What would you do if you lived 4000 miles away from where you’re supposed to be? Me? I choose Jack.

Two shots with a splash of amaretto in a glass of coke. A pub I used to go to would call this mixture “Wrath.” I don’t really have a name for it, but it gets me through the longer nights alone. There’s not much else to do when you live in a middle-of-nowhere town in the American Midwest.

I did have dreams. I was supposed to be this hotshot director for a film company in London, but after 5 weeks as an intern, the company spent all its money on commercial shoot in Italy, went bankrupt, and fired the interns first. So back to my hometown I had to go.

It wasn’t all a waste. I met this wonderful man. He was charming and funny, and he actually let me crash at his apartment without trying to take advantage of me. Where in the world am I going to meet another man like that? He had nice friends too. They welcomed me into their little “squad” and I finally felt at home for the first time in my life.

Of course the government says I’m not allowed to be there without a visa, so here I am at a shitty bar, drinking “Wrath.”

The usual crowd is at this bar. Most of the guys have tried to buy me a drink at this point, but I refuse. I don’t want to be seen as a potential partner to anyone here. There is one person in particular that I do not recognise. A woman. Her skin is dark, as are her eyes, but her hair is a magnificent shade of turquoise. She is wearing a white dress and I can clearly see that she is not wearing a bra underneath. I decide that she is probably a feminist or hippy of some kind and go back to sipping my drink. No need to judge people's life choices.

I notice her again as a pair of unsupported breasts are rested on the bar right next to me. She has a very wide toothy grin and is flashing it in my direction.

“You seem unhappy.” She says to me. It is obviously not a question.

“Try finding someone here who isn’t.” I respond. Unsure of why she is talking to me.

“The men here are unhappy because society has put pressure on them to provide. The women here are unhappy because ‘nice guys’ aren’t usually very nice. You are unhappy because you are the only person out of place in this room.” Once again. She is stating things instead of questioning them. I have simply decided that she talks too much.

“You talk too much.” I tell her.

“I’ve been told that before.” She seems quite proud of this fact. “I would like to help you, as it is in my nature to put things back where they belong.”

“Well. Unless you have $11,000 and a UK visa, then I’m stuck right here.”

“There is another way. I can not put you back as you wish to be, but I can at least put you on the correct streets. The world would feel a little more balanced with you in your place.”

I have no idea what she is talking about, but if I can get back to the streets of London, then I can find my man. If I find him, then I’m sure everything will be okay.

I take one last big drink from my cup. “Being on the streets there would be better than being here, but nothing is free. What would I owe you?”

“My child, all you have to do is survive.” With this odd statement, she places her hand on my shoulder. I feel the world melt away from me. My vision goes dark. I think I have fallen off of my bar stool...

Blinding lights. Headache. I didn’t drink that much. Why did I black out? Did that bitch drug me? I slowly bring myself back to consciousness. I’m not in the bar where I should be. I’m not in my own bedroom. I’m not in a stranger’s bedroom. In fact, I don’t think I’m even inside. I can see the sun above me. Is it weird to say that the sky looks further away than normal? And the brick walls that are on either side of me, they seem to stretch upwards for miles.

I am laying on my back in an alleyway. That’s why everything seems so tall, right? Once I stand up, it will all look proportionate again. I check myself over. Nothing is broken. I am not bleeding. I am wearing clothes. My cellphone and wallet are both missing. Perhaps I was mugged? I should find either a phone or a hospital and make certain that everything is okay. Somehow I do not feel normal. Maybe I was drugged…

Okay… Slow down. First, lets try standing up. I pull myself to my feet and look around. Things still feel very disproportionate.

Second. Figure out where I am. I don’t recognise anything immediately. I walk out of this seemingly never ending alleyway and onto a very crowded street.

Third. Why are there so many people? I don’t think there are this many people in the whole county? What is going on?

Fourth. Why is everyone so big??? I have to dodge the shoe of a man who almost steps on me. I throw myself out of his way and back into the safety of the alley. Judging by the fact that I was almost stepped on, I am merely the size of a bug to the people here. I curl into a ball and have a panic attack right where I’m sitting.

Fifth. Cry. A lot.

Sixth. Remember. The crazy lady at the bar. She must have done this to me. She said she could put me back, but not as I wanted. Is this what she meant? I have to find her. She can fix me.

I set out into the busy street once again. This time I am careful to stick to the walls and not in anybodys way. It is very loud. There’s a lot of people talking, and walking, and cars, cabs, and big red busses. There’s homeless men begging for change, and buskers playing all sorts of instruments on the corners. A rickshaw passes by while loud music plays from a stereo. It’s a place I have been to before, although it was much less intimidating last time.

There's big letters on the building across the street. On the left it reads “Boots” and on the right it reads “His Master’s Voice.” The building directly to my left reads “Disney.” I am on Oxford Street… Right in the middle of holiday shopping season.

My first thought is that I have to get away from the Disney store. The last thing I want to find me right now is a child. They might think of me as some discarded toy or worse try to eat me.

I could try to make it to the Underground. Bond Street station is right across the road, but that would be quite a walk for someone my size… And there’s always mice on the Underground. Thinking about it, mice might be worse than kids. I am too small to even reach the bottom step of a bus. I could try getting someone’s attention, but on a busy street like this, who would notice me? And would I really want them to?

There are two young, seemingly harmless girls sitting on a bench not too far away from me. They have set a few shopping bags down on the ground while they talk. Perhaps I can sneak a ride with one of them. It seems like my best option.

I watch the people walk by as I wait for an opening to get to the girls. When there is a minor break in the crowd, I make a mad dash for the bags. I am in such a panic, that I run headfirst into the first object at their feet. The bag is soft enough for me to climb, and I dive headfirst into its contents. My landing is soft, and I am comforted by the gentle swaying of the bag as she picks it up and starts walking. Despite my best efforts, I fall asleep.