It's funny how the unexpected can find you in places you would never expect anything noteworthy to happen.
When I entered the bathroom on that fateful morning, still groggy from the sleep, I didn't notice anything out of ordinary at first. Not in the mirror, at least. I was still the same woman with long, blonde hair, long, plain-looking face, long arms and legs. So long, in fact, I had to lean down a bit so that I could see the top of my head. One of these days I'll have to get a taller mirror. Or a taller apartment. But when you're just pushing your twenties you make do with what you have.
First I brushed my teeth, then my hair. Then I washed the sleepiness off with cold water on my face. One more look in the mirror and I was about to leave. But then something caught my eye, something in the corner of it, a sudden motion on the bathroom's floor. I looked down and noticed what I initially thought to be an ant. Well, it looked like one, as far as its size was concerned. Tiny, minuscule, barely even visible on the brown tiles. And yet, there was something off about it. First, it seemed to be running in my direction. Rather unwise for any insect, especially when it's near someone thousands of times its size. Second, which I realized when it got close enough, it was doing so on two legs. I tried to recall the name of any bipedal insect I could know of, but nothing came to mind. As far as I was concerned there wasn't any, and I felt weird standing there, perfectly still, all while being perplexed by the tiny creature skulking at my feet.
I couldn't help but wonder whether it was afraid. Clearly, not so much, as it's approached me first, but was it just mindless instinct telling it to move forward (despite, well, me in its way) or did it seek something from me? Assistance, food, warmth? What could I possibly have to offer to something this small? In hindsight, it all seems silly - all this pondering about the creature's needs, as if I'd ever care for it. But back then, I think I was curious. About it, about what it felt, how it perceived me. If I were to look at myself through its eyes, would I still look so plain, so average, save for my height? Or would I see a colossus, a mile-high being so large I couldn't see past its huge, bare feet? Was that what it was seeing now? A pair of enormous, even for its size, feet threatening to do it harm?
Then the creature began to move again, but not in any direction. I could've sworn I saw it jump and wave at me, but how could that be possible eluded me. My curiosity got the better of me and soon I was on my knees, leaning down over the tiny thing to get a better look. I saw two legs, two arms, one head no bigger than that of a pin. This creature wasn't an ant at all, but a human being the size of one. I was surprised; not by discovering a person no taller than a quarter of an inch, but by how natural it seemed to me at the time, how ordinary. How something that should absolutely shake me had no impact on me at all. Looking back, I think I know the reason why - I wasn't amazed because there was nothing amazing about it. It was pitiful, and so was he, so tiny and helpless down there, a tiny figure stranded on my bathroom's floor. Frankly, it's hard for me to even put what I was feeling into words. It was a mix of pity and disgust at seeing a man... like this. I pitied him for being the size he was, because no one deserves to find themselves so ridiculously disadvantaged. But at the same time I was disgusted of his weakness, his helplessness.
You know what the real kicker was? I knew this man. I realized it a minute or so of looking at his tiny form, recognizing him by the clothes he was wearing. Whatever made him so small spared him the additional humiliation of being naked too. Now, I haven't told you my name and I don't feel inclined to tell you his but, if you ever take the time to look at the missing people posters, you might have heard of him. What I can tell you is that he was a friend, even a good one. The moment I realized who the tiny person was, thoughts began racing through my mind. At first, the usual: how did he get so small, how long has he been here, how can I help - can I even help? Because to be perfectly honest, at first I wanted to help him. To pick him up, oh so carefully, to drive him to the nearest hospital hoping they could somehow fix him. But I quickly realized two things: one, there was no chance in hell any medical facility in town could possibly bring him back to a normal size. And two, I didn't want to help. Sure, maybe it was reversible, maybe I could've saved him then and there, maybe he would get back to normal and I'd keep reminding him of "that time I found him shrunken in my bathroom". Just imagining how giddy I would be, never letting him live that down, amuses me. But just this once, I wanted something else, something not ordinary. Something I'd remember for the rest of my life, something no one would ever judge me for because no one would ever believe me. And besides, I was still curious - curious how it will feel.
And so, instead of offering a hand to climb on, I slowly stood up, rising before him in all my terrible glory. Then I spent a few seconds just looking down at him, wondering whether he could even see my face from the distance. At that point I just knew he was afraid. I raised my foot, only a little but he was quick on the uptake. I suppose I should give him credit for trying to run from me, despite there being nowhere to run and his tiny legs not suited for the task. I felt almost inclined to wait and see how far he could make it, but I quickly changed my mind. I had better things to do than stand and watch this little excuse for a man scurry across the tiles. I brought my foot down on him, my wide sole pinning him down and flattening him in an instant. And I felt nothing, figuratively and literally - his insignificant form didn't even register against my foot. If I didn't bring my foot closer to check on what was left of him, I would never even know he was dead. It was a mercy, in a way, for him and me. I didn't have to clean up his mangled remains from the floor (which I'd have to do if he was, say, a few inches tall) and he no longer had to live... Well, like this.
Did he curse me in his thoughts before his undignified death? Did he cry for mercy before I crushed him like a bug he was? A pity he was too small to be audible, but I couldn't care less. I wiped his corpse off my foot with a tissue and flushed it down the toilet. And then I went on about my day.