I was skeptical when stories about the shrinking disease first hit the news. Major networks had been taken in by more plausible hoaxes, and they were light on details. No one could explain how it worked, exactly, and the most anyone could say about its structure was “we’re looking into it.” It seemed to come out of nowhere, with no plausible mutation, and it was anyone’s guess where it would end up.
My opinion changed when my friend Kenneth’s wife, Nicole, called me in tears one morning. He had gone missing during the night, and while waiting for him to turn back up she decided to go get some fresh air. When she put on her shoes, however, there was something wet under her right heel. She immediately took it off to investigate, and discovered Kenneth’s tiny, crushed corpse. Nicole could barely get through the story, but I listened closely as she told it. Apparently, she had already called the police on herself and was waiting for them to show up.
That was the morning after I had joined them for dinner. We did not even consider the possibility that one of us might be a carrier as we shook hands, sampled each other’s food and drinks, and hugged each other goodbye. In the space of one conversation, I had gone from doubting it existed to sure I was a carrier. A trip to the doctor’s office on Monday confirmed it. With an incubation period that ranged from one to three weeks, I needed to prepare.
Unlike other reported victims, I lived alone, so I would have to be self-sufficient while tiny until they developed a way to reverse it. Since I would have no need of it, I burned all my vacation time at work and started preparing a store of supplies inside my studio apartment. Careful not to damage it, I pried a tile from the base of my kitchen’s wall, then cleared a square foot of space inside the wall and attached some straps to the tile’s back. I bought fresh supplies of non-perishable food, along with some vitamins to make up for nutritional shortages, and a couple bottles of water I had poked with a pin, then taped over the hole. It was enough to meet the needs of a tiny version of myself for months, at which point I could figure out what to do.
When everything was settled, I began living like I had been given two days to live. Without any other constraints on my time, I tore through books I had been putting off and revisited old games and movies that brought me joy. Going out was too risky, so I made the most of my life as a homebody. I started seeing ads for tiny person caretakers popping up, but decided an arrangement like that was not for me. What the future had in store for me was scary, but I would not entrust my life to a stranger.
During this time, I learned what happened to people who shrank while living alone. Some of them were discovered when their friends or family did a wellness check, but most of the time their landlords found them during the eviction process. No one was willing to estimate how many had been mistaken for pests in an abandoned apartment and exterminated, but significantly the first one reported had left a note explaining they would be waiting at the tip of an arrow drawn with electrical tape. Most of my friends were busy with their own issues in this crisis, and my family was all hundreds of miles away. I would need to protect myself from my landlord in an all new way.
Several weeks went by, and I started to think the test was a false positive. The morning I woke up in total darkness under a blanket so heavy I could not stand beneath it, however, I knew it had finally happened. I crawled over my sheets toward the side of my mattress, probing with my hands to make sure I did not tumble off the edge. When I reached the drop, I grabbed onto the fringe of my blanket and started the slow, controlled climb to the floor. My muscles burned from the effort, making me wish I had spent some of my free time developing my core, but I managed to reach the ground before my body gave out.
Once on the floor, I began making my way to the kitchen. As luck would have it, I had shrunk on the second of the month, and I saw no point in paying rent if I expected to only be using a square foot that was not even in the layout. My landlord would probably be by today to see what was up, and I did not want to be in the open when they came by. It took several hours to reach the kitchen, then I slid my arms into the straps on the tile. I pulled it forward as though I were a pack animal, sliding it into place among the rest of the tile before slipping loose.
My tiny alcove was pitch black. Not a single ray of light came through the covered opening, and running electricity to my refuge was a practical, if not physical, impossibility. As if being an inch tall was not enough, a few minutes in darkness convinced me I would have to adjust to a new normal. I would be holed up here most of the time, with no daylight and no way to track time.
Some time later – it felt like hours, but intense boredom could have made it seem longer – someone came pounding on my door. “Hey, open up!” a voice shouted. It was unnaturally low and muffled by the many layers between us, but it could have only been my landlord. “Rent was due yesterday! You gonna pay?” That confirmed it. I would not have answered the door normally in these circumstances, and I was obviously not going to now.
They forced their way through the door, and I heard their resounding footfalls on the floor. “You here?” they called out. “Looks like all your shit’s still here, and your car’s still in your spot!” Their thudding footsteps grew louder as they came closer. “Let’s cut the crap dude, I know you’re still here. Are you hiding in your bedroom?” My landlord was almost on top of me, but did not notice my sliding tile. In all honesty, it seemed like they were completely oblivious if they had somehow missed the news of people shrinking.
The pounding steps became quieter while they walked away, and I knew my camouflage had held. Three loud bangs came from the distance, and my landlord bellowed, “Hey, if you haven’t skipped town, you’ve got thirty seconds to come out with my rent! Otherwise, I’m hauling your shit out tomorrow and finding a new tenant.” I stayed exactly where I was. Not only was I not going to trust my life to my landlord’s ability to look closely at something, but in the long run I needed someone else to move in. My solution was temporary, and I would still starve eventually without a way to resupply.
The next day came, and my apartment was filled with racket while movers carried my things away. Their steps made the floor quake, and I had to lay down to alleviate the risk of falling and hurting something. It took several hours for them to carry away everything that did not come with the apartment, but most importantly they did not find me. I had no use for a bed or a television anymore, but I still had my life.
The next several weeks saw a long stream of potential clients touring my old apartment, unaware I could hear every word they said. They mostly sounded like young people, with concerns about how they could open up the space for their own projects. My old landlord was against all the ideas, but after a short break in showings their voice stopped showing up and the new one was much more amenable. I just hoped the landlord caught it from me.
There was another month of showings, and still no one agreed to move in. Every few days the price dropped a bit until the rent was a quarter what I had been paying. Even without input from the outside world, that was enough to tell me things were bad. Society was scrambling to adjust to a reality where large parts of the population either were or would be tiny, and one aspect of that was a real estate crash. If they could get a condo for how much a studio apartment cost just a month ago, no one would choose the latter.
Just when my supplies were getting low, I heard the magical words through the tile. Someone was finally moving in. My mind was awash with possibilities. After months of solitude I craved human contact, and I wanted to rush out and meet them the day they moved in. Lacking any knowledge of the world beyond my one square foot, however, made me reluctant. If they even saw me, I had no guarantee tiny people would be safe. I needed more information, and more importantly, an idea of how long I could sustain myself without her noticing.
From the voice giving directions to the movers, I deduced it was a woman moving in. Thudding footsteps and loud screeches filled the apartment while she moved in, and I bided my time. At the very least it would still be a few days until I could emerge even at night, and I was in no rush. With careful rationing I could stretch what I had for weeks, and if I had not gone crazy after all this time a little longer would be easy to endure. For now, the most important thing was learning her routine and building a schedule around it.
I was not sure what day of the week she moved in, but I hoped the five-day work week was still standard. Her thunderous footsteps marked the start of each day while she got ready for work, followed by a long period of peace while she was gone. The vibrations resumed when she got home, and for several hours I heard booming, indistinct voices through the wall while she presumably watched TV. Once they stopped there were a few more minutes of tremors, then she turned in for the night.
Two days passed where she varied wildly from the schedule, or appeared to have no schedule at all, and I knew I could emerge soon. On what must have been Sunday night I listened eagerly while she watched TV, eating cracker crumbs and imagining what delicious foods she would leave out for me. Anything but stale crackers and bottled water would be amazing, but I dreamt of something exotic, like sucking some juice out of an apple or licking a drop of spilled coffee. I went to bed when she did, excited to breathe fresh air and see sunlight again.
Her tremendous footfalls jolted me awake, and I felt for the tile’s cool backing in the darkness. I could tell roughly how far away she was from how much noise her steps made and the tremors’ magnitude when they reached me. The apartment door opening and closing was noticeably different from the sound and feel of her steps and acted as the finale of her morning routine for me. When I heard it, I knew she was gone for the day.
In case she forgot something, I counted up to five minutes before I began pushing. The tile was heavy and the remaining adhesive added to its resistance, but I was not the same weakling I had been when I went into hiding. I had been on a robust regimen of body weight exercises in addition to the mental workouts to keep me sane. Though I did not weigh much, I threw all I had into it, and the tile budged forward. Once it started moving it was simply a matter of keeping the momentum, and I churned my legs until there was enough space on the sides for me to slip through.
Morning sunlight filled the kitchen, and I had to shield my eyes from the brightness. Keeping my hands in front of my face I opened my eyelids for a peek, then quickly squeezed them shut again. A red glare lingered even with them closed, and I stumbled toward the side of the tile. Even in its shadow the light was harsh, and I had to blink rapidly for a bit until my eyesight adjusted enough that I merely had to squint.
Standing in my old apartment was surreal, and not just because of the new furniture arrangement. On my way into hiding I had not taken time to look around, fearing that my landlord would show up at any minute, and during the months inside a wall I had no perspective for how small I was now. I felt like an insect invading my own kitchen, the kind I had often crushed or set out traps for. My old fridge was still in place but it looked like a chrome skyscraper now, stretching to the ceiling’s thick cloud cover hundreds of feet overhead, and I could not even reach the door if I jumped. The counter could support a small town on its own, and the cabinets where I stored my plates had handles taller than me. If still appliances looked like this, a full-sized person moving around would be terrifying.
If my refrigerator had not been moved, my way onto the counter should still be there, too. I walked toward the towering metal structure, and my eyes continued to adjust to the light while I traversed the immense tile floor. The grout between each tile, which I had never even thought of before, made it feel like I was walking through a grid of ditches, while every tile was almost a city block. Its white surface gleamed in the light, and she must have cleaned it recently since I could smell the faint scent of chemicals.
The trek took longer than expected, but I inevitably reached the chrome tower’s base. I followed it to the slim crack where it met the counter, though it seemed more like a gaping chasm now. Thankful I had cleaned it during my time off, I slipped inside and began exploring the crevice. It was dark, but nothing compared to where I had been living, and the tiniest piece of dust of crumb of stale food was clearly visible. Two tile lengths in, I found a string that led to the countertop. Their cleaning had not been too thorough after all.
I grabbed the string with both hands and braced my feet against the side of the counter. One step at a time I walked up the wooden wall, sliding my hands forward so my grip was never broken. Outside of one trip to a special gym I had never climbed before, and certainly not like this, but my strength and willpower helped me overcome that. After a few steps I found a rhythm that worked, and I steadily made my way to the top.
The glue and duct tape held, and I pulled myself onto the particle board platform. Looking at it now, it seemed ridiculous that I never thought I had enough counter space. It was a vast plain the size of two football fields with a deep metal basin in the metal, devoid of features until the other half. On the very edge was a wire fruit bowl overflowing with food, and beside that lay a loaf of bread. I was annoyed at having to walk so much, but it would be worth the effort when I got to eat something besides crackers and flakes of vitamins.
On the way there, I spotted a bit of debris by the sink. Upon closer inspection, they were breadcrumbs bigger than my head with traces of something white spread over them. I picked one up in both hands and found it surprisingly heavy. It felt fresh, and more importantly smelled delicious, so I took the biggest bite of it I could. My teeth had trouble penetrating the grains, but by working my jaw and letting saliva moisten it I was able to get a sizable bite. It was enough to fill my mouth, drying the saliva that remained, and I began slowly chewing. This morsel of bagel was the most satisfying thing I had ever eaten, and I savored every bit of flavor as I devoured it bit by bit.
When it was gone, I continued toward the far edge. I walked along the sink’s seating so there would be no risk of falling in, putting its rim at eye level. Raised pools where water had dripped from her hands grabbed my attention, and I reached my hand into one. It was cold to the touch, so I gathered some in cupped hands and brought it to my mouth. My hands nearly dragged the whole drop onto me when I withdrew them so, not wanting to be drenched, I leaned in and slurped some up. While I had never cared for the city’s water, it was refreshing, and I gulped down the whole drop.
My thirst slaked, I made my way to the fruit bowl. It rested on the ground, so it was only a matter of finding something I could eat. Oranges were out of the question since there was no way I could get through the skin, and the same went for bananas. I circled around the fruit bowl until a splash of red caught my eye. A gigantic red apple, larger than my old car, rested at the bottom, and I knew it was for me.
Immediately I tried to bite into it, but my jaw could not open wide enough to get any part of it in my mouth and my teeth slid uselessly on the outside. When it became clear that would not work, I tried poking a hole in it, but the red skin remained firm. I tried punching it, but my fists did nothing more than make tiny dents that quickly refilled. Climbing up here had made me feel like a powerhouse, but a simple apple proved I had the puny strength of a gnat. Dejected, I left the apple alone and continued my walk around the bowl.
On the other side, I found a green fruit whose skin was gritty to the touch, most likely a pear. It was just as massive as the apple, so I completely skipped trying to bite it. Instead, I tried working my fingers into it, making a shallow groove in the skin. I sawed my fingers up and down, cutting into it until I felt juice. Eagerly I tore skin away until there was an opening big enough for my mouth and shoved my face into it. Sweet juice filled my mouth, and I gulped it down before biting into the soft meat. Months of bland crackers had made me forget what sugar tasted like, and this was ambrosia compared to the bagel.
Though I wanted more, I knew I had to leave. The small hole I had made could be overlooked, but if I took much more it might be noticeable. If she saw tiny bites taken out of her food, she might get suspicious and come looking for me. Worse, she might fumigate the whole place. I had been out for quite some time anyway, and it was time to head back.
During my return trip, I grabbed another bagel crumb for later. Unfortunately, I had nothing to put it in, and I would need both hands free to get down. I carried to the counter’s ledge and tossed it like a medicine ball off the side, doing my best to watch where it landed. When it hit the floor it bounced and rolled out of view, and hopefully I could see where it went when I was back on ground level.
I grabbed the string securely in both hands again and turned to face the sink. With a small hop I fell off the edge of the counter, and the string brought me back to the side. My feet landed flat on the wood, and I bent my knees to soften the blow. Still in a crouch, I pushed myself away from it and slid down the string until I touched down again. Rappelling down like this was tough and wore away the skin on my palms, and I made a mental note to find something to act as gloves next time.
Back on the kitchen floor, I made my way out of the crevice and looked for the crumb. Luckily, it had rolled toward my hiding spot and come to rest in a grout ditch. I was unsure of exactly how long I had been out, so I hurried to pick it up. Lugging it slowed me significantly, and I had to take a break partway through to rest my arms. Still, I was not going to leave this bounty behind, and I did not want to keep exhausting my food stores.
At the entrance to my miniature apartment I rolled it inside, then slipped my arms into the tile’s straps. My legs were still fresh despite the walking and did most of the work while I dragged it back into place. It fit snugly into its slot again, and I kept pulling it forward until I was sure it would be almost seamless. Once I was unable to budge it anymore, I slid out of the straps and moved my dinner beside the wall.
While I rested from the activity, I counted the seconds. Just over ten minutes later the floor shook, signaling the tenant’s return. It was a close call, but I had managed it. For the rest of the night I listened closely with my ear at the tile in case she noticed something was amiss, but she went about her evening as usual. If things kept up like this, I just might live to see a cure.
Every weekday was like this, with some variation. I would wait for her to leave for work, then leave my hideout and climb onto the counter. Inevitably, some tiny fragments remained from her breakfast, so I gorged myself on the leftovers and saved a bit for the weekends. My climbing consistently got better and I stopped wasting time with fruit, making my trips much more efficient. Curious about my improvement, I kept counting the seconds between finishing and the first earthquake from her steps, though I stopped when it was regularly over a half hour.
After a month of this, something beyond my control happened. I was on the far side of the counter scrounging for crumbs she may have left behind when I heard keys jingling on the other side of the door. Thinking quickly, I run and dove behind the fruit bowl, putting it between me and the rest of the room. There was no telling what would happen if she discovered a strange man in her apartment, and I did not want to find out.
The door burst open, and her loud, rumbling voice filled the apartment. “Yeah, I’m sorry I missed it!” she said into her phone. She stopped to take off her shoes, and her high heels clattered against the wood. “I just really needed a half-day today, you know? I’m still working some stuff out from moving, and I need a break after updating customer records based on who has and hasn’t shrunk yet.” Her pounding footsteps as she walked through the apartment were more ominous when I was in it, since there was nothing to dampen the volume and I could hear things rattling from them. “Okay, well thanks for telling me! I’ll see you Monday.”
She walked around the low divider between the living room and into the kitchen while I shuffled along the fruit bowl. Her thunderous steps stopped, and the click of her tongue echoed through the apartment. “Huh. Looks like one of the tiles came loose. I better get that back on before Becca comes by.” If she got it back in place, I would never be able to move it even without adhesive. I would be trapped with her, and there was nothing I could do about it.
She bent down and rummaged through the tool cabinet the landlord maintained, then withdrew the caulking gun I had used a couple times. With it in hand she got to her knees beside the tile, making the room shake with the full force of her weight. Gingerly, she picked up the loose tile and turned it around, then spread a bit of caulk on the back. The tiny straps for me to pull it back went unnoticed as she put it back into place, and she gave it a quick push for good measure. All my planning was ruined because she took an afternoon off.
When she was done, she returned the caulking gun to its place and stepped forward so her hair just peaked over the fruit bowl. She reached down and wrapped her fingers around the apple I was behind, then yanked it out before I could move. Her shadow fell over me, and I stood perfectly still so I would not draw her attention.
Fortunately, she was looking at her phone and not me, and I got my first look at a person in months. She was tall – of course, I expected all unaffected to be tall to me now, but a bit of her hips showed over the counter, making her a good deal taller than I had been. Wavy brown hair fell past her shoulders, and her intense blue eyes focused on the apple in front of her. Her nose was a little large for her face, and her plump lips were drawn taut as she took a bite, showing off straight, bright teeth. Vertical orange stripes on her gray blouse did little to hide her broad shoulders, and the fabric billowed where she tucked it into her charcoal-colored pencil skirt.
A loud crunch rang out when her teeth pierced the crisp apple, and a bit of juice dribbled down her square chin. She wiped it away with a finger and turned to walk into the living room area, my sense of impending danger fading with each step away. Still cowering behind the fruit bowl, I watched her sit on the couch and kick her feet up on the coffee table before turning on the TV. In a matter of seconds she could be on me, and I needed to stay on my toes.
She sat on the couch, watching TV and scrolling through her phone, occasionally taking another large bite of her apple. When it was down to the core, she tossed it in the trash can beside the couch and cleaned her lips and chin with her fingers, then wiped them on her skirt. She went back to scrolling on her phone, wiggling her feet in the open air on the table. Even from a distance she seemed enormous.
After a while, she set her phone down beside her and closed her eyes. A few minutes later, her jaw dropped a little and she began lightly snoring. While she napped, I had a perfect opportunity to find a new hiding spot. If I stayed I could be trapped here all weekend, with countless more opportunities to slip up and be discovered. I needed to get somewhere safe before she woke up.
I dashed back across the counter and found the string that served as my way up and down, then put the scraps of paper I had been using to prevent rope burn on my hands. Gripping the rope tightly, I rappelled down to the floor as usual, then stored the scraps at the string’s base. At a brisk jog I headed toward the snoozing giantess, leaping over the dozen grout ditches along the way. It was risky, but the safest place I could think of was right beneath her.
There was a brief trek over hard wood, then I fought my way through a rug’s white fringes. Though it had not been here long, brushing the strands away still kicked up a cloud of dust, and I coughed while it swirled around my head. It slowed me down a bit, and while it might have been my imagination, I thought I saw her twitch from the noise.
I climbed onto the rug, and immediately sank up to my knees in the red fiber. My pace slowed to a crawl while I navigated the thick material, stepping over the fibers while they tugged like mud on my legs. It took ten minutes just to go a foot while working my way through the hazards, and my muscles burned from the effort. Aside from the first climb, walking through her rug was the hardest thing I had ever done.
When I was almost to the couch, the shadows shifted and a peach streak grabbed my attention. Her tremendous feet slammed down, missing me by less than an inch, making vibrations so powerful my teeth rattled in their sockets. I looked up in as while she stood, and her body curved while she stretched. If she had woken up a minute later, there was no doubt I would have been obliterated under her foot.
Standing this close to her at ground level made me realize just how enormous she was. It would have taken a brief climb just to reach her ankles, and her shins alone were taller than most buildings I had seen. Her thighs were unlike anything I had ever seen, and her skirt would black out a city block. The vertical stripes seemed to make her torso go forever until it disappeared beneath a curtain of hair, and they made her slender arms look even longer. She was much taller than I had ever been - her fingertips nearly brushed the ceiling, while I had to stand on a chair to even reach the light fixtures.
She finished her stretch with a loud groan like a dying air raid siren, then turned slightly toward me. Her foot raised, snapping me out of my trance, and it sailed over my head. Reflexively I ducked, though I knew it would do me no good, and watched the sole move over me, its wrinkles distorted by the nylon mesh pulled taut around it.
It set down with a horrific crash, and the quake emanating from it made my knees go weak. I fell to the ground while she picked up her other foot, harmlessly stepping over me again. The difference between the two landing was tremendous, but it was still intense enough to make my insides quiver. She walked away; I had gone unnoticed again.
While her focus was off me, I scurried beneath the couch. The rug continued another half-foot in here, but I no longer had to hurry. Unless she decided to clean under the couch there was no chance of me being found, and on the off chance she did nothing could save me anyway. I hopped down from the rug back onto hard wood, then continued back to the wall. It was imperative I get as far way from the edges as possible to reduce the chances of her accidentally spotting me now that I was out and among the light.
That evening progressed much as the others had, except now I could see what was going on. After she left she changed into something more comfortable, evidenced by the white socks I saw slapping against the floor, and she eventually returned with dinner. I watched her socks closely while she ate, hoping for so much as a crumb to fall to the floor, but I was not that lucky. Without access to my stash, I would go hungry all weekend.
She changed the channel to the news, and I risked coming forward a little so I could see the screen and get an update on the world outside. I recognized the anchor, Gloria Goodspeed, from her time as the co-anchor before I shrank. It was not a surprise they wanted a main anchor who would fit in the chair, and I leaned against the carpet to listen to her.
In short, things were bad. There had been an ongoing crisis in government and the economy for the past two months as the population at large was unable to control the virus and the vast majority of the population shrank. While the people brought in to replace those affected were plenty capable, there were not enough of them to fill every vital position while maintaining basic services. Despite their size, some of them had been brought back into jobs that did not require physical labor, causing an uproar from people who now had an inch-tall boss.
For the final segment, referred to as “small stories,” she passed it off to Ted, the former head anchor. When the camera zoomed in, I was shocked. He stood on the desk with a microphone pointed down at him, and his background was Gloria’s interlaced fingers. I had not noticed him for the whole half-hour she was speaking, and without the close-up I likely never would have. It seemed less likely to me that my unknowing co-tenant would notice me at just a glance.
“A million and a half more people succumbed to the shrinking disease as it pushes into south Asia and central Africa,” he said. The microphone made it easier to hear him, but it did nothing for his high-pitched, squeaky voice. “The governments of affected countries are trying new quarantine measures after those used in North America and Europe proved ineffective, but the only way to know whether they work is to wait and see. Meanwhile, progress continues on a vaccine, though without non-human testing it is difficult to gauge progress. They can make no estimates for when it will be ready.”
The camera zoomed back out and Gloria took over again. “Thanks, Ted.” She picked up the tiny co-anchor with two fingers and lifted him to her face, then the camera cut in close again. “From all of us at the Channel 6 news team, stay safe and big, everyone!” Credits rolled, and the next program started.
Dumbfounded, I just stared at the screen for a full minute. No one was even working on a treatment, and any form of vaccine was a pipedream. For the rest of my life I would be puny, scrounging scraps off an enormous woman’s countertop, and from the sound of it billions of people were in the same boat. I wanted to cry, but the gigantic feet twitching just inches from me squashed that notion. Maybe I would be tiny until I died, but I was going to put the end off as long as possible.
Couch springs squealed when she stood, and the floor trembled with her steps again. She turned out the lights and walked into my old bedroom, lit only by moonlight. I retreated back to the wall built the most comfortable mattress I could out of what I found, then laid upon it. Since shrinking, I had become accustomed to sleeping in extreme discomfort. The only difference now was I had to contend with light streaming through the windows, so I turned to the wall and closed my eyes.
To my consternation, she did not leave the apartment for the whole weekend, nor did she drop any food or water for me. By Saturday night I was hungry, and as Sunday drew to a close I was parched and starving. If something did not come my way soon, I would have to make something come to me. I was still not sure if I could trust her, but if I did not risk something she would only find my small, desiccated corpse when she finally cleaned under the couch.
I was about to step onto the rug when something on the TV made me pause. They were about to run a segment on Borrowers, tiny criminals who lived in people’s apartments without their knowledge. It did not take a genius to surmise that, by those standards, I was a Borrower, and whatever they said would apply to me. Naturally, I figured I should learn what society at large thought of me before going into it.
The impression was not good. The report started by saying that Borrowers were thieves and squatters, stealing food from the people they lived with and peeping on them at night. They lived beneath couches and inside shoes, and set traps in hopes of claiming the apartment as their own. Borrowers were a menace, if the report was to be believed, and it specified that, because they were effectively intruders, any encounter with a Borrower fell under self-defense. A series of interviews followed, where people said that they had smashed several borrowers out of panic and all they had to do was file a report. With all these new “facts,” this would be the worst time to be discovered.
A set of titanic fingers dropped to the floor and my blood ran cold. She would see me, determine I was a Borrower, and crush me without a second thought. While I got ready for the end, her fingers pinched around a piece of popcorn that had fallen to the floor while I focused on the TV. With a single flick she tossed it into the trash can, and I breathed a sigh of relief that she was not suddenly going on a Borrower hunt.
The next day, she went back to work and I resumed my activities trying to survive. I quickly determined I could bypass the rug entirely by exiting through the side and squeezing between the couch and garbage can. As the last time I emerged, the first climb was the hardest while I contended with hunger and dehydration on the way up. However, once I was back on the counter, I found a veritable bounty of crumbs and water drops to keep me going, and even managed to stop by the fruit bowl for a quick bite of sweet vitamins.
My next mistake came two weeks later, and it would be my last. I should have known better, since even though it was a Monday and I heard her getting ready, she was out the door much quicker than usual. However, I did not see her, and simply figured she had gotten ready in a hurry so she could get to work earlier.
I realized the gravity of my mistake when the door opened while I was still walking toward the kitchen. She walked through it, her footfalls making the floor quake, and closed the door behind her. I stood in the middle of the corridor from the front door. Even though I froze immediately, there was no way she would not spot me.
My suspicions were confirmed just a moment later. “I fucking see you there, Borrower!” she declared, and started walking toward me. No matter how fast I ran, I would not be able to get away from her long strides. The only hope was getting her to listen to reason, presuming she could hear it in the first place.
“I’m not a Borrower!” I protested. “I lived in this apartment before you did, I’m just trying to live!” Although I shouted it at the top of my lungs, my words had a long way to travel to reach her ears.
“You’ve been peeping on me and stealing my shit, haven’t you?” Her voice alone was terrifying, like the horrific roar of an angered dragon. Either she could not hear me or chose not to, but the result was the same.
Before running away, I took one last look at her. Instead of her usual business casual attire, she looked like she had just finished a workout. Her blue sneakers were covered in freshly cut crass, and her gray yoga pants were stained from top to bottom with sweat. Sweat had also stained her blue tank top a few shades darker than her shoes, and I saw that her tan ran all the way up her arms. Thick strands of dark hair clung to her face, and she brushed one behind her ears as she came toward me.
“Where do you think you’re going, you little home intruder?” she taunted. “Gonna hide away so you can sniff my feet later?” I knew running was futile, but I could not bring myself to look death in the face after all this time. As I ran away, I saw what I had missed on a digital calendar. Today was a holiday, and she would not be going to work at all.
A titanic sneaker set down beside me, making me stumble from its tremors. She flicked it to the side, slamming her toes into my whole body, and I tumbled through the air to land supine on the ground. Despite my desire to avoid it, I would be looking at my doom as it came for me.
She stepped with her other foot, and took time to line up her heel so her sole would fall on me. The white treads of her shoe came closer, and I was in the middle of her sole with nowhere to escape. Before her shoe blocked out my view, she raised her chin and pushed back her broad shoulders in a sign of complete physical triumph.
The rubber from her sneaker touched my body, and it was the most horrible thing I could imagine. She pressed down, slowly compressing my body under her shoe while terror and pain filled my body. My ribs all simultaneously cracked inward, sending searing agony to my brain while my vision went totally white. Her shoe touched the floor, completely flattening me beneath her immense weight. For good measure she raised her heel and ground her sole on the ground, turning my smashed corpse into an unrecognizable red mush. When she was done, she went about her day as normal, and did not even think to call in the Borrower sighting until she was getting ready for bed.