that people like me struggle with. I can get places much quicker with its aid.

"Heh. What an idiot." I muttered to myself with a shake of my head. I wound my grappling hook around my shoulder and leapt off the rim of the fish tank to land at the base of the wardrobe. This was almost too easy. Clearly, whoever had abducted me had failed to account for the one factor that put me above everyone else my size.

Experience.

"Lucky break." I smirked, as I slid through the gap left in the wardrobe. I clambered onto the wooden floor and folded my arms, surveying the room with the eyes of a professional escape artist. My options were pretty good so far. The guy hadn't even shut the door to his room! I could get to a phone out there and contact my family as easily as anything. I might even be able to reason with my captor themself. Basically, things were looking up.

That is, until I heard the sudden thumping of giant feet outside and the all too familiar figure of Thomas Ryan bursting into the room.

****

Was it right to do this? Thoughts rattled in my head as I pedalled home. I shook my head; no. It is perfectly right. She deserved to suffer like every other shrunken. But something about her nature… Stop, Thomas. You don't pity them anymore. She deserves it. She deserves it. They deserve it.

I rode down the countryside on my bike, thinking hard. It was a quiet ride, the wind whistling through my ears and caressing my sweaty face like soft feathers. A sheen of sweat covered my arms and forehead. My stomach gurgled. I was almost home. About a kilometre to go. My legs pedalled automatically as I scanned the passing farmland with bored eyes.

The jar was in my backpack. Amy hadn’t been hard to capture, just as I’d predicted. She didn’t run when my shadow passed over her, or turn soon enough. I might've even knocked her out pushing her into the jar. She hadn't uttered a word since getting captured. It's always hard to tell with the shrunken, after all. She was so fragile. They all are.

I swerved into my driveway, sending dust everywhere. Pushing my bike into the garage, I said a quick hello to my chooks before elbowing the front door of the house open. Julie greeted me when I walked in, as she always does. I pulled my helmet off and shook out my matted hair, streaked with sweat. Julie had made lemonade from lemons off our tree. It was set on the coffee table in a large jug, condensation running down the sides.

“Hey Jule.” I smiled. I gently set my backpack down on the couch so I wouldn’t injure Amy any further.

Our house was small; a one storey cottage on a farm. There was basically a lounge room with one couch, my room, my foster parent’s room, and a kitchen with a bathroom. We had a fireplace in the lounge room, which was a rustic black steel and constantly creaking as though it would fall apart at any second. I settled down into a chair and poured myself some lemonade. Julie was wearing a blue apron around her plump waist and had her curly hair pulled up out of her face. She was busy baking what looked like muffins in the kitchen. I took a large swig from my glass of lemonade.

“Have a good day?” Julie asked with her back turned.

“Yeah, it was good.” I replied between swallows. I downed the rest of the lemonade and slung my bag over my shoulder. “Gonna do homework.” I muttered before entering my room and shutting the door tightly.

“Ok,” Julie called from the kitchen. “Dinner’s on the stove!” Without answering, I laid my backpack on my bed and unzipped it slowly. Amy was still unconscious, her tiny chest rising and falling like a sleeping bird's. I held the jar at eye level, studying her. She had the same soft flowing hair as her portrait and a skinny frame. She was wearing what looked like a sweater and jeans, and had striped socks covering her feet. It was uncommon for a shrunken to wear shoes. Her eyes were closed, but I knew that they would be pale blue when she opened them. I opened my wardrobe and was just about to retrieve my old fish tank when I heard a soft knock on my door.

“Thomas! Come feed the chooks!” I cursed to myself quietly and glanced at Amy’s sleeping form in the jar. I hastily yanked the lid off and slipped her onto an old washer in the fish tank before shutting the wardrobe and throwing the jar aside.

“Coming!” I yelled back.

****

 “Welcome to your new home, Amy Leebeck.” Thomas said, eyes trained on the wardrobe hungrily. I backed up towards the base of his bed and bunched my fists as he stood over me. The giant boy yanked open the door to the wardrobe like a madman and stuck his head inside... before jumping backwards and clutching his hands to his cheeks. "Shit!"

I had to roll my eyes at that; I mean, what else would you say after your prisoner miraculously escaped. It was his own stupid fault for leaving it so easy for me, anyway. I always pictured him as more of a cautious guy. This was ridiculous.

Thomas straightened up and, still without even checking for me under the bed began to peer around the room with narrowed eyes. "I know you're still in here, Amy. You can't have gone far."

I sighed and slumped my shoulders, knowing that hiding was never going to help my convince my captor to free me. "Over here, big guy." I called out with a casual wave, unamused.  

In an instant, his giant blue eyes flickered to me, and those thin lips curled into a knowing smile. He folded his arms and gazed down at me with renewed vigour. "There you are." He said.

I raised an eyebrow. "Yep. I'm right here. You don't really need to say that."

The smile faded, and he frowned, eyes ablaze. I did my best not to let my weakening knees get the better of me. Fear was never a good quality for someone my size. Reasoning on the other hand could do wonders in a sticky situation. What I didn't know at that point, though, was that Thomas Ryan wasn't the negotiating type of guy. He never was.

“I had a hunch it’d be you abducting me” I continued in a bored tone. “Those evil stares you kept giving me in class really sent the wrong message.” I paused, regarding him with some interest. "Just like the one you're giving me now, actually."

 Thomas only snorted and rolled his eyes. His skyscraper tall frame bent down slowly, and I knew this was him playing the intimidation card. I took a small step backwards under the bed, but otherwise remained fixed to the spot as he knelt down before me, hand on his knee.

"I take it that you're wondering why I've brought you here, then." He cooed. "I'll give you a hint-"

"No! Wait!" I held up my own hand, shooting him a faux excited expression. "I want to guess! Are you... going to... train me as your personal slave?" He actually appeared taken aback by my enthusiasm, but shook his head tightly after a moment. Pursing my lips in thought, I continued. "What about a sex toy, then? I've heard that you big people find that... enticing."

"Wait, what? No!" He snapped, almost bursting my eardrums. I rolled my eyes at his exclamation.

"Hmmm... will I be your assistant then? I'd make a pretty awesome tutor."

He shook his head.

"You want to kill me, then? Cause that'd be a bit of a shame..."

He shook his head.

"Rape me?"

"Give me to your sister?"

"Be my best friend?"

"Eat me!?!"

"Will you shut up!" He yelled, balling his car sized hands into fists. His body practically rippled with irritation. I never knew I had that effect on people. "All you need to know is that you're mine now. You're not a pet, or a slave, or an assistant. You are my prisoner."

I had to snort. "Gee. I've never belonged to anyone before. This'll be pretty fun!"

"It won't be once I'm through with you!" He snarled in response, and then I saw it. The flicker in his eyes, a flicker that radiated power. He was about to make a move. Unfortunately for Thomas, I was already on top of the situation.

The giant lunged at me with his plushy hand and I did a quick back roll to dodge the attack. In seconds I'd righted myself and was calculating his next move in my head, using his magnetised body language as a guide. He swung his arm again and I leapt over it, kicking off his ring finger and tumbling neatly to the timber floor.

"Huh. You almost had me there!" I smirked as I predicted his next movements. The twitch of his biceps. The slight bending of his fingers. A classic grab was heading my way, but this time, I took to offense.

"Stop fighting it, Amy." He cooed, raising his hand once more. "I won't let you escape."

"You really underestimate me, then." I fired back, hand reaching down to the dress maker's pin strapped to the inside of my jeans. In seconds I'd yanked it out and had it poised expertly in my grip. I'd practiced self defence since I was five, and for someone smaller than a fricking pencil, it was pretty much the best thing I could ever have done for myself. With routine movements, I dodged his incoming strike and leapt over the giant hand, jamming the weapon deep into his skin and flipping to the ground. Thomas let out a gasp in shock and pain, and, being me, I only laughed and stuck my tongue out.

"That's gotta sting!"

Wasting no time, I sprinted to the edge of the bed and took one last glance at my captor before launching myself headfirst into his paper bin. Balled up wads of tissue softened my fall, and I curled up into a tight ball at the base of the plastic bin, hoping it was enough to hide me.

"You little bitch!" Thomas fired from outside. Something smashed to the floor beside the bin and I actually squeaked in silent shock. Okay. Maybe the bin wasn't as good a hiding place as I'd originally perceived. But hey; I was kind of in a hurry, there. Quick thinking was all I had on my side.

The desk was yanked across the room beside me, and I felt every single movement vibrate through my body. My teeth rattled, but I barely had time to recover before  a shadow fell over my hiding place and the bin was pushed to the side roughly. I barely muffled my own yelps as I was thrown sideways into a hunk of tissues and paper. Light was suddenly flooding into the bin and I groaned, spying Thomas as he ripped the rubbish from my hiding spot. His hot breath tingled my skin as he rummaged through the bin.

I edged along the wall, hands beginning to sweat. His fingers brushed the nearest sheet of ripped paper away, and before I could prepare for anything, Thomas flung his arm at the sides of the plastic, throwing me and heaps of random rubbish out onto the wooden floor of his room. I bit back another scream as I was tossed through the air before skidding to a halt on the ground. I coughed the air back into my lungs and tried to prop myself up but my arms gave way and I crumpled to the floor with a groan. Thomas was onto me in seconds. He bent over my shuddering form and smiled.

“Almost got away, Amy. Almost.” He whispered so softly I could barely hear. Not that I could anyway because my ears were ringing. I didn’t bother scrambling away this time as he grabbed me by my left arm with his fingers. They were rough as sandpaper against my skin. I gritted my teeth in pain as I was lifted high into the air, dangling in front of a giant, angry face.

"Hmph. Well played." I muttered, in a bit of a grudge. I patted down my crumpled shirt with my free hand as he studied my with trashcan sized eyes.

 “They've never put up so much of a fight.” He mumbled, sounding almost impressed. I didn’t say anything in response; What did he mean by ‘they’? Before I could question it, he continued. “You know, I hate people like you. Small ones. You put my mother in jail and killed my dad.” Thomas said. “You’re the reason I live in this foster home.”

“What’s a foster home, I wonder?” I asked, tilting my head to the side as I tried my best to ignore the numb sensation in my arm from the guy's tight grip. Thomas only looked at me curiously.

“Where we are now. I have foster parents who look after me.”

"And FYI, I didn't put you here, dude. I hadn't even left my house until I went to high school with your lovely face."

"You don't know anything, do you?" He muttered angrily, tightening his pincer grip on my wrist. I grunted as his strong fingers dug into my bones.

"I do know that if you keep squeezing me like this, you'll crush my hand." I tried to shrug through the pain. "But I suppose that could've been your intention all along."

 Thomas only rolled his eyes, but didn't loosen his hold.

"Whatever, buddy." I sighed. "I'll just have to push a heap of bones back into place once you let me go."

"Let you go?" His eyes twinkled with sudden energy. The frown on his face twisted into a menacing smile. "Whoever said I would let you go?"

"Well duh. I kind of figured that part out. I meant releasing my arm, actually."

 Thomas exhaled quickly in irritation, but before he could reply, there was a muffled voice from another room.

“Tom! Dinner!”

Thomas cursed under his breath and looked at me, snagged in his grip. There was a glint in his eyes, that hadn't been there before. My eyes widened as I anticipated his next move. His free hand wrapped around me so quickly I couldn’t even snatch a breath before I was whipped away. I didn’t get my fish tank prison back though. Instead, as the giant boy rose to his feet, he led me towards the opposite side of the room to a large box shaped thing covered in a white sheet. It was laid quite neatly on a simple wooden stool and looked almost as big as my bookshelf. I shook my injured hand as it was released, forgetting for a moment that I was trapped in Thomas's iron grip as I felt for any broken bones.

"Really, man? That's gonna leave a bruise, now." I muttered as he reached over to pull the sheet off the strange box.

Thomas didn’t hesitate. Before I could even see what it covered, I was shoved through a hole in the box and the sheet was pulled back over. I landed hard on something soft and squishy and immediately leapt to my feet.

“Can I at least have some ice? I think you sprained my fingers!" I yelled as loud as I could, but there was only a laugh from outside my strange new prison.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Amy. This is your home now. A punishment for taking away my family.” There was a slam from his bedroom door as he left.

"YOU DIDN'T ANSWER MY QUESTION, PUNK!" I fired back, but sighed and slumped my shoulders after realising he'd already gone. I took to staring at the sheet over me, not bothering to inspect where I was. That is… until I heard a voice. I have to admit, it shocked me just a little.

“Um… Hello?” It said.

I was standing before a creature from what I could see in the dim light of my new prison. She looked human enough, with pale, sullen skin that almost appeared waxy, and long flowing blonde hair that came to her waist. Her dull grey eyes flickered in the soft light. I tore my eyes away from her stoic expression though, and took a moment to uncover my surroundings before I confronted the strange being.

Really, Thomas?

I was standing at the base of a large birdcage, similar to the one St Agatha's had to house two budgies. The floor was flat and littered with what looked like tissues, pieces of scrap material and knick knacks. I glanced up and saw bird perches, connected by coloured plastic ladders. Another creature swung absentmindedly on a wooden bird swing with a metal bell on the seat. He wasn't looking directly at me, but I could tell just by glancing at his pasty skin and emotionless features that he... these people weren't normal.

My heart thudded, shocked by the whole ordeal. With another quick glance around the cage, I noticed that four other creatures sat chatting amongst a wad of scrap material and tissues in the far corner. One caught my eye and their jaw dropped.

"He got another one." They whispered in shock.

I couldn't take it anymore. “What- What are you?” I stammered to the creature standing inches away. She didn't say anything at first, instead tilting her head to the side and smiling a soft smile. Looking closer, she wore a roughly sewn black dress and no shoes. She was like a doll, almost. Fragile and ghostly.

“You haven’t seen another human this size, have you… Amy… is it?” She asked in a hoarse tone. My eyes widened, but before I could stumble backwards in both shock and fear, the girl grasped my shaking hands in her own. I gulped loudly, feeling the soft, gentleness of her fingers, which matched mine. Crap, this was messed up.

“I'm Harriet." The girl continued. "I know this must be quite a shock to you…” Her words faltered when I yanked my hands out of hers and paused to stare at them for a second, amazed that I was stronger than this girl.

I’d never been stronger than anyone.

Ever.

"What the hell..." I stuttered, my mouth becoming drier by the second. I backed up, my knees like jelly. The cold metal of the cage bars brushed against my back and I shuddered. Harriet moved towards me, holding her hands out again. Her expression was almost... apologetic. My hands gripped the thick wire bars and I pushed against the metal, actual fear finally catching up on me after the whole Thomas situation. My slightly swollen hand didn't even matter anymore.

What mattered were the five other pairs of eyes that now trained themselves on my shaking form. The guy on the swing had stopped, too, and was staring down at me dully. Never in my wildest dreams had I thought that I’d meet anyone my size. I mean- I knew they existed, but all in the one place?

It frightened me.

These people... all here with me at once made me realise how normal I felt. There were no regular sized people wandering around in the way I've grown so used to. No giant faces to stare up at, and no voices capable of bursting my eardrums. The situation was just like it'd been ripped right out of a dream and thrust at me. I even pinched my skin to make sure it was real.

"Okay." I said, more to myself than the others, who had now formed a makeshift crowd around me. Even the guy on the swing had joined them. "This is the weirdest thing I've ever seen."

At this, a boy with jet black hair smiled crookedly, his green eyes twinkling. “So it's you then. I wondered when Thomas would find the famous Amy Leebeck." He said, folding his arms as he looked me up and down.

At his comment, mouths were dropped. A boy who couldn't have been any older than ten pointed at me accusingly. "You're Amy Leebeck!? My mum told me about you!"

"He's getting us more regularly, these days." The swing boy sighed, completely off topic. "Where did he pick you up from? Brisbane?"

In response, I held both my arms up in the air, taking a deep breath. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Rewind. Can someone please explain to me how you all know my name? And why you're all... here?" I massaged my temples. "This is getting way to trippy..."

"Do you need to sit down?" Harriet piped up, worry creasing her forehead. I opened my mouth to speak, but the black haired guy had already started.

"Duh! Pretty much everyone knows you from the news. You were born with Shrignakemia and everything!"

"Yeah, so?" I asked, frowning. "That doesn't exactly make me a celebrity!"

"It kind of does, hun." A tall girl with sharp features and a pixy cut smirked. "You come from a whole other category to the rest of us."

I shot her a strange look. "What category!? We're all tiny here!"

"But we used to be normal. At least, everyone but Marcus remembers those times." She said calmly, and the guy from the swing shrugged.

"I was changed at five. Can't do much about that, Ebony." He rolled his eyes. "At least you got the pleasure of spending your teenage years regular sized and out of this cage!"

My mouth fell open. "No way." I whispered. "This has to be a different guy." There was absolutely no way that the one and only Marcus had been crammed into Thomas Ryan's bedroom for the three years he'd apparently been dead. Someone had to have connected the dots. Someone had to have figure out where he'd gone...

"What!?" The girl, Ebony, said in exasperation.

"You're Marcus Andrews! My cousin Gabby told me all about you! You're alive!" I all but shouted, my head pumping into overdrive. An insane part of me was itching so badly to leap into his arms, just to make sure it was really the guy everyone at St Agatha's missed so badly. All of a sudden I felt anger coursing through me, at the thought of Thomas keeping him in this cage for the past three years, while his family, his friends mourned and accepted his passing. Thomas probably mourned with them, just to cover his tracks. None of the evidence would have pointed to him. I guess that's how he'd captured so many of us in the first place. It made me want to punch the guy. Multiple times. With an axe.

Marcus only huffed, pushing his long blonde hair out of his face. It was tied up rather messily in a ponytail with what looked to be a length of wool. His ice blue eyes glinted dully, framed with purple bags. "Last time I checked, I was." He said. "I remember Gabby. She told me about you, once."

"I met Kyle, too." I continued, on a roll. "He worked with you."

For a moment, his eyes went glassy, but the dull expression was back in an instant. "Kyle, huh? Another person on the list of who I'll probably never see again."

The lack of emotion in his speech cause the lump in my throat to grow larger, and I swallowed just to keep my nerves at bay. The thought of spending another minute in this birdcage made me feel sick. Glancing over my new 'cellmates' briefly, I clapped my hands together. "Right. I'm busting us outta here."

What I expected was a chorus of 'hell yeah!'s and 'let's do it!'s. I expected a rally of tiny people with tiny pitchforks and flaming torches. Heck- I'd've taken anything but what really happened. The long lost Marcus Andrews let out a snort and turned to walk away.

"Hmmph. Right." He smirked, beginning to climb back up the bird ladders to his swing. My mouth hung open, dread finally making its way into my system. As I took another glance of the cage's occupants, I realised one crucial fact: these people did not care. They'd given up whatever hope they'd ever had of getting out of Thomas's clutches. They'd been stuck in his bedroom fro lord knows how long without any care in the world. I refused to let myself follow in their lifeless footsteps.

"Goodnight, Amy." Ebony said softly, breaking my series of terrified thoughts. I blinked a few times to make sure this was really happening. "I'll see you for every day of the rest of my life."

I stood there, bones refusing to co-operate, as the small group of teenagers left for the opposite side of the cage, one by one. Even the two youngest, a scrawny boy with blonde hair and green eyes who I'd come to know as James and sweet little Abigail with her chestnut pigtails, were just as nonchalant about this cage. They settled into their bed of tissues in a routine manner, leaving me standing stock still in the darkness. I felt cold and hollow, despite the summer heat.

"You should get some sleep, new girl." Marcus called with sickening bluntness from his swing above me. I peered upwards at his slumped form, watching him move his legs back and forth with the motion of the bird swing. He wasn't looking at me. He just knew I was there, and that was the part that scared me the most.

"So should you!" I countered back, wincing as my voice cracked on the last word.

The boy only laughed; a bone dry sound that carried no real humour whatsoever. "I don't sleep anymore." He said.

After that, I couldn’t stop myself from shuddering. My teeth chattered uncontrollably, and I curled in on myself, back straining against the cage bars. It wasn't even the situation that scared me the most. It was the attitude of everyone in the cage with me. These people weren't even people anymore. They'd become something else entirely, guided by Thomas and his apparent hatred to all tiny folk. It made mere realise how utterly screwed I was. And that was the scary part.

I didn't even notice Harriet sitting down next to me until a warm hand touched my shoulder. I would never get used to how light and gentle that hand was, given that my body was toughened up from being tossed around and prodded all the time. I stiffened as her arms wrapped around my shuddering body in a hug. Was this what a real hug felt like? The way mum and Max always hugged each other?

“Amy.” Harriet whispered, pulling away from me. I turned to face her, but she was looking down into her lap, features obscured by her long blonde/white curls.

“Yeah?” I mumbled. Amongst everything, my mind was busy worrying, missing my family, missing Gabby and my other school friends. Suddenly, reality was catching me, fuelled by the determination to get out of this place. Harriet tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear.

“It’s not that bad here. Thomas has kept us here for months now, some years. He gives us basic needs, of course, like food and blankets. You’ll be ok; It’s not that bad.” I didn't take that kindly. In fact, I outright refused to believe she could say something as absurd as that with such calmness, as if she liked it in a cage.

“Harriet. You don’t understand! I have a family that are probably worried sick! He can't just abduct us all like this and get away with it!” My voice rose an octave halfway through the sentence. She stared at me blankly for a second, mumbling the word 'family' under her breath, as if it was part of a foreign language.

“I gave up on seeing my family again a long time ago.” Was all she said. I could feel tears stinging my eyes as I thought about Mum and Max again.

“I have to get out of here, Harriet.” I whispered, and she only bowed her head.

“There's no use in trying.” Her expression turned serious. “Thomas always finds you.” I opened my mouth to speak but closed it, unsure. Once again, reality was hitting me harder than ever, and more and more uncertainty, fear and rage was spreading like wildfire in my frantic heart. I fell silent for a moment, the only sound coming from Marcus on the swing above me. He hummed the tune of 'Dream' by Imagine Dragons in a tired voice, with as little enthusiasm as before. Finally, I found my voice.

“Harriet. What happened to everyone here?” I asked, choking out the words. "What happened to you?"

The girl looked at me with blank, grey eyes that shone with remorse. "You'll realise soon enough, Amy." She said. "This is it. This is your home now." No. It couldn't be my home. I had to escape... had to do something. "This is where you'll spend every day of the rest of your life. And when you accept that, even Thomas will leave you alone."  No. No. No.

Yes.

“Get used to it in here, Amy." Harriet said. " Because I can guarantee you will never escape.” And with that, she stood up and returned to the opposite side of the cage, leaving me sitting in the shadows of reality. I was completely alone, the only sound coming from Marcus as he sang in a bitter tone:

"We all are living in a dream, where life ain't what it seems. Where everything's a mess. And all the sorrows I have seen, they lead me to believe, that everything's a mess."

I curled into a tight ball and closed my eyes, thinking of my family, telling me I would see them again soon. Thomas couldn't hold us here forever. My world was falling apart before my very eyes. School, home, friends, Gabby, my family...

Marcus was right: everything was a mess.

Someone shook me awake. I rubbed sleep from my eyes and blinked twice, my thoughts a jumbled mess. I fumbled for my IPod reflexively, failing to grip its smooth surface. Instead I grabbed hold of something soft and squishy, that let out a sudden (and rather unexpected) yelp. My eyes widened in shock and I leapt to my feet, my head spinning from the confusion. A short, dark haired boy with pale green eyes cringed away, fiddling with the hem of his oversized shirt.

 “Sorry to wake you... Amy. My name’s James. Um… breakfast is here.”

Obviously, I still wasn’t used to seeing people my own size, but I tried to push that thought away as I regained my bearings. My hair had fallen out of its tie and was hanging loosely in a thick brown curtain around me. I was wearing the same clothes as yesterday... and my back was sore. Looking at my sock covered feet I realised that I 'd fallen asleep in the corner of the birdcage, listening to Marcus singing. The same dread began to build up once more in the pit of my rumbling stomach. I was still in the cage, still in Thomas's room and still with others just like me: small.

The cage was still covered with a thick, white sheet, but light had begun to filter through the seams, indicating that it was morning. Other than that, my sense of time was lost. I followed James towards the opposite side of the prison, where the five others from the previous night sat in a circle. Sitting down, I noticed that each person held a bottle cap in their laps, which was filled with what looked like steaming pumpkin soup. Having no cutlery, they drank straight from their makeshift bowls, but no one seemed fazed. Even Marcus was sitting with his shoulders slumped and long hair tied back out of his face amongst the others. As the two of us sat down, he nodded in my general direction.

"Your first breakfast here. Drink up." He said, pointing to a lone bottle cap of lukewarm soup in the centre of the circle. After a few seconds debating, I scooped it into my arms, cradling the warm vessel to my chest. The serving was far larger to what I was used to, but I said nothing. I didn't know what to say, anyway.

Six weary faces peered across at me, curiosity tainting their features. I knew they had questions. I did too, but I dared to say a word. Some of these people were only children, like James. Ebony looked like the eldest of the group.

"So," The teenager with the blackish brown hair said after a long pause, pointing nonchalantly to himself. "I guess we should all introduce ourselves to Amy, seeing as we'll be seeing each other for..." He shrugged. "Forever, maybe."

Harriet only rolled her eyes, blowing at her own soup with cracked lips. "That's Russel. He's eighteen, but Thomas got him a year ago."

"I could have told her that!"

"But you didn't." She countered in a bored voice.

I occupied myself in staring down at the warm orange liquid in my bottle cap, forcing back any signs of fear. It was never good to let emotions get the better of me, from previous experiences being held prisoner by Max's devious friends. Of course, I was always taken home in one piece during those unfortunate times. Something about this circumstance told me that Thomas Ryan was not one for playing games. After all, Marcus had been cooped up in here for the past three years, while the rest of the world presumed he was dead.

A girl with the red pigtails sat up straighter and grinned at me from the opposite end of our breakfast circle. “I’m Abigail and I turned nine last week! Were you really born this size?" She piped up with enough enthusiasm to make me feel sick. How could these people feel happy in a place like this?

I nodded once, and took a sip of my soup before anyone could question me further. The liquid burned my tongue but I forced it down. The tactic seemed to work, because in a matter of seconds, James had cleared his throat and spoke up.

“I’m nine too. Thomas found me a few months ago."

“I’m fourteen and have been here about eight months now.” Harriet continued, in a far softer voice.

Ebony huffed to herself before it was her turn to speak, clearly understanding how strange this conversation topic was. “I'm  20 this month. And it's been 2 years, I guess.” Her voice was piercing and blunt, just like the constant scowl etched into her face. She had her arm around the newly introduced Russel, so I figured the two had something going on together.

Before I could ask though, Marcus spoke up. "Three years and 17. They're your answers.” He said coldly, and I swallowed a new lump building in my throat.

“Well, I’m Amy and I’m almost 17.” I said.

“Welcome to prison!” Abigail said after a pause, clapping her hands together and beaming like an excited puppy. I gave another lop-sided smile, but it didn't reach my eyes. The same questions continued to circle through my head about how these people had come to accept their lives as prisoners... with Thomas. I refused to follow on with their crazy mindsets. As soon as my captor showed his fat face next, I'd have my revenge, and let me tell you that I'm not one to play nice...

“You don’t look 16.” Marcus said dryly, breaking me from my thoughts of brutally mauling the giant in question.

“What- because I'm five inches tall?” I countered, with even less enthusiasm. "Congratulations on stating the obvious."

He barely flinched. "What's the prize?"

I shook my head, still going through the whole process of marvelling the novelty that I was talking to people my own size, for once. It was a nice feeling to chat with those I could actually relate to, after many awkward rants with mum about things she'd never have understood herself. Sighing almost in content, I peered around the group, each person sipping occasionally at their morsels of soup.

“I have to get out of here.” I thought aloud, and Marcus looked up with cold blue eyes.

“No way will you ever get home. Not even if you escape this house. Thomas lives on a farm.”  

"W-W-Well I'd just turn into a borrower and trek the way back!"

Russel snorted under his breath at my rash words. “I made it to the front door once. He left his bedroom door open and I managed to sneak around his fat ass foster mum and outside. Missed his cat though. I swear to god he's trained the thing to pick up any tiny people and take them back to his secret lair.” I snickered myself at the way he made air quotes over the words 'tiny people'.

And so, a conversation of sorts was formed. The others wanted to know about my past life with mum and Max and due to some rotten luck, it turned out that all seven of us lived within Thomas's target zone, with Russel coming from some delinquent centre in Brisbane and the others originating right here in the Kingaroy district.  

“The minute I got let out of that blasted prison, he was onto me. The guy knows all about us, see? He's got files on everyone his mother's serum ever shrunk and he studies them. Every night.” Russel explained, causing me to shiver. What did he have on my file? Had this seemingly innocent teenager known about me for most of my life? It made me realise that my introverted, quiet life had been the one thing keeping from getting abducted sooner. If I'd have left for high school any earlier, I would have wound up in this birdcage just like the others. In a way, my boring old past had saved my life.

Of course though, I had to have taken a stand against it eventually. And if it wasn't that year, then it would have been at one point.

No one does themselves any good cooped up at home all day.

“He came to my primary school with a few other high schoolers for this buddy program. It took him a day to take me here." James added with renewed vigor.

“Me too!” Abigail piped in. "James and I were best friends, there."

Harriet laughed, but there was a bitter edge to her voice. I couldn't help but notice it.

“I have to get out of here.” I kept repeating, both aloud and in my head. I thought that if I kept saying those seven words, I could shake some hope into the others. Yet no one believed me. Marcus smiled sadly and asked:

"Now how do you plan on doing that?"

And then no one would say much else. Maybe that would be me in a few days. Maybe Thomas will take my spirit away, too, just as he'd taken Marcus away from his life as a teenager all those years ago. Deep down, a part of me knew that one day, maybe tomorrow, maybe in a month's time, I'd become just like the other prisoners. If I didn't get out soon, I'd be reduced to a crazed being without any remaining hope...

No.

I would never lose hope.

I would get out.

Find my family and live life again. There was still a chance, and when I found it, I'd cling to it and never let myself go.

So with those thoughts in the back of my head, I swallowed my last mouthful of pumpkin soup and grinned at my new friends.

It seemed like hours before the sheet was pulled off the birdcage. I’d been lying on my back up on one of the bird perches, my legs dangling off the edge. The other cellmates had suggested that I get myself some alone time, to 'let my situation fully sink in', and had taken to busying themselves elsewhere. So it was pretty startling when the entire prison rattled to life as the sheet was removed by giant hands. I shook violently and almost toppled off my perch, but my sweaty palms managed to take hold of the wooden pole to stay upright. I blinked back the sudden onslaught of sunlight to clear my vision, but when I saw who was outside the cage, I really wish I'd just stayed blind.

Thomas stood over us, his skyscraper tall body daunting yes, but unusual no. While my thoughts on the guy as 'intimidating' were actually quite low, it still sent anger rushing through my veins at the sight of the devil's smile on his face.

He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted almost instantly by Russel, who grumbled from the base of the cage and folded his arms. By the look on his face, the guy was just as unfazed as I was by Thomas's sheer size, but I knew that it was from past incidences, rather than my own unique way of seeing the world in a 'normal' way.

 “About time. It was getting stuffy in here.” He snapped bluntly, earning a manic chuckle from Thomas. The giant mumbled something incomprehensive and chucked the sheet onto his bed. I tried not to yell at him, and instead averted my gaze. The first thing I noticed was just how casual everyone seemed to appear, after Thomas's random appearance. Marcus hadn’t even bothered looking out of the triangular happy hut he'd settled into hours before. Everyone seemed so routine, so... alien. It made me realise once again just how accustomed these people were to being cooped up in a birdcage their entire lives. I wasn't going to let that become my own mindset.

Thomas kicked the door of his room shut with a click. His eyes scanned the cage boringly and, feeling his scrutiny, settled back into my relaxed position on the perch and shut my eyes. I was used to being stared at by everyone from the inside of a jar, and the cage was no different. Determined to ignore him for as long as possible, I let out a quiet, yet audible snore. If the guy was dumb enough, he might've thought I was asleep. But, despite my best efforts, I felt his giant gaze through my closed eyelids. I huffed a sigh and opened my eyes, pretending to wake up from a long slumber.

"Can we keep this short, big guy?" I snapped. "A girl needs her beauty sleep."

Like before, Thomas's initial reaction was shock at my taunts, but in seconds the calm demeanour of yesterday's performance had returned. “Faring well I hope, Amy? Your punishment for giving my mother a life sentence in prison is a life sentence in prison. Fair enough deal, I believe.” He cooed, and I could tell he was challenging me to continue.

And being the snarky little bugger I was, the words were out of my mouth before I could even stop them.

"Hmm, my back's a little sore. I think a nice comfortable bed will do the trick. Other than that, I am in fact, faring well." I said with every ounce of smugness, cracking my weary back to emphasise the predicament.  

 “I'm afraid that's out of the question.” Thomas replied, cracking another of his shark's grins. "My mum doesn't get a 'nice fluffy bed' so neither do you."

I shrugged. "Well that's a shame. She must be in serious need of a physiotherapist, then. That back would kill for a checkup!"

His eyes narrowed, and for a fleeting moment I thought I'd gone too far, but instead he just sighed and muttered "Shut up." Then he closed and latched his bedroom window and opened the cage door without a word.

“You’ve got two hours. I have to be at soccer in a bit but you know the drill. The window and door will be locked and should you refuse to return to your cage when the time is up, there'll be consequences and believe me," His eyes flickered back to me, cold and hard. "You don't want to find out what they are." With that, the asshole in question walked across the room to collapse onto his bed lazily. He flicked a lamp on and grabbed a crinkled sports magazine, beginning to immerse himself in the pages. And for a good minute or so, the world was silent.

Creepily silent.

 Russel was first to exit the cage. I watched as he took a run up, sprinted to the very end of the cage and gracefully leapt through the opened wire door like a gymnast, which was at least twenty centimetres off the ground. The others followed suit within seconds, apart from Marcus, who didn’t move at all. He remained completely motionless above me, his legs dangling from the happy hut entrance. I stood up, shaking at first on my thin perch before making a expert jump for the next highest one. I grabbed it and with routine motions swung myself onto my feet.

I’d never been scared of heights, and I don’t think anyone my size would be, considering we live our lives up far higher than the average person. Those thoughts flickering around the back of my head, I grabbed the soft surface of the happy hut and pulled myself inside. There was plenty of room there for at least 5 people of my stature, so space wasn't that much of an issue. Marcus, registering movement, looked up groggily at me and sighed.

“What.” He asked, and I creased my brow, surprised by the lack of interest in his tone.

“The door is open.” I muttered lamely. He shook his head once and lay back once more, his blank gaze facing the ceiling of the happy hut.  

“When you’ve been here for more than three years you’ll realise that there is no point in trying anymore.” Was all he said. I bit my lip, crossing my legs underneath me to sit beside him. He didn't even bat an eyelid at my presence, his eyes glassy and faraway.

“You must have hope, Marcus." I mumbled. "Why are you still alive and breathing if you don’t? I can get us out of here.”

That only brought a sad smile to his face. “The sooner you realize you’re never going to see your little family again, the better." He said in a scary calm. "You don’t know anything about this place! You think being here a day will give you all the facts?" A sigh escaped his lips. "You should go out with the others. Maybe they'll talk to you about life here. I doubt I'll shine a decent light on the topic."

I flinched at the harshness of his voice but didn’t question further. I guess I knew that this guy just wanted to be alone with his thoughts. The whole scenario made me wonder just what Marcus thought about. Did he dream about somewhere better, where he and his family were together again, or did he reflect on his memories. I knew for a fact that his past friends reflected on memories of him; Gaby, Kyle... So many people were torn from his grasp, simply because of a basket case teenage boy who couldn't let a grudge go. It made me feel sick.

Knowing that nothing I could say would convince him to come with me, I climbed back down to the base of the cage and yanked myself out and onto the stool it rested on. The stool itself was low, compared to the other furniture, so I still had to crane my neck to see what was going on around the room.

Thomas, the only regular sized person in the bedroom was still flipping casually through his magazine, with earplugs in his ears. His head, resting on a pillow, nodded slightly to the rhythm of his music. An IPod sat on his desk beside the bed, and I couldn't help but feel a sharp pang of jealousy at the sight of the device. The IPod had always been my favourite piece of equipment in my home, and I constantly surfed the net, posted images on Instagram and watched videos that reminded me of just how boring my life was. It was quite sad to look back on it in that way, actually.

I noticed Abigail and James sprinting across the creaky wooden floorboards, performing pretty ambitious gymnastics moves that even I hadn't yet thought of. Harriet was reading one of Thomas’s magazines that she’d found strewn across his floor. She lay on her belly and stood up when she had to turn the pages with both hands. And then there were Russel and Ebony, almost completely out of sight at the far end of Thomas’s desk... kissing. It had been pretty obvious that the two of them were together, after all. Either that, or I'm smarter than your average bear.

Eventually, I looked down from the edge of the stool to find a fluffy green pillow below. I had to roll my eyes at Thomas's 'courtesy' for putting the thing there and avoiding any unwanted sprained ankles. So without a second thought, I stepped off the side of the wooden platform, falling a good forty centimetres before hitting the pillow dead in the centre. I bounced a little and pushed off the pillow’s surface to land lightly on the floor.

To put it simply, Thomas’s room, like everything else, was huge. I shoved my hands in the pockets of my striped sweater- I hadn’t changed clothes since arriving here- and began an introductory trek across the floor. Building sized pieces of furniture passed overhead, but without any memories of being a regular height, they were what I called normal. I paused underneath Thomas’s bed and glanced upwards, having heard the vibrating tune of ‘Good Riddance’ by Green Day pump through his ear buds. His eyes didn’t seek me out, but continued to scan his magazine.

He hadn’t noticed me.

I glanced at the desk towering above me like a skyscraper and scratched my head in thought, finally spying the cord to his lamp and deeming it perfect. My hands wrapped around the white rubber power cord and I pulled myself upwards, my muscles barely feeling the strain at all after so many years of scaling furniture. I gripped the wooden surface of the desk edge and I clambered up, steering clear of Russel and Ebony snogging in the corner behind a tin of pens. My sock covered feet were silent against the wood of the desk and I stood for a moment beside Thomas’s bed, trying to figure him out.

His head rested less than a metre away from me, as he flicked through the magazine. I sat down ever so quietly and rolled over to look at the IPod, still resting at the edge of the desk. It hadn’t self-locked itself yet, so I used my palms to find the all too familiar Instagram app. I hummed the lyrics to the song he was listening to while I waited for it to load, head filled with a hornet's nest of thoughts.

Thomas’s account was already logged in when I opened the app and, my stalker gears clicking into place, I began looking through his pictures. My eyes stopped on a particular shot of a younger Thomas hugging a thin, tanned lady with long blonde hair. She wore a lab coat and small, rectangular glasses. With a jolt I realized that this was his mother, Sally Ryan. The woman who'd been sent to prison for screwing up her cure for Shrignakemia all those years ago.

This was the woman who'd saved my life.

 Aware of respecting privacy, I closed the app and shuffled away from the IPod as discreetly as possible. Instead, I took to lying flat on my back facing the expanse of the ceiling for a while, singing softly to myself as Thomas listened to new songs. As it happened, despite our obvious differences, we had a similar taste in music. He was into Imagine Dragons, Boy and Bear and Flume, with a few DJ Snake or Alt-J songs popping up in between. After a good minute or so, I felt my eyes drifting shut as I hummed...

"What the hell?"

... So I didn’t feel Thomas hit me until I went flying like a rag doll across the desk and whacking into the pen tin on the other side. The force of the movement knocked the tin over, and I heard a muffled squeal as Ebony and Russel scrambled to their feet to avoid being squashed by the car sized cylinder. Pens clattered to the floor around them.

I blinked several times to clear the ringing in my head, but when my vision came back into focus and I saw two huge, blue eyes staring straight at me, I wished it hadn't. Thomas reached out and before I could even move, let alone think up a sassy response, he had both his enormous hands over my body like a rough, callused cocoon. Everything was dark for a second, before I was scooped sideways into his grip and yanked roughly into open space. His iron hand was wrapped around my chest and waist, so I struggled to breathe as he trained his eyes on my shocked, sweaty face.

"You... k-keep interrupting m-ah beauty s-sleep..." I stuttered out, coughing.

“For god’s sake you lousy shit! Put her down!” Ebony yelled from the desk, with Russel nodding in agreement beside her.

 “Shut up!” Thomas yelled with such harshness that I covered my ears and hissed in pain. His words pulsated through me so sharply that I almost fainted right there in his grip. The giant continued to glare at me so, once the pain had subsided enough, I sighed, resting my head on my hand with a bored expression.

“What do you want?” I asked. "It better be important, seeing as you went all Jackie Chan on my face!" I pat the forming bruise on my cheek to emphasise the point, where I'd hit the pencil tin in the first place.

“You were lying next to me, singing.”

“Yeah… So? Are you going to punish me now, big guy?" I snapped. "I'd be shaking if you weren't cutting off the circulation from my waist down!"

Thomas rolled his eyes. “You aren’t allowed to be near me. You have to hate me. I want you to feel the pain and loneliness my mother is feeling in prison.” He fired back, squeezing his hand tighter around me until I felt a wrench of white hot pain.

“I swear if you squeeze me any harder, my breakfast will make an uninvited reappearance!" I warned, before sighing and coughing up a gasp of air. "Why do I need to hate you, anyways?” I stuttered.

That was when I saw it. The cold, uninviting glare vanished and was replaced by that of a concerned, confused teenager. But within seconds, his emotions returned to their normal fiery anger and he squeezed me so hard I could barely scrape a breath without throwing up the poor contents of my stomach.

"Oww! Why the hell did you do that-"

“Because I captured you and have sentenced you to life imprisonment. That’s why.” He interrupted, eyes ablaze. "Maybe this will teach you to hate me."

All of a sudden, the immense pressure around my chest and lower body vanished and I was left dangling by the collar of my sweater hundreds of stories above the ground. I gasped, head whipping around to peer up into Thomas's cold eyes with renewed fear. I knew there this was going.

"Listen- you really don't have to do this! I can just walk away and pretend nothing ever happened..."

The giant only shook his head, almost sadly, and held me further away from him. We locked stares for that one fleeting moment, my expression fearful and his faraway.

"I have to make you hate me. It's what you're here for." He said calmly, and I opened my mouth to speak but the words caught up in my throat.

Because then I was falling, air filling my compacted lungs and whistling through my hair. Thomas's hold on my shirt vanished. I flailed my arms around wildly, but before I could even think of a landing I'd survive from, I hit something hard and everything went black.

*****

Marcus poked his head out of the happy hut. His head ached, a dull throb that was caused by Thomas’s scream. He’d yelled more than once, obviously, but this was unexpected. Thomas was standing up off his bed, looking down at a writhing figure in his left hand. He had Amy tightly in his grip and was barely containing his anger as she spoke. Marcus couldn’t hear her soft voice over Thomas’s, but he knew she was acting quite calm. As if she’d been in a situation like this more than once… 

He sighed wearily and lay back down. Amy could learn not to piss off Thomas the hard way.

Suddenly though, everything was quiet. There was a small sound that reminded Marcus of a door knock and then a ragged scream. The scream didn’t belong to Thomas, though. It was feminine and racked with pain and...

Marcus was sitting up before he could rationally decide what he was doing and peering outside. Harriet had both hands to her mouth and was staring at a crumpled figure, her right leg and left ankle twisted in an odd angle and her body bruised to purple on the timber floor.

Amy.

Barely alive, yet Thomas had flopped back on his bed and was on his IPod again seconds after he'd dropped her.

Marcus fumed.

His hands trembled, memories of his own past of torture at the hands of his former best friend flickering through his head and staining him with the permanent reminder that Thomas had ruined him. It was never easy to think about.

He was out of the cage and by Amy's side in seconds. He didn’t recall himself leaping through the cage opening or rolling onto the pillow or even streaking across the floor toward her. Harriet opened her mouth in surprise at his exit but didn’t comment. Tears were rolling down her cheeks at the sight of the new girl.

Amy lay still as a corpse, her breathing ragged, as if someone had ripped out her vocal cords. Her long hair tumbled around her, as still as she was. Marcus cursed. He faced Harriet with stern eyes, refusing to even spare Thomas himself so much as a glance.

“Get James and Ab and a pair of scissors.” He yelled urgently. Amy’s breathing was fading at a rapid rate, and her pulse fluttered like a scared bird’s. Marcus had experienced injuries like this before, though, and knew exactly what to do. Once, when he was alone with Thomas, he’d almost died when he’d been dropped in that way. It pained him more than anything else to remember those moments of complete and utter betrayal.

So he didn't.  

Instead, he trained his attention on Abigail, James and Harriet as they returned, holding the giant pair of scissors between them. They grunted under their weight but didn’t question him. No one really bothered with him anymore, to say the least. They all knew he was experienced. Three years of confinement could do a lot to a person.

“Cut her hair short. I can’t work around it.” Marcus muttered. Harriet hefted the scissors onto one knee and squeezed the blades together across Amy’s hair. The locks separated with a simple snip and spilled out around her. Now that he could see her better, Marcus noted that her eyes were closed tightly, her face pale as a ghost and contorted in pain. He sat himself down beside her and pressed his palms down onto her chest. He pushed them in, and relaxed, in, relax. In. Relax. In. Relax…

All I could feel was pain. My body was a raging fire, unable to be contained, unable to die. I felt the flames sear my arms and legs and back and burn my chest. My insides crawled with the sensation. For what felt life forever, I couldn't move, couldn't see, and couldn't speak. Everything was coloured deep shades of black and red and faded in and out of my vision. I was alone in agony, as my body attempted to comprehend how to heal itself in so many places.

So this is how I die. Thoughts flittered in and out of my brain. I always thought I'd go out with more of a bang...

I reminisced of my family through the pain, to try and ignore my terrifying reality. Max's cheerful smile filled my unconsciousness. Mum's cooking. Even Gabby the other friends I'd made back at St Agatha's entered my mind.

"We've looked everywhere, Amy." A foggy image of my cousin told me, her figure coming into focus in the midst of my thoughts. "You're just too small to find."

"Oh well, you were too much of a hassle anyway." Gabby's cheery face moulded into that of my mother's, and I gasped in disbelief. "Now you're out of the picture I can get myself a normal daughter..."

"You're not real!" I yelled firmly at her wavering image.

She only shrugged. "Then why are you thinking about this?"

I opened my mouth to fire back a response, but my insides protested and I gulped as a new round of pain engulfed my thoughts...

****

I wondered if she was dead. Maybe I'd killed the Amy Leebeck from the profile photo, the one with dimples and a huge smile that filled her doll's face with a soft beauty. I forced myself not to think in that way, though, knowing that the girl hadn't died from the fall.

No.

 She wouldn't be dead. Marcus would have fixed her up, just as I'd witnessed . It'd surprised me to realise that some part of him was still willing to care for another, to the point where after months of self induced isolation, he'd left the cage to help Amy. I almost cringed to myself at what I'd done to Marcus all of those painful years ago. I'd dropped him in exactly the same way as I had Amy, but he'd had to heal himself, stitch up cuts with a clump of his own hair and wrap ripped tissues around his broken bones to create a makeshift splint. My old friend had matured in ways I'd never imagined possible, but I never pitied him.

 I never liked pitying any of the shrunken, not even Abigail or James who had their whole teenage lives ahead of them.

They had brought this on themselves, after all.

Had they, though? A voice in my head demanded. Was it their fault that they had a different blood type to everyone else? A blood type that I myself shared? My brain was a confusing piece of work. I guess it just soothed me more than anything just to blame them, rather than the prison for jailing my mother in the first place, or the judge for declaring her guilty.

Blaming the shrunken for my mother's conviction allowed me to feel at peace with everyone else involved. It wasn't fair to bear the brunt of my emotional pain of losing my parents, but it was a better alternative, and kept me sane enough not to punch the living daylights out of every cop I saw.

So why didn't Amy hate me? It made me almost uneasy to even talk to her knowing that she wasn't like the others. Amy had shown real concern for my wellbeing. She'd been sassy, yes, and that had made me even angrier than I would have been if she'd simply stayed silent, but the whole time I realised that she was just trying to figure me out better. No shrunken has ever shown the slightest of interests in that sense.

It has always been far easier that way, if they'd all just hate me for what I have done. Their whole purpose here was to feel what my mum feels; trapped. She should hate the guards of her prison, yet she is more capable than any of the other prisoners for showing remorse. After all- they're the ones responsible for keeping her stuck there like the shrunken in my birdcage. For three years, I've fought a losing battle with myself as to whether it was right to execute my revenge in such a life destroying way, but I've begun to come to terms with fate.

And Amy will hate me now. She won't speak to me, acknowledge me or look at me again, and in a way it was for the best. After what I'd did to her, she deserved every little bit of hatred to bubble inside her when she saw me. In a way, I wanted her to hate me. I wanted her to feel exactly what mum felt when she stared out of her cell and yearned to re-enter the world she'd given up all those years ago. It made it easier for me to hate them, when they hated me back, I suppose.

But for some reason, Amy was different, and I'd noticed it straight after she'd woken up and busted out of the fish tank that day. Maybe it was her nature, or her personality. It might have even been the fact that every single day of her life had been spent at under six inches tall. I just felt strange and almost unethical hurting her or insulting her. She was just as vulnerable as the others, but Amy had chosen to fight back against me, and come close to escaping. It baffled me as to why she'd chosen to reveal herself the day before, rather than making a break for it.

I shook my head to clear out the irritating questions buzzing around like bees in my mind. Marcus had rushed to Amy's side to tend to her wounds; there was nothing left for me to do but get back to my own past times. So, forcing myself out of the pity cycle, I slipped my ear buds back in and lay back in bed, 'Radioactive' by Imagine Dragons pumping through my ears on full blast...

****

"Amy. Amy. Amy."  People continued to enter my dreams. It was strange to hear such familiar voices as they chatted on and on inside my head. I tried to fight them at first, but with their constant turmoil it became far too strong for me to fight back. The pain coursing through my body had dulled to a low throb but I knew that this was simply my nervous system losing the battle. I knew that something had gone terribly wrong at some point in time.

But I couldn't move a muscle. I felt paralysed to the spot, and for a fleeting moment I panicked, thinking that the slowly diminishing pain was a sign that I'd broken my spinal cord. My heart beat faster and faster, and despite being unconscious, I could feel a cold sweat forming on my brow. There was no way I was going to wake up five inches tall and paralysed. If that were the case, I'd choose not to wake up at all.

Unfortunately though, I knew that I'd have to step back into the real world eventually, and when the voices spoke to me again, I figured it was as good a time as any.

"Wake up. Amy. Amy... Wake up..."

For a few minutes, I focussed on the speaker. She had a thin, small voice...  I recognised it immediately and my fingers twitched. With a pained grimace, I opened my eyes to find Harriet sitting beside me, her hands clutching my own. I stared at her blankly, my head spinning. Every inch of me ached, to the point where I winced as I spoke.

"What happened?" I managed, my voice barely audible. I could literally remember nothing about the past few hours. It had only been hours, hadn't it?

 Harriet bit her lip and laid her hands down in her lap. "Thomas dropped you from a metre up at least. I saw it." She whispered, and my eyes widened in sudden shock.

"Really? Shit, I must've pissed him off. I remember talking to him and all... but—"

"Never talk to him or go near him. It's dangerous, Amy. You could have been killed!" She butted in, her grey eyes pleading. I coughed, pain building up around my ribcage at the simple action.

"What time is it?" I asked.

Harriet let out a long, sorrow filled sigh."It's been two days, Amy. Your left leg is broken and I think you may have sprained the other ankle. You were lucky to have landed on your feet first to break the fall." She explained, and for the first time since waking up, I looked down at my body, dreading what I would see. I was practically cocooned in blankets, one of my legs bandaged in what looked to be strips of tissue, with a splint that had once been half a paddle-pop stick. My chest and stomach were patterned with purple and blue bruises, which ached dully with every move. I was still wearing my striped sweater and jeans, although a large hole had formed at the knee, and the material covering my left leg had been torn off, replaced with the makeshift cast.

"Who did this—"

"Marcus. You can thank him later. Just rest." Harriet instructed gently, and for once, I just did as she said. She rubbed her eyes and yawned from beside me after a minute and I laughed, patting the collection of soft blankets beside my aching body.

"I'm all good now. You can sleep, if you're tired." I said. With those words in mind, she shot me a grateful smile and lay down beside me to stare up at the ceiling of the cage. Once a few silent minutes had passed though, Harriet sighed.

"You're the first girl to get her who's around my age. I haven't seen a teenage girl in years." She whispered, and a soft smile made its way to my lips.

"Heh- I'd only just gone to a regular highschool before, well..." The smile faded as I stared down at my ruined legs. "I guess it could've been worse. Heck; I'm just glad right now that he didn't paralyse me, the bastard."

I shook my head, disbelief beginning to sink in. "I can't even believe that he went and dropped me like that. I really thought I was getting through to him..."

"What's there to get through to, Amy!?" Harriet yelled, without warning. "We've told you countless times- Thomas is dangerous!" She threw her arms out, almost begging me to see the damage he'd caused me, and I really did. I knew exactly what he'd done to me. Yet I still couldn't bring myself to hate the guy, at least while I knew that there was a part of him, deep down that cared. "I don't know why you're still under the impression that he'll change, because he won't!" Harriet sighed once more, her chest dipping down like a deflated balloon. "Marcus thought that he could bring the 'old' Thomas back once, but look where it got him..."

I shook my head in defiance, refusing to look on the negative side. "Look, Harriet. There's something about Thomas; he almost... changed back there when he was about to drop me. There was pity in his eyes, and I'll be damned if he's not thinking about that pity right now!"

"Amy-" She began, but I cut her off with an agonising wave of my hand.

"There's a kink in his chain, Harriet. For a minute back there he looked at me and cared. I saw it!"

"Amy-"

"I don't think he's a bad guy, deep down. He's just stumbled onto the wrong path and has lost his way! If we all helped, we can change him, for good—"

"Amy LISTEN to me!" Harriet snapped with such harshness that I slapped my mouth shut. "People don't change!" She yelled, rolling over and facing me with cold, grey eyes. "Do you want to know why Marcus is the way he is now- why we're all like this?! Thomas broke us, Amy. He tore us away from our old lives and stuffed us in a birdcage because he needed someone to act as his punching bag!"

I frowned as my own anger began to build up, and I opened my mouth to fire back another retort, but Harriet's tone was firm, and her next words made everything that I was going to say crumble into an abyss of hurt.

"A-And if you think that after what he's done to YOU, that you can change him, then go ahead. Because all it's proving to the rest of us is that you're Just. Like. Him."

With that, she stormed off, leaving me alone in complete and utter shock for a long, long time.

****

And that was what triggered everything that followed.

 I couldn't walk or get out of bed for weeks on end, so I simply lay there, drifting in and out of consciousness with little on my mind. When Thomas came to open the cage door in the mornings I pulled the blankets over me like a cocoon of safety. I wasn't in the mood to see him, anyway. After what Harriet had said on that fateful day, I didn't think I would have it in me to confront him for a long, long time.

Marcus sometimes sat with me while the others were outside. He didn't have any intention of following anymore, as he'd mentioned multiple times. He would stroke my cropped hair as he talked and I would look into his eyes, trying to read his deeper thoughts. But like before, his expression never changed. He always came across as blank. Broken beyond repair, almost like a used toy that no longer had any purpose to fulfil, any story to tell.

Eventually, after the third week in bed, I felt something I never thought I'd've felt again: small. Maybe that was what I was, inside as well as outside. What I was destined to be. Within the next month, my eyes had dulled and I felt emotionless, just like the others. My appetite trailed downwards and my skin became pale and sallow. I was fading away, my mind thinking the same things over and over.

And over.

And over.

By two months, my injuries had healed, but my spirit had died. Someone had popped the balloon of my life and all that remained was a deflated body without a soul to carry it onwards. So when my worn legs could support my weight again, all I wanted to do was run. That was the problem, though: I had nowhere to run to, nowhere to go that would take me to a better place, where the grass was green, the sun was out and my family was around me to get me through these dark times. But I couldn't find that place, and after the third month, it ceased to exist at all.

 My life was contained by the boundaries of Thomas's room.

When Thomas looked at me smugly, I just stared at him, not knowing what emotions I could muster anymore. Thoughts of my family washed away like someone has doused me under a wave and stolen my memories. I had basic conversations with my cellmates about food and life in general, but by the fourth month, escape seemed so impossible I didn't even acknowledge it. I began to accept my life there and then in that birdcage, and that it was all I would ever experience. All I would ever see, hear and feel for.

But I felt nothing.

I thought of Marcus, being here for over three years, and tried to imagine myself in that time. Did I have any more hope to lose? Any more love to disintegrate? I busied myself with drawing and reading when I was allowed outside into Thomas's room. I used the lead of his pacers and the edge of a notebook. I drew everything I could remember of my old life. The kitchen, the shaggy carpet, mum and Max, Gabby. Their eyes stared at me expressionlessly through the paper. They couldn't comfort me. No one could. I was alone with my life. Alone with my mind. And alone with Thomas Ryan. Alone with a monster.

Yet I couldn't bring myself to pass the final hurdle that the other cellmates had so easily crossed.

I couldn't hate him.

Four months later...

I scrambled onto Thomas's desk, deeming it the best place to look for pencils and paper. They were usually littered on the floor, but for the first time in almost a month, he'd decided to tidy his room. Thomas himself was lying with his hands at his stomach listening to his IPod. I heard the faint sound of 'It Comes Back To You' by Imagine Dragons pump through his ear buds. I steered well away from him, knowing a confrontation would do nothing in my favour. It had been a long time since our last proper conversation, and not as long a time since I'd regained function of my legs. And being stuck in a birdcage for two months with my only company being a broken teenage boy with long hair was not really something I'd want to repeat.

My thoughts were conflicted though, and the same nagging voice, while growing smaller and smaller by the day, begged me to talk to him about his problems. I opted to avoid him as usual and reached for the pencil tin to yank a pole sized pacer down onto the desk. I barely felt Thomas's eyes flicker on my pale body, but they didn't linger. They never did, anymore. I pulled a strip of lead out of the pacer and lay down beside one of the notebooks on the desk to begin sketching.

As soon as I'd let the lead tip make contact with the paper, it skimmed across the page like it had a mind of its own. I let it, bored of drawing set things that no longer mattered in my life. I sat bolt upright though, when I realized that I had drawn Thomas's face and scribbled over the top of the sketch with gritted teeth. I hurled the lead across the desk, as far away as possible, and put my head in my hands. I didn't even care that Thomas had his eyes locked on me again. Tears streamed down my face. What was I doing? Did I even know anymore? As I wept, a familiar song filled my ears.

"We all are living in a dream, where life ain't what it seems... oh everything's a mess..." I started humming the tune of 'Dream' quietly through the constant flow of tears. I sang the chorus dully, and memories flooded in of the first time I'd heard the song, back in the birdcage when Marcus had sung it to himself. It made me realise just how much I could relate to the lyrics. The world I lived in was much like a dream, where everything in it was a complete mess. So once the song had consumed me in its sorrows, I didn't even notice that I'd gotten to my feet and  sat on the edge of the desk, with Thomas's giant face inches from my own.

I did though, when he turned to face me so suddenly that I had next to no time to put my hands over my ears before he yelled:

 "What are you DOING!" His voice pierced my eardrums like knives and I fell back, rubbing my temples in pain. I sniffled away the tears in a rush, as I watched the shadow of his hand move over my body. I cringed at first but then relaxed, realising how little I cared. When he lifted me off the desk with rough movements, I didn't even flinch or try to escape. He brought me eye level with him, his hand around my waist and chest again like a vice. It brought a painful round of Déjà vu to stare up at Thomas's angry face from the same angle as I had four months ago. The only difference now was my attitude to the situation.

"Go ahead." I mumbled, with a blunt voice that was not my own. "Kill me."

Thomas's huge blue eyes widened, but to my surprise there was only a slight flicker of anger behind them."Why don't you fight? Why don't you hate me?" He asked, practically begging for the answer.

So, with a long sigh, I gave it to him. "Because you're not always like this." I said. "Most of the time, you're just like me. Lost."

My words didn't seem to affect him as much as I'd thought, and all I got in return was a sigh of his own. "I don't get you, Amy. Everyone else in that blasted cage wants to kill me. It's their punishment." His arm muscles contracted further around my waist. I winced, expelling a sharp grunt in pain.

"I... don't... think... you... hate... me." The words came out in a ragged croak, my lungs in the process of being ruptured in his grip.

All signs of confusion in Thomas's expression changed, and his face twisted into a snarl. "Of course I hate you, you little shit. You put my mum in jail and sent me into foster care!" He snapped, the volume stinging my ears.

"Well... I'll never hate you Thomas. Even if you torture me till I die. I will never hate you." I gasped, as the pain of being squeezed dulled my senses and tore through my bones.

"You are winning a losing battle, Amy. I can make you hate me. All I have to do is snap your little bones one by one and watch you suffer and scream knowing no one, no one can fix someone your size once they are crippled." He hissed. I recoiled in his grip, as if I'd just been slapped.

"You're not really like this." I said tightly. "I know that somewhere deep down you care for us. You bring us food and water. Give us time outside. I know you care for me." My heart beat at a million miles in my chest as four month's worth of bottled anger finally spilled from my lips.

"Picture yourself this size, Thomas Ryan. Picture your dad running out of the hospital after they saw that their only child had been shrunk. Picture yourself knowing your whole life that you have broken your family and left your little brother fatherless. You have it damn good, and you know it!" I yelled the last half of my speech, body quivering in rage. "And if my mum gave me up because I was too hard to look after, then no one would adopt my sorry ass and give me a new home. Because no one wants a tiny daughter."

 I exhaled shakily and waited for a reaction. It came of course, but Thomas was silent for a few seconds beforehand. He released his grip on me and I squeezed my eyes shut, anticipating the familiar racking pain in my legs after I'd hit the ground... just like before. But I landed on my back on a surface surprisingly soft and squishy, the wind knocked out of my aching body. I'd fallen onto Thomas's bed, although the relief was short lived, as I snapped back into standing, his gigantic body still turned to me.

 "I wish I could see you this size." I continued, as if I hadn't just free fallen over 50 relative metres. "I wish I could see you suffer the way I do and I wish you were the one getting thrown onto a bed and toyed with like you know nothing." I yelled, no air in my lungs to fuel my retort.

Thomas didn't move. He just sat there cross legged on his bed staring. In bewilderment I suppose. I don't think even Marcus had been game enough to say something like that to him before. But then again, I was different. Out of all of us, I'd endured this kind of suffering for the longest, even though the others had been in Thomas's clutches far longer. My mind had grown accustomed to being trapped long before my body had. All it had taken for it to catch up was a situation like my abduction, and now, I felt ready to let go. Regular sized people had taken advantage of me for my entire life, and I'd just reached my breaking point. After half a minute of waiting for Thomas's next move though, someone cheered. I scanned the bedroom with confused eyes, searching for the speaker.

"Go Amy! Teach that fucker a lesson!" It took me a while to realise that it was Marcus cheering, the boy who'd never even left the birdcage until, well, now. Ebony and Russel came out from behind a bookshelf and joined in, followed by Harriet, and then finally Abigail and James.

I couldn't help but beam, grateful that there were other backing me up. Thomas on the other hand had paled. His tanned skin was barely white. I relaxed a little on the bed, enjoying the satisfaction of overpowering Thomas, although it didn't last long. His rough hand came at me again and I retained the same smug smile as I was scooped me up again and held back at eye level with the giant. I didn't even offer any resistance to the invading digits.

"Look what you've done! You've embarrassed me. Made me feel like the loser here!" He snapped in irritation. The sheer sound of his voice burst my ears, but I ignored the pain. My lips curled into a smile.

 "Isn't that what you wanted us to feel, Thomas? Like we hate you? Think you are the loser here? I think you'll find that everyone but me in this room is complying with your wishes." I replied in complete calm.

 His eyes flared in anger. Still holding me in the tight grip I was already growing accustomed to, he yanked open his desk drawer and retrieved an empty jam jar, with several holes punched into the lid. I laughed when he held it out for me to see, obviously expecting me to cower in fear at the sight of the thing. It was one moment where I appreciated the countless past times when Max and his friends had gotten kicks out of seeing me trapped inside a jar for hours, even days on end whilst mum was on business trips.

"You think that scares me?" I giggled, wiping a tear out of my eye. "Believe me; I am quite accustomed to being shoved in a jar." At that stage, I wasn't in the right frame of mind to give a shit. I only watched with a manic grin as he opened the jar lid with exaggerated movements and dropped me roughly inside. My face whacked the size of the glass, but I was too giddy to feel the pain that followed. My eyes never left his as he screwed the lid shut overhead, or when he placed the jar beside him on the desk. I sat up with my back propped lazily against the clean glass wall of the jar and folded my arms with a loud huff.

"Am I your new pet?" I asked.

Thomas grunted to himself, but didn't answer. My guess was that he was still fuming from being humiliated. "You little bitch. Let's see how you feel after a week next to me in that jar." He snapped, and I shot him a devil's smile.

"Oooh! Harsh words for someone younger than me!"

"Hah. When's your birthday?"

"January third."

"Bitch." He lay back on his bed and exhaled slowly.

"Just to clarify, I've been in a jar for more than a week. This is a norm." I said with a casual shrug. He laughed dryly in response.

"Well I hope you enjoy your stay." He said with a voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I will, thank you." I mumbled.

Moonlight filtered through the curtains. I stared at it, the light casting eerie shadows over Thomas's sleeping form. He turned sideways in his sleep to face me and I reeled back in surprise only to hit the glass wall of my jar painfully. He didn't stir though, and blasted a loud snore.

It was just past midnight, according to the digital clock beside the jar. The house was silent, apart from Thomas's hollow snores, but I couldn't get to sleep. The glass of my tiny prison was cold as ice and I shivered when I rested my head against it. Funny that I wasn't used to being in a jar after two months without my brother. I'd reached the point where I realized how much easier it'd be for my family without having me to care for. Mum had always appeared weary when in my presence, although I'd never truly noticed it. Maybe now, without me, she could build her and Max a new life. Maybe it was best for me to be here, with someone like Thomas. It scared me just how easily I'd come to accept my fate.

Sleep found me eventually, and I settled onto the glass, my feeble body heat warming the surface. I woke before the sun rose, finding to my surprise that Thomas had his bedside lamp on and was reading, though without his familiar ear buds in. He didn't notice that I was in fact awake, so I lay there, watching him. He seemed so relaxed, and it was beyond weird to see him without a frown on his face. His sandy hair was sticking out at odd angles and he was wearing a blue shirt and boxer shorts. I rested my head on my hands, deciding to make my presence known while he was in a somewhat good mood.

"Morning." I called quietly. His calm facade changed so suddenly I was shocked, and he tossed the book to the floor with a thud that made me flinch.

"You're awake." He noted.

I rolled my eyes at that. "Sleep well?" I asked. His eyes shifted to my face and he wore a confused expression.

"Yes." He mumbled eventually.

"You think you could maybe put a tissue in here for me or something?" I asked. "I've got a killer backache from sleeping on a hard surface all night."

"Um... I guess." He said.

"Thanks." I grinned, watching the giant boy hop out of bed and grab a tissue from the box next to the covered birdcage. I was almost certain that he was wondering why I was being so nice to him. In all truthfulness, it was only because his awkward reactions amused me, to an extent.

"You have school today?" I asked, yawning.

"No. It's Saturday. Stop asking questions." Thomas said as he yanked the lid of the jar open and plonked a tissue on top of my head. I ignored the not so flattering action and laid it out on the base of the jar before sitting down.

"Why? You afraid to have a conversation with me?" I teased half-heartedly.

"No. I just don't want to talk." He said.

"I'm a good listener." I couldn't help but roll my eyes again at his bluntness. "It's not like I have somewhere I have to be..."

Thomas's eyes looked me up and down for a moment, and he sighed. "I've been thinking a lot lately." He said, settling back down into his bed with his hands behind his head.

"What about?" I asked.

He opened his mouth to speak but closed it abruptly, shaking his head in obvious bewilderment.

"I can't believe I'm talking to you. Just shut up!"

"It's not gonna kill you to talk!" I actually laughed at his downright rejection. I lay on my back on the tissue with my feet propped upwards on the jar's side. "You know, about yesterday..." I began.

"If you think you can sweet talk me into letting you out..."

"No... I wanted to apologise." I sighed. "I know it must be hard for you and your mum. Believe me. If anyone understands, it's me."

Thomas only hung his head. "You shouldn't talk to me. You're going to make me pity you! For Christ's sakes that is not what I want to do." He said, irritated.

I looked at him curiously from the desk, still on my four month long quest to figure the guy out. "You don't have to pity me. I honestly don't give a shit." I said.

"Obviously not, thinking back to what you did yesterday."

 "It's not like you would care if you killed me!" I snapped, and a sigh escaped his lips, fogging up the glass of my jar.

"I would, Amy." His voice wavered. "I'm not a killer. I wouldn't kill you."

I snorted. "Alright, so you're not a killer then. But you are an torturer. And why? Because you can't lose this stupid grudge of yours..." Thomas squeezed his eyes shut and took several deep breaths at my words, so naturally, I continued.

"You think you can just tell yourself that this is normal? That taking people away from their families is just what humans do? You need to wake up, Thomas. James and Ab are nine! Nine years old! And living in what; a birdcage!"

"YOU DON'T GET IT!" He blurted, voice rising in anger. And no: I don't need to describe the pain that went through my ears anymore, since I have done it multiple times already.

"Oh my god Thomas! That's what you always say! But I kind of do get it, seeing as you don't let any of us 'shrunken' forget!" My ears were ringing, not only from his shouts but from my own rage. I spat out the word 'shrunken' like it was poison in my mouth.

Thomas waved his hand, as if to silence me. "I'm used to you all yelling insults at me. Not gonna change my mind."

"I'm not trying to make you change your mind!" I said hotly, causing the guy to throw up his hands in exasperation.

 "I can't believe I'm even arguing with you when you are a tenth my size! I could just squish you like..."

"A bug? I know! I get that a lot!" I snarled. Thomas smashed his fist into his palm to imitate squishing a bug, and I felt hot tears trickling down my cheeks, fuelled by anger.

"Aww. Now I have to comfort the bug!" He cooed, chuckling. The giant stood up, and I refused to look at him as he made for the bedroom door. "Bye, bye bug!" Thomas called out as he left the room. The door slammed and I was left in silence, with only the sounds of my own sniffles to soothe me.

*****

Why am I pitying her? She's exactly like the others; responsible for all the grief the press gave my mother. Responsible for putting her in jail and leaving her there permanently. I couldn't bring myself to even think that she was innocent, that she didn't deserve this. Because she did; they all did.

 Well, now I was sure she hated me, at least. Hell- I'd left the girl crying in a glass jar. Who wouldn't be sad? I didn't know what to say to her, when she'd spoken to me earlier. All I could scramble from my brain were insults. It made me wonder just how long she'd been awake staring at me before she'd started our... disappointing conversation. I almost admired the way she'd talked to me; as easily as talking to a family friend. With hatred dripping off her tone or course, but without hesitation of fear.

Maybe I was wrong when I'd figured her spirit had been singed all of those months ago, when she'd ignored me completely. But it still flared inside her. Amy had held on far longer than the other shrunken, and it had been almost scary to see her conversing to me like I was a friend, rather than the person responsible for ruining her life. She'd insulted me in front of the shrunken and all I could think about then was squishing her and smearing her toothpick bones all over my window. She was an evil creature, destined to be killed.

What am I saying? I furrowed my brow in confusion as I made for the bedroom door.

I must be mad.

If the girl didn't hate me now, I honestly don't know what would make her. She had such a strong capacity for pain, and it worried the hell out of me. Why was she different to the others in that sense? What had she done during her life to be able to pull through several broken bones like they were bandaids ready to rip off.

I leant against the door I'd just slammed and put my hands to my temples wearily. I wondered what my mother would think of this- torturing and imprisoning shrunken for the sake of her. She wouldn't speak to me; I know that much. She'd be just like Marcus, a friend destroyed, burnt to ashes in a mental war. Her body would be present with me, but in her mind there would be doubt. Anger.

Horror.

But what could I do? I couldn't just get all the shrunken and take them home and make everything better. The chances were that I'd be sent straight to prison with mum or worse, given the death sentence. Besides; Marcus's family, so I'd heard, had moved away when he disappeared. Ebony's parents had been killed in a car crash. And Amy's mum... Amy had said that she'd wrecked her own family just by being there.

They wouldn't believe me if I said that I'd had a change of heart. Marcus would snort and tell me to get a life. Russel would swear at me and demand for his teenage years back. I don't even know what Amy would think anymore. Why should I let one new shrunken change my mind? She was just like the rest; manipulative and cruel.

Was she?

I didn't even know anymore. All I could do was feed them, give them living utensils and stay the hell out of their way.

Thomas returned about an hour later to unlock the cage. I watched the others file out, each wearing  their usual blank faces and glassy eyes. Marcus paused to give me a little wave from across the room as he left. I had to do a double take when he actually stepped outside of the cage and hopped gracefully to the ground below, with the rest of the mob. I could tell that his spirits had risen since my ordeal with Thomas the day before, just by the way that he walked with more purpose and confidence.

And for the first time since I'd arrived at Thomas's house all of those months ago, he was smiling.

My cheeks were still wet from crying so I rubbed my eyes and sat with my back to Thomas, who was passing the others food. I didn't look up as he gently unscrewed the lid of the jar and dropped a chunk of soggy buttered toast inside. I kicked the food away, my stomach feeling empty and remote, just like the rest of my body.

 I hugged my arms to my chest and stared at my feet as he sat down on his bed beside me. The jar seemed to work in my favour for once, as the glass walls started to fog up from the steam coming off the toast. I slowly stretched my hand out to the glass and traced a drawing of my mother onto the surface. My fingers wavered on her smile and I rubbed the sketch away with my sleeve. Thomas was looking at me, I could tell. I gave him the satisfaction of silence. He didn't deserve my acknowledgement. As he'd said, I was a bug, incapable of speech or human recognition.

Instead, my eyes wandered over the rest of the bedroom. Harriet, Abigail, James, Ebony, Russel, and even Marcus were gathered by a stack of chapter books on the floor. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but it looked as though they were having some kind of competition. I watched as Russel sprinted towards the books, his feet streaking on the timber floor. He did a little bound and sprung upwards in front of the stack, his body spinning over into a graceful front slip. He landed on his feet on top of the book tower and bowed. The others clapped and cheered, and Abigail let out a surprisingly loud wolf whistle.

I felt Thomas's gaze on me leave as he looked over at Russel, who swung himself back onto the floor and smiled after his rather impressive jump. Harriet was next in line, and I watched in wonder as she ran at the books, broke into a round-off and then finished with a back flip onto the stack. I didn't think the petite, wispy girl had had it in her. Abigail and James whooped excitedly at her jump.

When Ebony had her turn she tore at the books in a blur and swung into a forwards back flip onto the tower, almost easily. Marcus ran up in a similar fashion, and did an elegant aerial onto the books. He stood on top of the pile, his face red and smile wide. I'd never seen him smile like that before. It made me realise how much had changed, just because I'd taken a stand against our captor. The other shrunken, who'd been bland and grey only hours ago now had lifted spirits, and a glimmer of hope for themselves. Whatever else happened, I wanted these feelings to stay.

A round of applause from the others followed Marcus's jump, and I joined in as loudly as I could, whooping and fist pumping. Marcus himself hopped off the books and was rewarded by a gentle hug from Ebony, and then a pat on the back from Russel. They were encouraging him, and I yearned to be there with him, too. Lord knows the guy needed some support.

But then the unusual thing happened.

Three booming claps sounded beside me, tearing through my eardrums. I clapped my hands over my ears to stop them ringing, and the others did the same... all except for Marcus. His beaming face went pale as a ghost, and he tensed up, turning to face Thomas, who stopped clapping and stared down at his shoes. Ebony and Russel muttered something to the group, and within seconds they'd started walking away to the cage with rushed movements.

I frowned. Why had Thomas clapped? I mean; he hated us. I snuck a glance at him, only to find that he was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at his hands, which lay still in his lap. His face was almost as white as Marcus's. I averted my gaze as his eyes found mine.

I didn't get to see him smile.

****

 I sat there for a while, my hands resting in my lap awkwardly. Why had I clapped? I mean, I already knew that the shrunken could do parkour and gymnastics easily, but why now? Was it Marcus? I hadn't seen him smile like that in years, and I knew exactly why. Of course, it was Amy who'd yelled at me the previous day that had given him hope and made him feel alive again. And for once, I wasn't going to protest. I deserved it, after all. Even I myself couldn't deny that.

Amy was looking at me strangely, and I swear I saw her tired eyes glint. I didn't return the stare. Instead I stood up, stretched and began to walk to my door. My brain felt numb, uncaring. As I passed the unlocked birdcage, six pairs of eyes stared quizzically up at me, including Marcus's. Maybe this was the peak of my existence, the time where I let all of my emotions go to hell and give the seven people I'd abducted over the past 3 years their lives back. No, not just yet. I quickly looked down at the floor and shoved the bedroom door open, closing it behind me.

 I needed to be alone.

I needed to think about what was happening with me, after all these years of carelessness. Julie began to say hello from the kitchen as I walk over, but I waved her greeting away with my hand. I wasn't in any mood to talk. I started to jog as I got outside the house. The asphalt driveway crumbled underfoot. I ran through the gate and started along the dusty inclined countryside road, the sun still rising and casting a soft glare over my face.

I didn't stop to look at the scenery, though. Rolling hills, waist high grass, wooden fences, poppy fields and weeds simply flew by with the wind. I jogged along the highway, cars passing at 100 kilometres an hour ever minute or two. Some of the people inside were familiar, but I ignored them. It calmed me to run all of my emotions out, and while my chest burned uncomfortably the entire time, it felt almost peaceful to train my thoughts on something besides my muddled up life.

 Eventually I stopped, out of breath. I had no idea where I had run to. I'd veered onto a track about a kilometre back, and stood panting before a patch of dense bushland. I sat down under the fork of a spindly oak tree, by a half dried up creek. Sweat and dust caked my face and bare skin. I puffed a breath of relief and sighed, relishing the silence of the place. It gave me time to think about my situation.

Something at my stomach area burned through my shirt and my eyes widened suddenly, knowing what it was. I lifted the material up to my chest and swallowed a thick lump in my throat.

"Shit."

It was getting worse. I'd spent so much time thinking of other things that I'd failed to check up on it. I knew that it was spreading, though, yet I didn't realize the extent it had reached in less than three days of ignoring its progress. I gritted my teeth in both pain and fear, gingerly patting my stomach with a finger.

My waist and chest looked normal at first, but less than a month ago a strange black welt had begun to grow under the skin near my stomach. It had spread consistently over the weeks left unattended and now covered my entire chest. I watched in horrified silence as the purple tinged black tendrils which I'd figured out to be my veins twitched and writhed inside me. They looked as though they were seeping up to my left arm, and a few tendrils of black had already reached my shoulder.

What scared me the most was the fact that I knew exactly what was wrong with me. I'd known since the day they'd begun to appear around my stomach. It was the reason why I hadn't even bothered researching the symptoms. Because I knew exactly what they were.

Constant dizziness, searing pain in the areas affected, pale complexion, shortness of breath among many others. I'd done a research project on the disease with Marcus almost four years ago, but I knew everything about what was wrong with me long before that, even. I also knew that at the rate the cancer was spreading inside of me, I didn't have much longer before I would be forced to make the dreaded choice.

I had Shrignakemia, and my blood type was AB Positive.

It was just god's way of getting back at me for all the terrors I've caused during my life, all the friends I'd betrayed. Six people besides Ebony weren't even involved in putting my mother in jail, and like me, she'd learnt the hard way not to meddle with science, after her parents (who'd assembled the hearing in the first place) had been killed in a car crash setup. It was my own father who'd been behind the accident, and it killed him, as well as both Ebony's parents. All because my mother would never live one second free again, unless Ebony recovered from her depression.

So in a way, I'd ruined it for everyone, and now I was living with a time bomb strapped to my chest, slowly ticking down to zero. I knew from Sally Ryan herself that for Shrignakemia patients, the rate of the cancer spreading was different for everyone, but as soon as the darkened blood in my veins progressed to my brain, it would all be over.

And it was almost over.

The question was; would I do something about it?

****

"Why did you do that?" I asked, as Thomas settled into bed that night beside my jar. The giant boy in question only grunted, knowing exactly what I was referring to. I'd been thinking about the way he'd clapped for Marcus for the entire day while Thomas had been out; it gets pretty boring in a jar, otherwise. It blew my mind, the way he'd been so violent to me only a day ago and now he was applauding one of us for their acrobatics. It made me curious as to what exactly was going through the guy's head, and one way or another, I knew that I was going to find out. Talk about wishful thinking.

"I don't know." Thomas mumbled, after a pause. I tilted my head to the side, staring up at his face from inside the jar.  

"You don't have to make yourself hate us." I pressed. "It's easier to just... try to be forgiven." Thomas shifted in bed, his covers half covering him. He ran a hand through his tousled blonde hair and sighed.

"Yeah." He said finally "I know." I followed his example and put my hands behind my head on the tissue like a pillow, before closing my eyes.

"Goodnight." I whispered.

"Night, bug." Thomas said, his lips curling into a faint smile. I snorted and rolled over, the quietness putting me to sleep like a drug.