Though it was a difficult reality to grapple, there was no remaining in denial now.
Benjamin Modine was getting smaller.
The first week zipped by without any real disturbances in his routine aside from his clothes feeling a little baggier and eye lines meeting higher than normal, at least with women; with the men, he’d almost forgotten the change, as just about every male coworker he encountered at Blend and on the street stood the same diminished height as him. Maybe it was the success of ForLit which allowed Ben to carry himself higher than usual, his chin tilted to the sky, which helped allay the illusion.
Today, though, two weeks into the unthinkable juggernaut that was ForLit, it was obvious. He, somehow or other, was losing height. Maybe his spine was telescoping, or maybe some fungi inside his organs was eating away at him and killing muscle and skin cells in tandem. Whatever the reason, he was now down to just about five foot even. He knew, because he’d tested it with a tape measure, and dropped the thing in shock when he saw where the line stopped.
Ben stepped from the subway as always that morning and made his way to his office with a newfound attentiveness to the world around him, which he’d somehow let go in the optimism of his small ForLit cash bonus and thankful coworkers. He actually set his eyes to the streets and halls and looked. Part of him wished he hadn’t.
Only now did he realize he wasn’t the only one shrinking. Most of the men he passed were about his same height, and some even shorter. There were also decidedly fewer males out in the streets, and those that were didn’t wear their suit jackets, quite possibly, Ben guessed, because their old clothes didn’t fit so well anymore. Certainly his didn’t. He’d had to dig out some old t-shirts from his middle school days just to get by.
Conversely, he realized, that probably freak reaction of a height comparison between himself and his female coworkers, namely Kendra and Mariah, didn’t seem so probable now. Each of them had noticeably grown.
Just then, the pair of them entered the building together ahead of him, and though Ben had to pause and admire their proportionately bulkier rear ends, especially Mariah’s, his nerves fastened on their stature.
Mariah had to be six feet now. A full foot taller than him, her high heels aside; Kendra, meanwhile, who’d begun at above-average height, now stretched up closer to the six-foot-three range. It was surreal watching them bustle between the thin crowds of four-foot-tall men: the little fellas in their oversized shirts, trying not to bump into the supermodel-sized Blend techs, who hardly bothered to look down upon where they were planting their hard-soled shoes.
He also couldn’t help but notice their clothes seemed to fit perfectly. Yet their new bodies were curvier and more bulbous than ever, accentuating hilts and spheres that couldn’t possibly have fit into their old tops and skirts; had they just gone shopping? By the clang of bracelets and glimmer of studded rings, not to mention designer labels upon the attire of his other female coworkers, Ben had to guess they’d completely redone their wardrobes in the wake of their collective growth spurt. He seemed to remember Kendra mentioning something or other about stock options in Blend, all of which he’d dumped at least a year ago when the company was mired in debt.
Was it possible that the six-foot-tall amazonian women stalking their way around him had all bought into Blend at exactly the right moment, thus ensuring a healthy spike in their incomes? Ben wasn’t much for finance, so he hadn’t even thought to try jumping aboard two weeks earlier. Yes, ForLit was now a sensation and in the hand of every consumer, just as Hoshoku promised, but surely the company wasn’t soaring up that fast to visibly double the take of every female coworker who happened to purchase stock?
Though the truth of all this was a hard swallow for Ben, he had to face it. The evidence was all around him, towering over the earth in spike heels and, respectively, scuttling around in big boy clothes. Men and women, separating further inch by inch, day by day, some faster than others. There wasn’t a single body who bypassed Ben outside the subway who didn’t confirm this fact.
Women, meaning every woman, was taller, at least six feet if not a little higher, with the kinds of athletic-erotic curves to make even a man of the cloth blush. And every man, like him, was a willowy shrimp. Almost a dwarf. He looked from them, then up to a skyscraper-length advertisement canopy which draped over the windows and practically reflected off the sky like a mirror: DRINK FORLIT. A crystal-clear image of the red liquid, pouring from a bottle in animated sorcery. It was so delicious and refreshing looking on the poster, the image actually made Ben’s throat gurgle, and that’s when he stopped in his tracks.
The women growing, the men shrinking. ForLit, his perfect base of absolute alchemy, combined with ingredients Ms. Hoshoku had still never deigned to enlighten him with.
ForLit. It had to be. ForLit was doing this. To him, the other men, and every woman who put it to their lips.
Ben was still entrapped in his haunting reverie of the shocking truth when he found himself colliding with an immovable object. A woman’s derriere in skin-tight denim jeans: her ass was so plump yet firm, it was like trying to take down a punching bag by running into it headlong. Ben collapsed on the ground from the accidental impact with the woman’s butt.
“Oh, so sorry,” the woman said. She turned after a moment, clearly not even noticing at first the insignificant man who’d walked straight into her behind. Her fingers cupped over her lips, then combed through fiery red hair which draped down to her chest. “Was I in the way?”
“N-No, no ma’am,” he said to the stranger. He didn’t know her, but it was hard not to call someone so tall a ma’am.
Dizzy, his mind clung to the sensory experience of slamming into the woman’s ass, and the sheer rolling geometry of it. In that one moment, he’d felt the chain reaction ripple of her globes jiggling yet holding still in space, unwilling to move. From his sprawled position on the ground, she was a titan of a person. Her jean-clad legs seemed to stretch just as high as that skyscraper-length ForLit banner.
“Here, let me help you up, little guy,” she said sweetly. Looming above, she reached down, hand spread to receive his. Her palm collected his puny fist like a small child being guided by the teacher. Though he shuffled his legs, preparing to sit up, to his surprise, the woman launched him back to his feet in a single tug. It just took one of her arms, as if she was starting a lawn mower.
“Thanks,” he said, dusting himself off and recollecting his lost briefcase. He could feel his cheeks burning hot with the embarrassment of his stumble and those “skinny” jeans hugging the righteous curves of this redheaded stranger.
“No problem, cutie-pie,” she said, and disappeared inside the sliding subway doors.
Ordinarily Ben probably would’ve been swelling with pride and lust after such an exit, but the way she’d said cutie-pie was troubling. Not in a sultry, come-hither tone; rather, a pitying, childish way, as she might say to a young nephew.
Nevertheless, he re-centered himself. There were far greater problems at stake here. Evidently, not a single other person had attempted to address this drastic change in the population. Certainly nobody at Blend’s corporate office was running through the streets, yanking down the banners, and telling people to quit guzzling so much ForLit.
Which left it to Ben.
And though it made him just a little queasy, as well as pre-emptively aroused, he knew who he had to go see about this. The one person who, if anyone did, knew exactly what was going on with ForLit and its size-altering properties. The same person who knew exactly what had gone into his innocent concoction of diet-approved chemicals.