“Do you know what this is?” Iris asks, holding up the silver pen. She’s addressing two shrunken men on the coffee table of her apartment, each naked and about three inches tall. “It’s a prank pen. See, you click the end and instead of the tip coming out, you get a little electric shock.” She’s wearing a small t-shirt that exposes her midriff and a pair of pastel-rainbow panties. Her hair is bleached white and she sits on her couch, twirling the pen in her fingers. She says, “Do you know what this is?” and holds up a black plastic object with two silver prongs.       CRAKAKAK.       The two men take a quick step backwards.      “It’s a Tazer. Understand?”      They nod.      “Now, I want you two to fight. Winner gets to choose. Pen, or Tazer. You can start now.” Iris says, and leans back into the couch, propping her feet up on the edge of the table.      The two little men look at each other. One of them, slightly taller and heavier than the other, starts to walk sideways slowly. The thinner one sidles as well, and they start circling each other.      Iris yawns and stretches her toes, examining her blue-painted toenails.      Finally the larger one steps forward and they start throwing punches. He pushes his opponent back, nearing the edge of the table. Before he reaches it though, the smaller man dives in for a tackle, and they roll around, attempting to grapple each other. The smaller man is wiry, all elbows and knees, but the larger one takes the hits, until he grabs an arm and tosses his opponent to the side. The thin one scrambles to his feet, but gets put into an arm-lock from behind.       The larger man forces him to edge of the table, and is about to throw him off when Iris sits forward and says, “That’s enough. You win, little man.”      He lets go of his opponent, and catches his breath. The smaller man sinks to his knees and buries his head in his arms.      “So,” Iris says, holding a device in each hand, “What’s it going to be?”      The man points to the pen.      “I thought so,” Iris says. She reaches toward the loser with the Tazer, her other hand shielding her face. He tries to scramble away.      ZAAKT.      Iris removes her hand, which is covered in little spots of blood. The winner, now splattered in blood, had fallen to his hands and knees in surprise. He sees the charred remains of his former opponent, now merely a hunk of blackened flesh. He can see that it’s just a torso and a head. The eyes had burst and the skin had blistered and peeled back to reveal teeth and bone. The limbs had disappeared, blown off with the force of the electricity. His insides had liquefied and foul-smelling black ooze spreads from the holes in the body. The little survivor heaves, emptying his stomach onto the coffee table. When he’s finished, he looks up into Iris’s pale cold eyes.       She’s twirling the pen and looking down at him. “Ready?” she says. Without waiting for an answer she pushes the pen down on his back, clicking it and holding him there. He screams, his limbs going taught. She holds him there for several seconds, enjoying sight of him starfished and vibrating under the pen.      When she finally releases him he collapses, shuddering and twitching, unable to move. His hair stands on end. Iris smiles.  After several long moments, he struggles to get an arm under himself so he can rise.  Iris presses down with the pen again, this time chuckling at the sight of the little man being electrocuted beneath her. “Are you happy you won?" She says.      When she finally withdraws, he’s drooling and spasming. All the muscles in his body are limp, and his bowels empty onto the table.      Iris puts the pen down, standing up and going to the kitchen. She returns with a paper towel, leaving it on the table.         “When you can stand again, clean up. Make sure you get the table. The other guy too.” Then she leaves. The little man can do nothing but shake and twitch, the discarded pen in front of him filling his vision. ***      Three days later, Iris sits on the couch naked but for a white undershirt. Her chin rests in one hand, and she’s idly pressing the pen into her little victim’s body. She used to be able to make one of his arms flail like a bird wing when she pressed it into his under-arm, but that nerve must have gotten fried. She used to be able to make him go straight like a paddle and fall on his face, or kick his legs in the air like he was drowning, but those had worn off too. She had liked seeing his little head flail back and forth when she pushed it between his shoulder blades. She had really enjoyed chasing him around the table like a dog. Later on he would curl up like a pill bug at the sight of her.      Now though, she supposes he’s completely fried. He hardly seems to even recognize her, and he just collapses into a heap when she shocks him. When she’s not tormenting him he merely wanders around in a daze on the table.      She sighs and presses the pen into his tiny cock. His body stiffens, but he doesn’t do anything interesting. She presses harder, pushing his penis deep into his pelvis and twisting. When she brings the pen up, his dick is a burst little flap of skin that sticks to the pen, and there’s piss spreading around. She examines him for moment, uninterested, and then uses the pen to squish his balls into past on the table. He moans in pain.       Yep, he’s done. There’s only one other use for him. Iris picks him up and brings him to the kitchen. She puts him down on the cool laminate floor. “Run,” she commands.       He stands there, swaying, his mashed genitals dripping.      Iris stomps her bare foot near him, arms crossed. “Run, bug!” she says.      He seems to get the idea, and starts jogging away. His movements are loose and uncoordinated, like he’s mentally retarded.      Iris rolls her eyes when she sees him trip and tumble onto the floor. She walks over to him and holds her foot over him, waiting until he looks up. When he does, she presses down, feeling his form resist for a moment before her sole pushes through his tiny body to the cool floor, the warm viscera spreading under her foot. She twists slightly, enjoying the varying sensations. Eventually she reaches for the paper towel.