Ken sat hunched over on the cold bathroom floor, his back pressed against the tub, knees drawn up to his chest as he clung desperately to the toilet. Sweat dripped from his brow, soaking his matted brown hair and trickling down his neck in sticky rivulets. His pale, clammy skin gleamed under the stark fluorescent lighting, casting deep shadows on his hollowed cheeks. His stomach churned with violent nausea, muscles twitching with each dry heave, but no relief came. His throat burned from the acidic bile that refused to rise, leaving him in a torturous limbo of sickness.
The night before, he’d devoured two plates of his mom’s meatloaf—rich, greasy, and drenched in gravy. At the time, it had been worth the indulgence, but now the regret gnawed at him. Each wave of nausea felt like payback for every bite. Ken’s mind buzzed with exhaustion, his thoughts a tangled mess of regret and a rising sense of dread. School was only a few hours away. He was supposed to be up at 7 a.m., and here he was, glued to the bathroom floor, sweating through his pajamas. His alarm clock ticked on mercilessly from his bedroom, a reminder that time wasn’t stopping for him.
What he didn’t know, what no one could have known, was that he hadn’t just come down with a stomach bug. Deep inside his body, something far more sinister was happening. The virus that had taken hold of him was unlike anything modern medicine had ever seen: SHIV, the Shrinking Human Idiopathic Virus. Governments and public health agencies had been working behind closed doors, trying to keep the virus a secret, fearing the chaos that would follow its revelation. Ken had unknowingly become one of the first victims of this unknown pandemic.
Fatigue finally overcame him, and Ken gave up his futile attempts to vomit. He slumped sideways onto the cold tile, his breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. His pajamas clung to his damp skin, the waistband digging into his bloated stomach. The nausea lingered, but the exhaustion was heavier. His eyelids fluttered closed, his body sinking into the cool, merciful embrace of sleep. As he lay there, his body began to change, though Ken didn’t feel a thing.
Slowly, the process began—his cells, one by one, started to shrink. His feet, which had been bare and peeking out from his pajama pants, now slowly disappeared into the fabric. His legs followed, the loose cuffs of his pants swallowing them whole. His torso, his arms, his head—they all shrank steadily, each part vanishing into the oversized t-shirt he wore. The cloth, now massive, collapsed around his shrinking form like a deflated balloon. Ken continued to shrink, his body shrinking down to mere inches in size, buried completely beneath the folds of his own clothing. By the time the process was done, only his sweat-soaked clothes remained, a crumpled heap beside the toilet. Ken, less than an inch tall now, was curled up fast asleep, oblivious to the monumental transformation he had just undergone.
The morning sun crept into the house as the hours passed, its golden light spilling through the small bathroom window, casting long shadows over the tiled floor. The soft chirping of birds outside marked the start of a new day, a cheerful contrast to the silent, unsettling scene within. Ken remained motionless, lost in the depths of his discarded clothing, while the rest of the house stirred to life.
Suddenly, a loud bang echoed through the hallway, followed by a sharp knock on the bathroom door.
“Ken! Are you in there?” The voice belonged to Megan, his older sister, impatient and irritable. She knocked again, harder this time, her fist rattling the flimsy wooden door. “Ken! Hurry up!”
Inside, there was no response—no sound at all. Annoyed, Megan twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open, her socked feet slapping against the cold tile. She was wearing her usual morning get-up: an oversized t-shirt that hung loosely down to her thighs and a pair of fuzzy socks. Her blonde hair was pulled into a messy ponytail, strands sticking out in every direction from a restless night’s sleep. She looked around, her eyes narrowing when they landed on the pile of Ken’s clothes near the toilet.
“Seriously?” Megan groaned, rolling her eyes. “You leave your dirty clothes everywhere.” She muttered to herself as she stepped forward, reaching down to gather the crumpled heap. She was completely unaware of the tiny figure trapped beneath the layers of fabric, her brother now no bigger than an insect.
Ken, still half-asleep, suddenly felt his world shift. The ground beneath him, which had been soft and familiar, was now moving, tossing him from side to side. He was enveloped in darkness, the air thick with the musty scent of sweat and detergent. Panic shot through him as he became aware of his surroundings. He was caught in a swirling vortex of fabric, tossed about like a ragdoll. Disoriented, he had no idea what was happening. He could hear his sister’s voice booming in the distance, like a far-off megaphone, but it was distorted, almost unrecognizable.
As Megan yanked the clothes into her arms, Ken was dragged along with them, tumbled and twisted within the massive folds of fabric. The sensation was nauseating, like being trapped inside a washing machine. His tiny body was completely at the mercy of her careless movements. And then, without warning, he was falling. The world blurred as he plummeted, heart racing, his tiny limbs flailing in the dark. He landed with a soft thud on top of a pile of laundry, the dirty clothes cushioning his fall.
For a moment, Ken lay still, breathless and disoriented. The smell of his sister’s old gym socks assaulted his senses. His mind struggled to make sense of his surroundings. As his vision cleared, he realized with a sickening jolt where he was—he had landed inside the laundry hamper, buried among the clothes. Everything around him was gigantic, the fabric stretching out like a sprawling landscape. His heart pounded as the terrifying truth sank in: he hadn’t just fallen into the hamper. He had shrunk.
His tiny hands trembled as he pushed himself up, his mind racing. He was no bigger than a bug. Panic surged through him. He needed to escape, to find help—but how? He was trapped in a world far too large for him to navigate alone.
He crawled through the thick folds of his sister’s discarded t-shirts and jeans, his tiny body struggling to push through the massive cloth that surrounded him. Every movement felt like a monumental effort, each step slow and painful. The air in the hamper was stifling, filled with the overpowering scent of laundry detergent mixed with the sour stench of sweat. Ken’s heart hammered in his chest as he spotted a small patch of light filtering through the weave of the hamper.
With renewed determination, he clawed his way toward the light, desperate for an escape. The sound of running water echoed from beyond the bathroom walls—Megan was taking a shower. His stomach twisted. She was his only hope of getting out of this nightmare, but how could he possibly get her attention when he was so small?
Finally, Ken reached the edge of the hamper, where a small tear in the fabric offered a glimpse of the vast bathroom beyond. He peered through the hole, his eyes widening in horror. The floor stretched out below like a vast plain, the distance between the hamper and the tile seeming impossibly high. His throat tightened in fear. From his perspective, it looked like a hundred-foot drop.
But there was no time to be afraid. He had to escape. Taking a deep breath, Ken squeezed through the hole, dangling precariously from the woven edge of the hamper. His fingers slipped, and he fell, plummeting toward the floor. He landed hard on the cold tile, pain shooting through his tiny body, but he forced himself to keep moving.
The sound of the shower curtain sliding open sent a jolt of fear through him. Megan stepped out, her wet feet slapping against the floor, sending ripples through the ground. From his minuscule perspective, she was a giant, her legs towering above him like tree trunks, her every step shaking the earth beneath his feet.
Ken screamed, waving his arms frantically, but his voice was a mere squeak, lost in the vastness of the bathroom. Megan, oblivious to her tiny brother’s presence, began drying herself off with a towel. The thundering sound of the fabric rubbing against her skin filled the air, drowning out Ken’s desperate cries.
He froze in place as her foot lifted, her toes flexing, casting a long shadow over him. Time seemed to slow as Ken looked up in horror. The sole of her foot, slick with moisture, descended toward him, a massive wall of flesh that filled his vision. His instincts kicked in, and he bolted, running as fast as his tiny legs could carry him, but it wasn’t enough. Megan’s foot crashed down with a sickening thud, crushing him against the cold tile. His tiny body was obliterated in an instant, leaving nothing but a small red stain.
Megan, completely unaware of what had just happened, continued her morning routine. She wrapped the towel around her body, gathered her things, and left the bathroom without a second glance.
Later, when Ken’s parents couldn’t find him, they would panic. They’d search the house, call the neighbors, and eventually report him missing. Weeks would go by with no sign of him. When they later learned about the virus, they assumed he had fallen victim to it and died a natural death, not realizing that his life had tragically ended beneath the foot of their daughter.