Carly sat on the edge of her bed, her hands resting calmly at her sides, her jeaned legs stretched out as far as they could go, her bare feet flattened against the carpet of her bedroom as she scrunched her toes against the well-worn material.
The seventeen-year-old bit her lip, then swiped her tongue across her top row of teeth, feeling the grooves in between each one, the little bits of ground up food mulch jammed between many of them. She tapped her long, firm fingers against the pink bedspread in rhythm. Her eyes remained unblinking as she stared straight ahead at her dresser, her pupils locked firmly to the long, white drawer 2nd from the top.
Her eyes narrowed, and her mouth slowly curled into a smile. Her tiny brother was waiting for her inside of that dark, dank drawer, surrounded by the strong aroma of washer detergent from her freshly cleansed socks.
She imagined, despite the scent of powdery soap, it got to be pretty stale inside of that drawer. It must have been borderline maddening on the mind of her 3-inch-tall older sibling Jack as he sat, probably in the back corner, huddled into a ball, his eyes closed, waiting. Wondering. Wondering when Carly would open the drawer, remove him, and thrust him back into the untold nightmare of his puny life.
Carly’s smile widened to imagine this. The feelings he must be experiencing at the moment. The thoughts going through his head as he sat, naked and completely vulnerable, in the back of the drawer. Sweating it out. Praying to a God he probably no longer believed in that she would have mercy on him this day and just leave him in peace. To wallow in the dark drawer, surrounded by multi-colored socks comparatively the size of small, fabric-lined cars to him.
Carly remained sitting on the bed. Of course, if she wanted to, she could get up and in five steps be standing at the drawer. With almost no effort, she could rip the drawer open, sending her tiny brother’s beaten body slamming against the hardwood of the drawer. An instant later, her hand could be descending, casting a dark shadow over him. Her smile widening, her white teeth radiating down on him with their glowing, smug shine. He would probably not even resist it as her fingers wrapped possessively around his cold sides and thin, stick-like legs, lifting him out of the drawer. Gripping him. Squeezing him. Stroking him. Whatever she wanted. At that point, she had free reign over him.
She could do this. But she didn’t have to.
And that was what made this game more fun than anything for Carly. Her parents were gone for the evening. She had hours. Hours to herself, if she so chose, to sit here on her bed, basking in the terror her brother was experiencing right now as he waited for his gargantuan sister to arrive and play with him like her own de-clothed Ken doll.
Of course, Carly knew her will power wasn’t going to hold out nearly that long. Eventually, the urge would be too great. Simply sitting on the bed and imagining what her brother thought she would do with his pathetic nude body at any moment actually made her want to do it. Carly felt a sly, girlish chuckle escape her lips, and she gently placed her fingers over her mouth as it curled uncontrollably into a soft, devilish smile.
She wanted to make his nightmares come true.
Carly ran her fingers through her long, lustrous dirty-blond hair, taking a deep breath and sighing it dreamily from her lungs as she placed her wide, tanned hand back on the bedspread. Sometimes she wondered why it was that she enjoyed doing this. For a long time, when Carly would lay awake at night, pondering the situation with her shrunken brother and his ultimate fate in her hands, she assumed she did this to him because she hated him.
And she had hated him. For years. He, being three years older than she, had always treated her like dirt, pranking her, calling her names, never giving her a helping hand when she needed it most. What gave him the right? Carly felt her fists tighten to recall these things, but then her fingers softened against her palm as she thought harder about it. No. No, it wasn’t this. She didn’t hate him anymore, and she realized this.
It was simply what he was. He wasn’t even a person any more. It didn’t matter who he had been at one point, it mattered what he was now. And what he was now was a puny, few inch tall, naked, pathetic, crying, easy, desperate toy. Her toy. No one else’s. It was only right that he remain in his drawer, waiting for her to get him out and play with him when she decided it was time.
He had nothing. No possessions. No rights. No life, if she decided to take it away.
Carly nodded to herself, finally able to define it in her mind. This was why she did these things to her brother. Why it was not necessary to feel guilt, remorse, or even real pity for the tiny little boy sitting terrified in her sock drawer at the moment. Why it actually was necessary to do these things to him. Without reinforcement, Carly knew her brother would undoubtedly return to a state of pathetic begging and whimpering for her to help him return to normal size. But this was impossible, and she knew it.
Carly had made another decision about her brother long ago. His old life as her bullying older brother had all been a farce. It had been a trick from some higher power. A mistake, even. His real life had begun three years before when, in an electric strike of good luck, he had been reduced to three inches tall, forced to come to her for survival. It was at that moment, Carly knew without a doubt, that Jack’s life… his TRUE life… had begun. He had always been meant to serve his life, not as her older brother, but as her amusement. Her doll. Her possession. He was finally in his rightful place, and it was her duty to make sure he knew it.
Carly opened her hand, flattening her fingers out, and stared down into her fleshy palm. It looked so small to her, and yet she knew to her brother, when he was sitting in it, it was a gigantic plane of flesh and muscle: a vehicle by which he could be delivered to any number of horrible, horrible fates. She grinned to herself, wiggling her fingers gleefully, then brought her hand to her lips and placed a soft kiss on her own palm. Soon enough, it would serve its proper purpose again. She knew it. Her will power was getting weaker by the minute.
On the carpet, Carly casually kicked her feet under the bed, and stubbed her big toe on something hard and plastic. Raising an eyebrow, she used her dexterous toes to pull the object out from under the bed, leaving it at the base of the covers. She squinted down at it, then smiled, her eyes widening. It was one of her old dolls. One normally used with Barbies to represent a male child.
Gently, Carly raised her foot off the ground, and brought it just over the tiny Barbie boy. She arched her toes and lowered it down, tapping the firm, fleshy ball of her foot against the little doll’s face. The soft, rubbery touch of it against her skin was almost unbearable. She could practically hear the little doll screaming bloody murder at her, quietly, from beneath the long ceiling of creamy, stale foot flesh. She pressed down harder, smiling to herself, gripping the bedspread tightly with her fingers. Savoring the feeling as she flattened her entire soft sole down against the rest of the doll’s body, molding it into the tender, pale skin underneath her foot. Where he belonged. His place.
She wouldn’t be able to handle it much longer, and she knew it.
Removing her foot, Carly arched her toes against the carpet for support before flicking them outward, kicking the tiny doll across the carpeted floor. He was no longer needed or wanted. After all, Carly thought with an adorable little laugh that broke the silence, she had an option far better than that stupid doll. Flattening both feet hard against the ground with a pious stomp, Carly rose to her feet and began walking across the room.
With each step as she neared the dresser, Carly felt her head beginning to swim. The feeling was so familiar. A high. An incredible, incredible high. Her brain lit on fire and then doused in nitrogen. Many of her friends often experimented with drugs at parties, and Carly recalled trying it once. Only once. But never again, because her secret drug was far more potent than anything her friends had, and this only filled her with more glee. Her friends often spoke of the effects of rolling, and all she could do was smile and shake her head. If only they could experience what she got to experience on a nightly basis, or really whenever she wanted. Instant access to a spine-tingling, goose-bump-giving effect whenever she wanted.
And all she had to do was begin walking toward that dresser, knowing full well what was coming. Her brother was the greatest drug she knew she would ever want or need. His pathetic, cold, little body waiting for her. Nothing stopping her. A human life, lying in wait, depending entirely on her actions. The thoughts alone were the kinds of things that made Carly feel joy and excitement, even a curious sort of arousal. Often stomach aches when she hadn’t experienced it for a while.
Carly’s firm fingers gripped around the wooden handle of the drawer, her palms beginning to sweat a little with the anticipation. The short hair on her arms standing on end. Electricity flowing through her brain wildly. Carly swallowed deeply and pulled the drawer open.
There he was. Jack. Small. Helpless. Naked. Vulnerable. Worthless.
They locked eyes for a moment as Jack stared up contentedly at her. Like he knew what was coming already and didn’t care anymore.
Carly beamed a little to herself. Exactly what she wanted. Pursing her lips in a confident way, Carly lowered her hand into the drawer, extending her fingers like claws. The high was about to peak, and she almost felt her vision blur a little until she made contact. The soft touch of Jack’s skin against her fingers and fingertips. Against her palm. She squeezed her fingers together, trapping the boy in between them. She was practically melting with the magnificent, unadulterated euphoria.
Holding her brother in her hands once again, where he was meant to be. She stared down at his little face, staring blankly up at her. No doubt with fear flowing through his veins, causing his hopes to crumble even before she had to do anything to him to crumble them. Carly nodded to herself, poking her wet, pink tongue between her lips. She would have to act soon to make sure there were still some hopes leftover for her to crush manually out of him rather than let his own terror do it for her.
She wriggled her fingers, feeling every square inch of him, knowing there was nowhere safe or sacred on his body from her. Because it was hers to do with as she pleased. She tapped at his chin, ran her fingertip along his fine, string-like hair. Patted at his reasonably toned muscles along his arms and chest. Tapped her thumb at his feet before running it gently up his leg and into his crotch, where she pressed and felt him tingle uncomfortably out of instinct. She pressed again, giggling deeply as he jerked at the horrible, violating touch. She readjusted her fingers, allowing him to fall more snugly into her warm, sweaty palm.
Whatever she wanted to happen to him would happen. It was such a pure, impossible truth, and yet it was her wonderful, perfect reality. And if he didn’t believe in God anymore, that was okay, Carly realized. She was his God now.