And Why Shouldn't Girls Be Shrunken as Pets for Cute Boys!?

Deka is a teenage shut-in whose obsession with shotacon yaoi is beginning to bleed unhealthily into her real life. Being impulsive, horny, awkward, and obsessive, this makes her the perfect candidate to receive the power to change reality.

Her first order of business?

Freeing boys from their oppressive female overlords by shrinking any and/or all women and making them pet-sized. What these boys do with their diminutive feminine counterparts is not her problem, but it definitely will not be pretty.

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Rise and Shine

Weird… weird dream last night…

Blegh!! In my mouth… pine needles? Wait, wait, I—

THWONK!

The only thing stopping me from cracking my head on the pavement was my folded up jacket breaking my fall. It didn’t stop my laptop from slipping off my thighs and shattering the screen, though.

“No, no, no, dude please!”

I scooped up the machine and frantically pressed the power button. My desperation was greeted by a blotchy purple-black smear that marred the entire display, obscuring pretty much everything of note.

“God…”

I shut the laptop, and I drooped my head into my hands.

The pavilion was chilly, and I muttered curses as I grabbed my jacket to wrap it around myself. The fall breeze felt more like a winter chill, but the peace and sanctity of the park and the chirping of the birds made up for it. This was always my favorite place to write, and before now I was willing to risk the possibility of seeing the occasional crazy guy for the chance to do it here.

Wait… birds?

It’s morning?!

Oh God, oh fuck, it is morning. I leapt off the bench and looked to the sky – a deep lavender. The sun was still behind the trees. I’d been out all night.

And for what? I’m usually such a light sleeper, how did this even happen?! I was just about to check my phone when it vibrated – shit! No, no! I pulled it out, checked the caller ID. My mom – and she had left twenty-eight missed text messages to boot.

My phone fumbled out of my hands and into the dew-soaked grass, and with a cold, dead weight in my chest I shuffled with dread back to the pavilion table.

It’s fucking over. I was out all night in my own secret place, and I didn’t get back before morning. My mom was going to kill me. Worse than kill me. She’d murder me. Then she’d take my laptop away once she found out what I was doing. Not that it mattered; the thing was busted anyway. How did I fuck up this bad? How, how, how?!

…

I had an idea.

I leaned back in my seat and thought it over. Yesterday had been kind of a shitstorm, in more ways than one. The cafeteria chili sent at least two kids to the hospital, but aside from spending uncomfortably long on the toilet (and missing most of Civics as a result) I myself had gotten out mostly unscathed. I’d wanted to spend the evening writing in the park, hoping the fresh air would clear my head.

Well, fat load of good it did me, I’ll tell you what. All I got in return was a mouth full of pine needles, a mom who’s gonna kill me the second I cross the front door, a broken laptop, a doused phone, a sore back, zero words written in 18 hours… and that stupid fucking dream where I was descended upon by a figure wreathed in light and told that I was to receive an “incredible gift”.

 “Gift”? Yeah right. The only gift I have is a heightened libido and the ability to accurately guess 90% of all Pokémon based purely on their Pokedex number.

I drooped my gaze down at my phone. On the glossy screen was my mom’s name once again. The text message counter had increased to 32. I had to face the music sooner or later.

Agh… I just… if nothing else, I wish my mom wasn’t mad at me. I can deal with a lot of things, but my mom’s wrath was a different beast.

Okay, Deka. You can do this. You can…

I took a breath, plucked the phone from the ground and, after almost the third ring I swiped up to answer. Before she could get a word in edgewise:

“Mom, I’m sorry I worried you and I’m sorry I stayed out late at night and I’m sorry I fell asleep and forgot to come back home but I promise I’m safe don’t worry I wasn’t kidnapped and I’m on my way home right now I promise and I’ll do anything you want to make it up to you so please don’t get mad I’m so sorry mom, please don’t be mad please please please????”

I was clutching the phone so hard that my nails were scratching the chassis. And I heard nothing for a long time.

“M-mom?”

“Yeah, honey?”

Her voice. It was… disturbingly casual.

“Are… are you… mad at me?”

“Whyyyy would I be mad at you?”

Was this… a trick? Some sort of strategy to get me to admit my crimes? I gulped… it seemed like something Mom would do.

“Because… because I didn’t come home last night! Because you were worried sick!” I scrolled through the text history and watched as her messages went from mildly concerned to all-caps fear-and-rage-induced diatribes.

“Look, honey, I’m not mad. I just wanted to make sure you’re safe. Do you want me to pick you up from… wherever you are? We can still make it to school on time if I leave right now.”

Icy chilliness ran through my body. “I… um… I think I’d prefer to walk home, if you don’t mind.”

“Okay, love you Deka. See you, soon.” The phone went silent.

I wanted to throw up. The only reason she’d be this sickeningly sweet after a blunder this big was if whatever punishment she was cooking up was way, way, way more massive than anything I’d ever experienced. I knew where the hell I wasn’t going though, and that was back home. At least not yet.

I stayed there for a while. I ran the numbers. I counted down all the excuses I’d used in the past. If I told her what I was doing out here all night she might go easy on me… or she might want to take a peek at what story of mine was worth all this goddamn privacy. One thing I’ve learned from a decade of lying to my parents: when the alternative is worse, tell the truth. I just didn’t know which would be worse; the content I wrote was… not suitable for public consumption.

I snuck another glance between the lips of my laptop. There was no response – it’s just a corpse. I afforded myself another upper-level PG-13 bad word and muttered “Shit” under my breath. If there was one silver lining, it was that having a broken laptop meant my Mom wouldn’t be scouring through it anytime soon. But still, I wish it didn’t break in the first place.

I grabbed my phone and prepared to dial Mace. She’d be insufferable (“Bailing you out again, sis? Writing fanfic in the park all night? When are you gonna grow up and start thinking about your future, huh?”) but nothing I hadn’t heard a million billion times before. I was halfway through entering her info when…

I noticed it. My laptop on the table. It was… fixing itself?

Like magic… the cracks were knitting themselves back together. The black-purple blotches on the screen were fading. And after only a few moments… the machine looked good as new. Better, even.

“Uhhhh… I can’t be the only one who saw that, right?” For once, the birds remained tight-lipped.

Tentatively, I touched the laptop. I closed it, opened it, closed it again, and opened it again. I wanted to make sure it wasn’t just a trick of the light.

“I couldn’t have… dreamt that, could I?” I rotated the laptop all around in my hands, examining it from every angle, every nook and cranny. The machine looked pristine, in addition to being operational. I logged in, and with a bit of a chuckle I noticed that the fic I’d been working on last night had auto-recovered. Not suitable for public consumption indeed.

Whatever. I closed the laptop gingerly, and I thought. I know my machine had been busted. I saw it. But… I’d also just seen my computer come back from the dead too.

This was getting too much for me. I wish I wasn’t so sleepy…

And just like that, I wasn’t. I was no longer drowsy or dull – in fact, I felt fine. Better than fine, great!!

Could it be… whenever I wish for something, it automatically happens?

I shook my head. Nah, that’s out of pocket.

But then, I looked back at the laptop. And it started to feel a bit more probable.

That, combined with my weird dream…

Okay, Deka. It’s time to do some field research.

---

If thinking “I wish” was the key to changing reality, I have to applaud myself for the restraint necessary to avoid idly thinking that phrase at any given time. I don’t know if the wish for being less sleepy had increased my mental acuity, if I had preternaturally powerful self-awareness, or if there just were so few thoughts going through my head that thinking things on accident wasn’t much of a risk. Either way, it was enough for me to get to the ground zero of my first experiment: the local middle school.

Aside from the park having less pollen than most of the other outdoor haunts, its walking path led directly to Marjoram Learning Academy, an institution which probably sounded a lot more prestigious than it actually was if I managed to snag the honor roll every year during my time there. Then again, my little brother wasn’t doing so hot in Earth Science, so maybe I should give myself a bit more credit… dammit, I’m getting distracted. Marjoram. Middle school. Boys.

Marjoram Middle was where the jaws of puberty had first grabbed me and refused to relinquish me from its slobbery grip. I’d gone through a whole rolodex’s worth of crushes there, though it started to feel a bit weird when I advanced to the 9^th grade but my taste in men remained fully entrenched in the 8^th and below. The way I figure though, I’ve still got a few years before I actually need to examine myself. Which means a few years’ worth of time to freely ogle the kids and imagine myself in their sweaty hands, looking up at their grinning faces like gods and worshipping every inch of their—

…

It's possible I do have a problem.

I stuck my hands in my pockets – the school’s doors were closed, and the cars dropping off students had slowed to a trickle. I checked my watch: 8:03. Holy crap, I can’t imagine getting to school that early today. I slinked behind a telephone pole on the side of the street, and I snooped for a good target. I wouldn’t need to wait long – soon, only the most perfect potential test subjects came trudging on the very path from which I’d entered. A pair of boys I’d seen before.

“C’mon, dude! We’re gonna be late!”

“We’re already late. Besides, you try lugging this bike uphill and see how easy it is.”

“Gladly! I’m sure I’d be faster carrying it than your slow ass.”

“Man, suck a dick.”

“Suck two dicks!”

A level of vulgarity and solidarity that can only be achieved in earnest by tweenage boys. Jake and Austin. They frequently walked most of the way home together, typically only splitting off after leaving the park where I liked to work. They were a mellow pair by the look of it – at least compared to most of their contemporaries. Maybe that was what made them so damn fun to fantasize about. Jake was the taller one, clearly the first to have been kissed by puberty. He seldom went anywhere without a basketball under his armpit, and his jersey was emblazoned with a number 11 in colors almost as gold as his sunny blonde hair.

Austin was the one with the bike, and it was easy to see that he had yet to mature quite as fast as his contemporary. His face still held the glimpses of youthful androgyny that made middle school boys so enticing, and his dark black hair and muted colors evoked memories of scene kids and emo days. Whatever Austin was, he was light years more stylish than I’d ever been back then.

I’d found my targets. If this ability of mine worked, I’d need to be sure it worked on humans.

I wracked my brain as they continued their trek up the school hill. I shrunk behind my cover and thought, and I thought, until I came to my decision. I would try it out. Live out my fantasy. Become small and at the mercy of these beautiful children. I’d teleport myself before their feet, will them to pick me up, become their pets, become everything I’d ever wanted to be!

I wish… I wish that… I…

Ugh. Oh God.

I was scared.

The thing about having paraphilias is that just imagining it is one thing. Living it? An entirely different story. Even if it worked and I wasn’t just stalking two twelve-year-olds like a crazy person, I would still be putting myself in a situation that was incredibly dangerous, without knowing the extents and limitations of whatever power this was, assuming I wasn’t still in a lucid dream.

Of course, that didn’t foreclose me from trying out other tests, and I probably would’ve if my mind didn’t have the consistency of a bowl of pea soup right now. My second wind from earlier had died down, and I was probably just a few paces away from collapsing, before the front doors to the school suddenly opened, and I was hit with a blast wave of psychic damage at the person who stepped out.

“And what do you think you’re doing, already being five minutes late?!”

A voice I had heard in my nightmares, over and over, for the past four years.

Even from fifty feet away, my old mathematics teacher Ms. Sondra was unmistakable. It’s a tale as old as time that writer chicks and math gals do not hang; I was flighty and forgetful, eager to escape from rote routine, and I despised processes where I don’t understand the rationale for doing the steps. None of these qualities made me a stellar student in Ms. Sondra’s class, but of course she had to take it further, verbally humiliating me at every chance she got, making me into an anti-example for everyone else. By the grace of God, I managed to get just enough of a score on her final that I’d never have to worry about her ever again… in her class. But she remained a constant policing force, scrutinizing my attendance and tardiness into the building, snatching my phone from my hands when I was using it under the table at lunch, even nitpicking my dress code – no doubt jealousy from her own youthful glow giving way to the age-weathered appearance of maturity. I believe most teachers are good people, but Ms. Sondra is one of the rare few who thrives off making children suffer. I can think of no other explanation for how she treated me, unless I just happened to piss her off specifically. And I can’t decide which is worse.

This was going to be interesting. My current fixations facing off against my old nemesis. Jake tossed his ball up and down in the air as he said, “Sorry, Sondra, won’t happen again. But we’ve got a quiz first period and we really need to get there before the announcements are over so if you could just—”

But Ms. Sondra blocked him with her body from entering, and she grabbed Jake’s wrist.

“Hey, what gives!?” The boy yanked away, and I could see Ms. Sondra’s face turn redder. I raised a brow. I’d never seen her resort to physical restraint before.

“That’s Miss Sondra to you. And you were already late the moment you arrived on school grounds. You’ll have to accompany me to the principal’s office to write a tardy pass.”

“C’mon, Sondra—”

“What my friend means is…” Austin had jumped in, leaning his bike against the stone wall. “We’d be glad to accompany you to the principal’s office.” He elbowed Jake in the ribs and elicited a stunted grunt.

Ms. Sondra sighed, and she flipped the doorstop before placing her hands on her hips as she leered above the boys. “No need to corral your friend, Austin. Rest assured, I can handle the both of you myself. Follow me, and when we get to the office, trust I’ll be calling both your parents to extract a proper explanation for why you pair are late, again.”

“My… parents?” Austin shuddered.

“Indeed,” said Ms. Sondra with a smirk. “I’m sure that now you’re beginning to rethink the choice of disrespecting me, and disrespecting this institution.”

Dripping with defeat, both boys prepared to follow a rambling Ms. Sondra through the door. They were at their lowest, and like a lightbulb went off over my head, I’d realized this was the time to make a change. Darkest before dawn, Storytelling 101. It was the perfect test to see if what I’d witnessed this morning was more than just an insomniac daydream.

I cracked my knuckles, and I afforded myself a smile. Alright, Ms. Sondra. You’ve tortured generations of students smaller than you. It’s time to see how you feel when you’re the small one.

I hadn’t made the wish for even a moment before it happened. It had to be seen to be believed, and yet it remained unbelievable. My heart raced out of its chest as before me, like clockwork, Ms. Sondra. Was shrinking.

I watched, enraptured. It was incredibly quick – she wasn’t even over the threshold inside the school before she dwindled from five foot eight to four feet, three feet, one foot.

“Holy fuck!!” I breathed.

“Who said that!?” Ms. Sondra’s voice was shrill, and even though by now she was the size of a garden gnome, the PTSD of learning under her watchful gaze died hard. I crouched behind my cover and peeked out with trained discretion. Six inches now. Soon, she was practically the size of a bug – just like I wanted! But… something was wrong. The boys; they should’ve been just as surprised as I was that their harpy instructor could barely scale their shoes. But they appeared just as contrite as ever. They shuffled in place behind Ms. Sondra; at her size the party would probably reach the principal’s office by lunchtime. The fact she was now a completely different size seemed to mean nothing to them.

My heart was still beating way too fast. If this was a dream, I would’ve woken up several times over by now. The creeping elation – or the creeping horror – that I’d somehow stumbled upon the ability to rewrite the world was starting to inject itself into my bones. It didn’t feel real back at the park, and it barely feels real now. But reality was demonstrating itself to be far more malleable than I once thought.

I could’ve returned home and learned more about my power in a controlled environment. But… I came here for a reason. A reason that wasn’t entirely noble, but would not rest until it’d been fulfilled. I was going to see my fantasy realized, and even if I was too anxious to go in the hot seat, there was nothing stopping me from making the woman I hated most into the ultimate pariah. I’d need to induce a new change, one that would make those boys into the vessels through which I could realize my dreams.

I wish.

That the boys.

Decided to crush Ms. Sondra.

Suddenly, Austin’s posture changed.

He straightened up, and I cupped my ears to fully hear him as he said, “You know what? Why was I even worried? C’mon, Jake. Let’s get to homeroom. We might still be able to catch that quiz if we jog.”

“Now you’re speaking my language!” said Jake. “Race ya?”

Ms. Sondra was having none of it. She looked above as the kids shirked her authority. They each represented an incredible, indescribable colossus to her, but she still jumped up and down in a vain attempt to get them to acknowledge her presence. I could just barely hear snippets of her demands, but nothing concrete. and she squeaked and squabbled as Jake completely ignored her, chaining his bike to the rack nearby and then stepping over her, casting Ms. Sondra in a massive shadow for a few moments as the tiny teacher tried to clamber over the threshold and follow them. Oh man, I wish I could actually hear what she was saying. That’d be delicious.

And then, like clockwork:

“Boys? Booooys!? This is going on your permanent records, you know! If you do not come back here this instant and accompany me to the principal’s office, you’ll be suspended – no, expelled! You hear me? Hey, heyyyy!”

“Hey…” said Austin, and he smiled devilishly. “You hear something?”

“I think I do,” Jake replied. “Some sort of bug. No worries. I’ll get rid of it.”

To that, Ms. Sondra’s tone shifted. And I could hear it in ultra surround sound as her pleas were beamed straight into my brain. “I-I-I am not going to be subject to this!” cried the instructor.

Jake said nothing, only smiling at her as he lifted his sneaker above her head.

Ms. Sondra gulped. And she tried one more time. “I demand respect! I am still your superior, and for as long as you’re a student at this institution, I will do my utmost to ensure—”

SMASH!!!

My heart nearly burst.

“Man, I should’ve done that months ago, that felt fucking awesome!” said Jake. He scraped the underside of his tennis shoe over the concrete with satisfaction.

“Yeah, heh, heh,” said Austin nervously. “But you don’t think they’re gonna get mad at us if they find out?”

Jake shrugged. “She was an inch tall; it was happening one way or another. B’sides, I don’t think they’re finding out it was us anytime soon. C’mon, takin’ me up on that race?”

Austin grinned, and after locking up his bike he and Jake began to dash through the halls with the reckless abandon only boys their age could exhibit. They made no move to close the door behind them, or to dispose of the evidence that was once Ms. Sondra. Finally, finally alone, I took a few timid steps closer to the door, where just before the threshold, an inky red spot had been stamped into the pavement until the next rain arrived. It looked just like I’d expect a human body grinded beneath a million tons of sheer hate would look—flat.

She was gone. My most hated teacher was gone. Dead. Crushed under a giant boy’s shoe.

I crumpled to my knees.

“Ach… AGH—”

There’s no way. No fucking way in goddamn hell I would go back to reading smut after this.

That was the promise I made to myself before passing out on the ground in a heap of bliss.

A Sister's Pitiful End

“AHHHHHH!!!”

Immediately, I looked down at my pants. They were clean, which is honestly a lot better than I expected.

Maybe… maybe it was a dream after all.

Then I realized where I was. And though I can’t describe it in any sort of detail that could possibly do it justice, you can be certain it was nowhere on Earth. The only thing keeping me from freaking the fuck out was the fact I could recognize this place. And I could recognize the creature in front of me as well.

“Oh… it’s you…”

The response came quickly and seemed to have been inserted directly into my head.

“I’m… sorry I didn’t believe you the first time. Look, I get some weird dreams, okay? I mean, it’s not your fault but can you blame me for being skeptical? Like, I still don’t know why you chose me of all people for this.”

I crossed my arms and tapped my foot and hoped that whatever this thing was could interpret that as a sign of annoyance. When it answered, my face drooped.

“What the— what the hell did that even mean? Hey, hey wait! Where are you going? Come ba—"

---

“AHHHHH!!!”

I was sprawled out in the back of a car.

“AHHHHHH!!”

“Ugh, Jesus Christ, Deka!”

Wait. This was Mace’s car.

“I’m… what the… when did you…” My head was a swirling mess right now. Knowing what I now know, I felt the inclination to make a wish, but I could barely formulate any thoughts at all, much less any thoughts cogent enough to do what I wanted to do without backfiring.

Mace ignored my question and asked one of her own. “Do you know how much this little stunt pissed me off? Do you know how long I’ve been out driving around looking for you? Do you know how much Mom has been getting on my arse? And what about setting an example for Cary, huh? Did you ever think about that? Or were you too sucked into that gross-ass fanfiction like you always are for you to even give a shit about anyone other than yourself? Huh? Huh, Deka?”

Sitting up was a longer ordeal than I anticipated, and my sister’s rant hung in midair for a long time before my head was even on straight. I guess getting beamed to an outer plane takes a toll on a girl.

“Deka? Deka can you fucking answer me?”

I cast a glance sideways, but I doubted she could even see it. I muttered to myself “I wish I were in the front seat.”

Then, I was. I was! I was right next to Mace, seatbelt and all. The transition gave me whiplash, and the briefest bit of nausea, but I had successfully teleported to the front.

“What are you even talking about? You are in the front seat, dumbass.” This might’ve been a mistake.

Menshika, or Macy to her friends, was a lot of the things I was, and a lot of things I wasn’t. Essentially the total package. We had the same hair type, but she actually cared about getting it done consistently, and she spent dozens of hours and hundreds of dollars a month to keep it that way. We had the same light brown skin, but whereas mine was pit-marked by acne scars, hers was beautifully flawless with makeup and foundation. We had the same brains, but whereas she’d used it to further her education and major in biomechanical engineering, I had been using it to write elaborate macro yaoi smut featuring cartoon characters up until circa a few hours ago. Mace was what I could’ve been, but decided I didn’t want to be. And look at all I had to show for it.

I sunk a bit into my seat and crossed my arms. “Did you drop Cary off?”

“Ugh, you don’t remember, moron? He spent the night at a friend’s house.”

“I don’t remember that happening...” And it was a shame. I hadn’t seen the kiddo in almost 24 hours by now. Of my two siblings, seeing him would’ve most lifted my spirits.

“Of course you don’t! You’ve had your hand in your pants for the past 8 hours! I had to haul your horny ass into the passenger seat by myself!” Mace’s driving was getting more aggressive; we were starting to speed back into the subdivision. “God fucking dammit. You’re just lucky Mom decided not to take any of this out on you. But guess who picked up the short end of the stick, Deka. M-E. I did.”

I leaned my temple against the window glass, and I recoiled. I hissed through my teeth. God… fuck this. I don’t even know why I was enduring it this long; I’m God now. I looked adamantly at a piece of lint hanging from her shoulder. “You’re really never gonna shut up about this sort of stuff?”

“I’ll ‘shut up’ about it when you finally decide to take responsibility for yourself. You’re sixteen years old; I’m not going to be here forever. But I can’t go off and live with Ayden because I know that I’ll always need to be here to keep you out of trouble. Do you know how that feels, Deka? You know how frustrating it is that my life has been on hold for years because I need to look after a waste of space like you? A failure?”

She turned the car off and glowered at me, before opening the door and hopping out. “The answer is ‘very’.” The car door slammed and I was once again alone with my thoughts.

My mind gets scrambled when I’m getting chewed out. I’ve spent 16 years under that self-righteous bitch. That sort of thing is hard to program out of a gal, even post-reality warping magic. But still, a little nugget of something did plant itself into my brain.

I didn’t have what it takes quite yet to pull a Ms. Sondra on her. But I could give her what she wanted. But first…

I took a deep breath. I looked at the time in the car. 9:27 AM… Jesus, how long was I asleep?

Never mind that. I gathered my thoughts, and I condensed them into a wish.

The wish was only coherent in my mind for a second before it was made manifest, and I watched as the clock ticked back. 26. 25. 24. The numbers dropped, and the light that streamed through the windows and the trees regained their early morning lavender blush. My heart pounded as my spell continued, and it did not stop until it landed squarely on 8:30.

In only a moment, I had gained mastery over time.

“Holy crap… holy crap, holy crap, holy crap…” I got out of the car as a vibrating wreck, and I took a look around the neighborhood. A couple of early morning joggers, but otherwise it was dead silent. Mom’s car was right next to Mace’s. If I had played my cards right, this would be before Mace typically wakes up, but after the incident at the school. The way I figured it, that would decrease the chance of any paradox shenanigans, assuming that was something I had to worry about.

I tiptoed to the front door and undid the lock. Poking my head into our kitchen, I called out, “Hello?”

No response.

I took off my shoes and left them on the rack, closing the door behind me. It was quieter than usual. “Mace? Mom?”

I was a bit more cautious than I usually was, though I don’t really know why. Shadows seemed to lurk behind every shrine in the mandir, from Krishna to Lakshmi. If I had accidentally introduced some sort of extradimensional being through tampering with the space-time continuum, they had yet to reveal themselves, but that didn’t make me any less paranoid.

I made it to Mace’s room and stopped just short of rapping my knuckles over the oaken door. I could’ve sworn I heard… a voice. A voice that sounded – well, I can’t put my finger on exactly where I’d heard it before, but it definitely wasn’t a TV, a phone, or a member of the family.

I knocked. “Mace? You in there?”

More voices. Hushed, but audible. The shifting of blankets. Oh God… there was no way this was happening.

I grabbed the doorknob and turned it. Upon encountering resistance, I merely willed the knob to unlock, and lo and behold.

“Fuck, Deka?! How did you get in here?!”

Mace was naked, in bed, and pulling up her blankets to cover her chest. Next to her, equally naked and extremely confused, was…

“Ah… um… hey, Ayden. Am I… interrupting something--”

“YES, you are!” Mace screamed, and she launched a pillow at my head.

“AIE!” I ducked, and the pillow landed harmlessly in the hallway.

Ayden was turning to Mace, and he was muttering in that half-whisper, half-normal-speaking voice, “I thought that you said nobody would be bothering us in the morning.”

Mace groaned. “I did, because I was under the assumption this little shit would be too gone to hear us. When did you even get back in the house?”

“I… well… just… just now, actually.”

Mace pulled the blankets up closer to cover her breasts, but Ayden squabbled for the blanket himself, leaving the job half-complete. There was a thin sheen of sweat on her face, and I could tell not all of it was from exertion. She was concerned. “Does Mom know you’re home?” she asked.

“I didn’t see her,” I said, truthfully. “But, like, what’s the problem? So you two are screwing. Big whoop. Return to your business if you want, I don’t really care.”

Curiosity sated, I was halfway out the door when another pillow hit the back of my head.

“You’re gonna run out of those, you know?” I turned and saw Mace looking at me with pure disgust on her face. “You… you okay, sis?”

“You’re not going to tell Mom about this.” It wasn’t a question. It was a demand.

I shrugged. “Um, okay?” My sister screwing Ayden was no secret to me, though I’d never known her to do it in our own house before. It was always under the guise of a study date, or a movie date, or a lunch date.

 Just as I was about to put my hands up in conciliation, I remembered that I’m technically God, now, and I smirked and crossed my arms.

“And why shouldn’t I?”

Ayden just looked at the both of us strangely, gathering up the blankets that coated his lower half. “I’m, uh, I can leave if you two want—”

“No!!” we both screamed at him, shocking him into stunned silence. Ayden may look like a punk, but he’s a wimp at heart. Pliable. That’s what Mace loved about him, and frankly, I get it. But no matter; I needed him here for my plan.

“Deka, just get the fuck out,” Mace said again, rolling her eyes. “I’ll, I don’t fucking know, drive you to Hot Topic or wherever the fuck you shop these days.”

“Mace!” I chagrined with faux shock. “I do most of my shopping at Box Lunch, now. But no, I’m not particularly interested in what you have to give me anymore.”

I approached with slow, steady footsteps.

Mace squirmed, and she glared daggers at me before growling, “You fucking pervert, stay the Hell away from us. Or I’m gonna—”

Concern. In her face. Most of her body was still underneath the blanket, though her right breast was exposed. Nothing I hadn’t seen before, but even now it made me scoff just how much bigger she was than me. For now.

“The Hell did you do to me? Ayden. Ayden! Get me out of here! Ayden?!”

Mace turned her head—by my design, the only part of her body that remained flexible, and her eyes widened. Ayden was fast asleep, like a baby. “Ayden you moron, snoozing at a time like this?! I need you to—”

“Sister, dear,” I cooed, dropping to a squat at her bedside. Mace turned to face me, and for the first time, I felt the satisfaction of her panic.

“What... did you do to me...?”

I grinned, and I laid my hand on her frizzy, jet-black hair that shrouded her temple. If all went well, this would be the last time I ever interacted with her, so I might as well extract a measure of pleasure from it. The times we shared weren’t... all bad. Just mostly bad.

Anyway, her question went thoroughly ignored. “Do you remember the last thing you said to me?”

Mace’s eyebrows raised, which in this position technically meant they journeyed sideways. “Um, no? I haven’t seen your ass since last night, why would I remember that?”

“So you don’t remember calling me a waste of space? Or a failure? Or a ‘horny-ass’?”

Mace rolled her eyes. “I mean, you are, but no. When the fuck would I have said that? Listen, Deka, if you drugged me or something then I swear to God I’m gonna kick your—”

Mace disappeared.

The squeaking sound that punctuated her disappearance only made my grin grow wider and wider as I dug underneath the now-limp sheets before my hands closed around something spindly. The tiny thing jerked and squirmed and fought me at every step, but as I’ve become intimately familiar with, it was hard to fight back against something this much bigger than you.

“WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK?!” Mace squealed as I held her by the arm, between my thumb and forefinger. “DEKA WHAT DID YOU DO, WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?! DEKA? DEKA, WHAT DID--”

Once again, I ignored her.

I set my sights on Ayden. Sleeping. Gently.

The man was almost thirty, but aside from the stubble on his chin he still had a hell of a baby face. Few of my crushes have been appropriate for my age, but at least this crush wasn’t, strictly speaking, illegal on my end. Besides, Ayden was too good for a witch like Mace.

With a serpentine grin, I pulled the blanket back, revealing his toned abs, muscular thighs, and—above all—a massive, snake-like cock.

“Oh, I, um… hm.”

Was it, technically speaking, the first dick I’d seen before? Ahm… not… really? But somehow catching glimpses of Cary’s little nub in the family changing rooms at the YMCA just wasn’t the same. Ayden’s was a proper, masculine dick; a seven-inch juggernaut that seemed to stick straight up into the air like an obelisk, it glistened with precum, sweat, and perhaps a not insignificant amount of Mace’s own juices.

“Boy… howdy…” I whispered, and I reached out to touch it like I might touch a hot flame.

“DEKA YOU FUCKING FREAK, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING WITH MY BOYFRIEND?!”

As always, I ignored her. My fingertips traversed the crown, and when I pulled back, a meager thread of still glistening precum came with it. The spell I’d cast was so far unbroken—Ayden continued to snore peacefully, so he wouldn’t have anything to say about me as I lifted my fingers to my mouth… and licked.

Everything they have to say about the flavor was both true and not true at the same time. It was an acquired taste… but still, something about it felt right. I tried to push the thought I was licking some of my sister’s discharge out of my mind as I smacked my lips and continued to observe the ever-tightening coil of Ayden’s cock, and the pinkish slit at its peak that dribbled cloudy nectar.

My hand went on autopilot as I seated myself on the bed. The action was monotonous, but meditative, and though nobody here was in any position to judge my performance, the way the cock hardened in my undulating grip was all the info I needed to know I had a knack for this kind of thing. With infrequent traipses to the slit to better lubricate my hand with the sticky pre, I looked down at the opening, wondering precisely how this would work, all the while Mace continued to struggle and squirm in my offhand. It was incredible how easy it was to ignore someone when they were an inch tall.

The slit was a tight thing that dilated at irregular intervals. I didn’t know exactly what it would be like for Macy going down... but I knew that I’d make it work, one way or another.

“Well… Mace… Macy… Menshika.” I lifted my hand before my face and opened my palm. My sister, naked as the day she was born, sprawled out across the crisscrossing lines and panted. Her screams had tuckered her out, but she still glared at me with a combination of utter hate… and fear.

Mace feared me.

I could just smile. Good.

“So, you’re probably wondering what the everloving fuck is happening, aren’tcha?” I said, injecting as much pep into my voice as possible. “Well, frankly, I would love to be able to explain it myself. And maybe one day I’ll be able to do that. But, ahm, right now… I love the idea of you spending the rest of your life inside of a ballsac more.”

And it seemed at that point Mace finally looked over the edge of my fingers. My hand continued its work, slicked up with cummy lube as it pumped up and down, up and down Ayden’s staff spurting out slow-moving globules that were scooped up by my hand and integrated into the lubrication effort. The slit itself continued its constant winking, tightening up and relaxing as more and more of the milky sludge worked against gravity and erupted from the hole, ripe for me to collect and spread further along the shimmering member.

Finally, I slowed down my pumping. It was time.

“This... this has to be a dream,” Mace whispered. She leaned over the rim of my palm, transfixed, mouth ajar in utter awe as the turgid cock greeted her from below, coming closer, and closer. “There’s no way this is real.”

“Oh, it’s real,” I assured my former sister. “It’s a bit funny, isn’t it? When I tested out my new powers, there was, like, this weird thing where nobody actually notices the changes I make, or if they do notice, then it’s perceived as normal. Cool, right? Imagine waking up tiny in my hands, thinking that’s the way it’s always been. It would be neat to keep you in a jar…”

I brought my face down reeeeeal close to Mace as I prepared my next statement—this was the last time I’d talk to the bitch if all went well, so this had to be good and dramatic. By instinct, my sister scrambled back; she challenged the edge, where beneath her Ayden’s erect cock spelled her imminent doom. She was shaking, and I could just make out the tears that speckled my sister’s face.

So, I finished, “But… that just didn’t feel quite right this time. The idea that you could just live in blissful ignorance like everyone else after all the shit you put me through. That’s why… I made sure that you, out of everyone would remember this.” My face split into a grin so great, it hurt. “That you’ll remember me. Remember what life was like before I gained this power,” I purred.

And I clumped my hand into a fist, grabbing Mace’s arm once more and dangling her scrambling form above the cock.

Mace belted, “P-Please! Help! HELP! DON’T DO THIS! D-DEKA, I’M SORRY, I’M SORRY, JUST PLEASE DON’T—”

Mace’s bare feet touched the slit, and in twisting disgust she jerked her legs away. She looked up at me like a baby searching for answers.

So, like the God I now was, I smiled at my beloved subject. And, with a single push of my finger, I shoved the girl down the slit.

Ayden squirmed himself, jerking and jumping in his sleep as something big, rowdy, and pleasurable began the arduous journey down that 7-inch fuckpole. Mace herself had been jammed into the staff with such recklessness that rather than slithering down like a frog down the throat of a snake, she was stuffed down in a weird, fetal, rotating mess of screaming limbs and body parts, creating a slow-moving lump as the slit shut around her body and enveloped her completely.

Down...

Down...

Down went the bane of my existence, tiny and terrified. But I wasn’t done yet.

Once Mace’s body was no longer a visible lump in the shaft, I knew I needed to feel this for myself. Wrapping one hand around Ayden’s slick-backed dick, I began the new-to-me process of stroking it.

“Wow... I can tell why dudes love this so much,” I whispered. Doing it to someone else was fun enough—having your very own pleasure-inducing joystick to crank at literally any time must’ve been absolutely divine, and I couldn’t believe just how much I got into it, feeling the already massive cock expand (without any magical aid from myself, mind you) from seven, to eight, nearly nine whole inches, the reddish tip now a silvery shiny crown as the item throbbed and twitched and slobbered out pre that lubed up my hand more and more until it exploded, the white stuff spurting out with no rhyme, reason, or direction, painting the blankets, the pillows, the nightstand, me (just a bit on my face and hands, though), as it ejected more and more baby-making material.

When the ejaculation ceased, the cock hadn’t quite gone flaccid. I tapped its erect form with my finger a bit, and it shot up a few centimeters again. Whether that was just Ayden’s own stamina, or if the presence of Mace inside the balls acted as some sort of permanent, internal aphrodisiac, I couldn’t say. But, with a single wish, Mace could ponder that for the rest of her undying life inside the balls of her former boyfriend as she treaded cum. Forever.

---

“I... h-huh?”

Ayden opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw... was me. I was looking down at him with a dour expression, my cheeks puffed up. God, I really hope I can keep from breaking out into laughter, this is gonna be so good.

“So, you see, Ayden, it wasn’t you, it was her. She said she wanted someone with a blue denim jacket instead of a black leather one. Your Snapchat game just wasn’t on fleek enough, and you smelled slightly too much of cranberries. Macy hated cranberries.”

“H-huhhh?” Still groggy, Ayden lifted himself up into a hunch. “W-what happened this morning?”

“She dumped you, remember? I walked in on you two right when it was happening!” I exclaimed, perhaps with just a bit too much excitement. But magic-induced memory alteration was enough to make Ayden believe it—and so, it became reality. Even if technically speaking Mace knew the actual truth, she didn’t exactly have an avenue to contest this version of events anymore.

“God... fuck,” Ayden dipped his head in his hands with so much sorrow... I almost felt bad. “She was my dream girl! How am I supposed to live without her?”

“Oh, come, now,” I said, taking a seat next to him and planting a cum-stained hand on his shoulder. “Chin up. Hey, I’ll tell you what Mace said. She said that your cock? Absolutely superb. Not a one like it anywhere in the city. With a dick like that, you could have any girl you wanted!”

“...any girl?”

I gave him a thumbs-up. “Abso-hecking-lutely! Plenty of fish in the sea, and all that. In fact, I guarantee you that if you use that dick of yours every morning, noon, and night, as much and as often as possible, in as many holes as possible... well, who knows what could happen!”

That was enough for Ayden to give me at least a weird little glance, but after being struck by what looked like a half-second migraine, his expression changed from confusion... to confidence.  “Hey... something about that... sounds... accurate. You know, you’re pretty wise for a teenager.”

“Well, one of us girls has to be,” I said, giving her a smile. “So go on, get dressed, and find your next conquest! I know you’ll get your hands on a special woman in no time.” Another cum-stained pat on the back.

“Yeah... yeah I will! I will, um, do that!”

Ayden didn’t seem to mind my presence as he grabbed his shirt, pants, and underwear and slid them on. I took a special interest as the unsoftening cock was soon obscured by his Calvin Kleins. Once the pants were on, it’d take a trained eye to effectively notice the perma-boner attached to his hip, but it was still there.

“Take care, Deka. Hey, I don’t mind if you ever call me later with some more of that inspiration, you know?”

“Oh, I know,” I said cheerily. “Drive safe!”

The motorcycle sped off. And with it, the single worst presence in my life.

This was it.

This was the moment where I was supposed to reverse everything, restore Mace, tell her ‘sorry’, and laugh it off like we were just kids again. This was the moment where I was supposed to finally learn the lesson about responsibility and absolute power and forgiveness. This was the point where the catch was supposed to come in—maybe the power had a price. Maybe the catch would be my guilt. Anything. Something.

But when I flopped down on Mace’s old bed...

I realized.

I am... strangely absent of guilt.

In fact, I wasn’t even tired. I was invigorated.

A few moments later, I was pulling my bike out of the shed and pointlessly equipping my helmet and kneepads, and pedaling down the still-morning lanes of lavender-tinged trees. Ayden was a cool guy and all, and I wouldn’t say no to being on the receiving end of that pole one of these days. But right now, my heart belonged to exactly one person, and one person truly.

It was time to see what Cary was up to.

Gotta Get Your Game On

It didn’t take much pedaling before I realized my mistake. The drive from our house to the Manchesters’ is about five minutes long, but involves crossing a busy thoroughfare that is only manageable in a car. If you want to get there by bike, you’ll need to take the back roads. On the one hand, seeing the sunlight as it filters through the nettles of pine trees before alighting delicately on a soft bed of decaying autumn leaves is the peak of beauty. On the other, the fucking mosquitos are everywhere this time of day.

“Agh, god, fuck!” More than once, I nearly swerved into a ditch because in my infinite wisdom I tried to swat a fly on my forearm while maintaining control of the bike. When the road narrowed to the point that stopping on the shoulder was no longer an option, I braked in the center, hoping any speeding cars would see me before converting my body into a pancake. Luckily, the only people who come down this way are either nature buffs or other cyclers, so I felt mostly in the clear.

Holding my forearm out in front of me, I spotted three of the little parasites slurping down my delicious life essence. I grimaced, and with one well-placed slap, the three of them were reduced to three bloody piles of spindly limbs. I flicked them off one by one, and I realized my effort was moot—they’d already created three welts that were starting to itch painfully.

“Ugh…” I moaned, mounting back on my bike. “Sometimes I wish mosquitos didn’t exist.”

The rest of the trip passed by with a remarkable lack of incident. The sun was steadily creeping from “morning” to “midmorning”, and the heat was starting to build—even in autumn, this wasn’t exactly a region that got deathly cold in the winter months. I coasted to a stop and took off my jacket, stuffing in the bike’s basket. Underneath, my black tank top hadn’t gotten terribly waterlogged by sweat, and I breathed rapturously as the airflow caressed me. I was no model by any means, so I knew I wasn’t exactly putting on much of a show this way, but from my research on Reddit and Twitter I had discovered even my brown, chubby body type had its own fans… it’d just be nice if those fans were a bit closer in proximity.

Anyway, at the crest of the hill, the road descended downward into a fork. If you kept going straight, it would terminate into a school—April Green Preparatory Academy, the place I would’ve gone for primary school if only I cared enough to do well on the admission test. Just before hitting the school, if you took the turn, you’d end up in a subdivision of multistory homes with big yards and the occasional pool. Even from here, I could barely make out a classic brick-style garden home at the end of the first bend. That would be where Cary was. The Manchesters were a carefree bunch by nature; they had few compunctions about letting their own child sleep in for the day, and as a guest, Cary would be no different. The children would probably be snoozing away until at least 9 o’clock.

In lieu of that, there just so happened to be an elementary school literally right there for me to peruse. Middle schools were great, but without my own car I had basically zero excuse or ability to creep around April Green before now. Fate had presented me with a rare opportunity.

Mind made up, I raced down the hill, skidding as the academy became less of a blotch and more of a massive complex that engulfed the horizon. I parked my bike at the rack and approached the front gate—the main building had a gothic flair to it that made me feel uneasy, like it had been repossessed from a vengeful vampire and repurposed for use by the school system. Corinthian columns and busts of stern-looking previous headmasters lined the path to the front entrance. Buttresses held the building in place, likely out of fear it would come to life during the End Times and break free from its foundations to cause havoc in the land. As I stood there like an idiot trying to figure out how I would insert myself into this school in an inconspicuous manner, some frustrated yelps grabbed my attention, and my head swiveled.

“Hey, you were traveling!”

“Was not! Maybe try being a bit faster next time!”

“C’mon, coach?”

Backing away from the main gate, I found myself in the school’s primary exercise field. There was a convenient fountain to duck behind that gave me just enough clearance to see what was going on: the blacktop was currently populated. Two teams of eight, each student in a flimsy neon jersey that was either blue or red. And—notably—the teams were evenly divided such that blue was all boys and red was all girls.

Currently holding the basketball in his hands was one such boy, a man whose cheeks were still rounded with youth, even though his body glistened in a way where I just knew he let off the metamorphosizing musk of puberty. A girl stood next to him, blonde and spry and noticeably taller than he was, glaring down at him haughtily. Then, she turned over to the coach. “Coach? Didn’t you hear me?” What do you think?”

The coach was—surprisingly—also a woman. She was sitting in a lawn chair at the edge of the court, phone in hand as she mindlessly scrolled. When the girl called her attention again, the coach jumped. “Wh-huh? What? Um… Paige is right, that’s a penalty for the blue team.”

The groans were cacophonous.

“She wasn’t even looking!”

“Favoritism! Favoritism!”

“Come on, you always cut the girls slack!”

“Yeah, coach! It’s not fair!”

“QUIET.”

The court was silenced. The coach glared at them with a deadly ferocity. “Penalty. The girls have a free throw. That’s that, unless you want me to get the principal involved.”

That was enough to shut the blue team up. Meagerly, the group assembled at the free throw line as the boy holding the ball glumly handed it to the tall blonde one that I can only presume is Paige. She gave him a cheeky bat of the eyelids before approaching the net.

My heart burned with righteous indignation. To see a group of fine, mild-mannered young boys held under the thumb of their female overlords?! Something in me wanted to see these girls brought low, subjugated, made to feel the immense, world-shattering pain that I was sure they’d inflicted on these boys a thousandfold by now. The idea of it was making my legs shake, and a smile curled across my lips… I knew what my next wish was to be.

Paige blew a kiss to the audience and gave her barely-there rear a slap, and she turned her focus to the net. Her legs were locked, and she prepared to crouch, when…

“Huh?”

Why was this ball heavier than before?

Then, Paige shook her head. Heavier? Ridiculous. The thing could barely fit between her arms in a bear hug, but that was how it’d always been. She took another look at her team and noticed something else quite strange: had they always been… so short? At least half of the girls in her class were taller than most boys—it was just how puberty tended to square out. But now… none of them were the same height as the boys. In fact, Eve—the indisputably tallest and most gorgeous of their players with flawless umber skin, pure black locs, and a body that clearly displayed a solid workout regimen despite her limited years—was now shoulder height with the shortest boy, a pale and nerdy kid they liked to call Specs because his real name was way more embarrassing than any fake name they could come up with. It was bizarre, as if someone had clicked Transform on the girl and shrank her by forty percent. What was going on?

Then Paige remembered. This wasn’t bizarre. This was perfectly normal. She’d always been this height, and so had her friends. She’d never made fun of the boys in her life for being shorter than her, she made fun of them for being taller than her. Like a dam bursting, memories of shouting up to them, “How’s the weather up there?” and “Don’t let the doorframe hit you on the way out!” filled her mind once again and replaced her trepidation with clarity. Yes, this was as it—

Wait.

This ball was growing again.

Okay, something fishy was definitely going on.

“Paige?” the coach asked from her lawn chair. “Is everything going okay?”

The ball was surpassing the relative size of a yoga ball as Paige seemed to dwindle. She couldn’t even interlock her fingers around the rubber sphere—hell, she could barely hold it at all. It was too big to caress, forcing her to hoist the object up above her shoulders, casting her in shadow as it seemed to grow, or, rather, as Paige seemed to shrink.

“I’m f-f-f-fine!”

“Alright,” said the coach. “Because you only have a few more seconds for the shot, you know?”

Paige seemed the very vision of Atlas, with the weight of the world hefted on his back. Except in this case, “the world” was a normal sized basketball that still seemed much larger than her. Sweat poured from her face in copious amounts—she can’t be serious, Paige thought. Take the shot? She could barely lift this thing, much less throw it!

But…

Her team. Eve, Kimberly, Danielle, even Judy... everyone. All of them were counting on her. She needed to make this shot—it was the only way to tie up the game.

This was the moment. The time to prove that girls rule and boys drool. This is what Paige wanted, wasn’t it? To be just like her heroes on the TV, people like Angel Reese, Candace Parker, the greats. Paige wanted to be great too. She wanted it so, so bad.

So, Paige summoned a strength she didn’t know she had. The quivering stopped, and her elbows stabilized. The hoop seemed so unfortunately stratospheric, but Paige knew that her dream would never be attainable if she didn’t at least try. She had to. She…

Paige stuttered, and she shrank again.

The basketball above her seemed less a boulder and more a mountain.

“What the—!”

SPLAT.

The ball, in its planetary girth, overwhelmed the rookie, squashing her flat, vertically. Like a soda can. A single bounce reduced the up and comer to a red splotch on the blacktop.

“Null shot. Blue team gets the ball!” Coach whistled, and the rest of the team shuffled back into their positions as the game restarted in earnest, even as the girls at their peak were half the heights of the boys.

And I was going wild.

“Oh. My. God.”

Ms. Sondra was evil incarnate—even if she hadn’t committed many crimes beyond merely being mean and abusive, it made sense I felt no guilt over her death. Mace was literally Mace—she deserved what was coming to her, and besides she was technically alive still. If anything I let her off easy.

I had zero idea what the life of that girl was before my arrival. I have no idea if she had a family, friends, a boyfriend or a girlfriend… pets… a future…

Because now, her viscera was a stamp on the orange basketball that was currently changing hands at breakneck pace as the game reached new heights. The boy from earlier was dribbling toward the girls’ basket with monster truck force, as two girls leaped out in front of him in an effort to steal.

Two girls who were currently the size of gerbils.

The twin CRUNCHes were like gunshots as they resounded through the park. Several of the other girls let out high-pitched shrieks as they watched their comrades get demolished, but the game seemed to proceed without delay as the mangled body of one peppered the underside of his tennis shoe. The other wailed, her leg having been pulverized, and she desperately tried to drag herself inch by excruciating inch off the blacktop before a horde of boys followed their teammate, each one having their turn to inadvertently grind her into less than nothing.

“Almost… got it…!” the boy said between huffs as he dribbled, and my heart pounded.

Yes, yes, you do almost got it. Destroy them, grind them into dust.

My internal monologue cheered as I watched him bob, weave, avoid the now mouse-sized female competitors as they dove for the ball and go for the dunk! He’s going… he’s going! He’s—

He was a bit overzealous.

He wasn’t even close to reaching the rim. The ball went off flying in the direction of Coach. Meanwhile, he came crashing to the ground, collapsing on a heap that reduced half of the remaining girls’ team into crimson goo. “ACH!” he shrieked, and the coach’s whistle came shortly after.

“Foul!” she yelled. “Kate, Eve, Yumi, watch where you’re standing next… ah.”

The splotches that once composed Kate, Eve, and Yumi might’ve said yes coach had they still been living humans. As they were, they could only gurgle as the last vestiges of life escaped them beneath the heft of this squirming elementary school boy. Eve… precious, perfect, Amazonian Eve had been crushed into meat-chunks beneath his right bicep, and Kate and Yumi—two equally promising rising stars in their own right—had met their end beneath the boy’s left thigh and right buttock respectively, their last gasps taking in his boysmell as their free limbs shuddered with finality. Three girls with limitless potential, now literal steppingstones for this adorable child. That’s all their short lives amounted to, and all they ever would be.

Scratch that. All they ever should be. God fucking damn, that feels good.

The teacher whistled again. “Time! Everyone, form up!”

The boys and girls stood in a single file row at the edge of the blacktop. Some of the surviving red team members tried to work together and collect the less mangled corpses of their comrades, but a second whistle from coach convinced them to abandon the attempt and form up beside the colossal boys that had decimated their numbers so utterly. The boys were whispering excitedly amongst each other while the girls remained solemn.

“I don’t think I need to go into detail. For the first time this semester, the blue team wins, with a score of seven to the red team’s six.”

“Woo-hoo!!”

“Let’s go!”

“Six-seven, alright!”

My head was becoming cloudy. My fingers slipped from the damp stone of the fountain, and I fell back into another heap.

This… this may be it.

I have found my calling.

My fingers curled around the freshly trimmed grass as my mind was overcome with clarity. For too long, sweet and young and innocent boys have existed under the cruel dictatorship of their feminine counterparts. They’ve been beaten, bruised, and demoralized by the so-called fairer sex when in truth… it was women who should be submitting to them. Their cuteness, their brash overconfidence, their lanky limbs and toothy grins and smiles…

Coach went on. “Well… we can’t rightly bring the girls’ team to the playoffs in this state… Shame.” She clicked her tongue as the tiny girls looked amongst each other nervously.

Soon, she clapped her hands. “New plan! For winning the scrimmage, the boys each get to take one of the girls home!”

Silence.

Scattered whispers. “Did… she really just say that? … Take us home? … But what about our education?! … I hope she gives me to Zach, he’s sooooo cute…”

“Um, coach?” The boys’ team star player, my pride and joy, the one who whiffed the dunk, raised his hand in a surprisingly timid manner.

“Sebastian. What’s up?”

“Well…” Sebastian scratched his shiny brunette head. “There’s like, only three or four girls left. That’s, like, not enough for all of us.”

Coach squinted. “And?”

Sebastian shuffled in place. “I was thinking, it wouldn’t really be fair if we all couldn’t take one of the girls home. You know? So, what if instead… we just kept them in the class as pets? Maybe inside Chancellor’s old hedgehog cage? We could even rotate with some of us taking one of them home for the weekend and, like… taking care of her and stuff.”

Another pregnant pause. Until finally:

“Sebastian. That may be one of the nicest things I’ve heard from you students all year. Hear that class?!” Coach strode over to Sebastian—barely avoiding smashing one of the girls before she dove out of the way—and lifted his arm to the sky as she addressed the students. “You all could learn a thing or two about sportsmanship from this guy over here!” Sebastian simply smiled awkwardly and waved a bit.

The excited murmurs from the boys only got louder.

“Oh, hell yeah!”

“I guess it is more fair. Still wish I got Kimmy all to myself though.”

“Didn’t Kimmy get squashed? I think you’re confusing her with Danielle.”

“Oh, right. My mistake.”

“Speak for yourselves, fellas. How hard do you think it’d be to say you had an ‘accident’ one weekend and keep your favored girl home for yourself?”

“Yeah, I give it a month tops before those girls are gone, gone, gone.”

The remaining girls were stock still, perfectly in position for Coach to pluck them up one by one. Three had still been on the court with a fourth sitting in the sidelines; Coach wiped some dust from the Hispanic one’s face and straightened out the hair of the pale-skinned red head. She brandished them all in front of the boys and smiled.

“Your new class pets, everybody!”

Redhead flipped her hair back as she sauntered on Coach’s palm up to the front. “I can’t say I particularly expected this,” her tiny voice squeaked. And yet, she made sure to strike an alluring pose: “But if I can’t be the best at basketball, at least I can be the best at this!”

“I… I don’t want to be a pet,” the Latina rocked back and forth on Coach’s palm. “I wanna go home! Why did this have to happen?!”

A tan girl gave her a light smack behind the head. “Oh, I dunno Danielle, maybe because you missed the layup in the first quarter? How else do you think they were able to come from behind? This is your fault, at least stop being a bitch about it.”

“Stop being so mean, Judy!” the final girl screamed, a pudgy young lass with glasses who had no business being on the basketball team in the first place. “I, I, I think we should make the best of this! It’ll be like a sleepover most days, and then on the weekends we can go to soooo many different houses and meet all new people! It’ll be an adventure!”

“Until someone feeds us to their dog,” the redhead murmured.

“Y-yes,” glasses said dismally. “That is a possibility. But you can’t look at the negative all the time. Think of it this way… one of these days… Zach could take me home.” The blush that filled her cheeks was fueled by the unholiest of thoughts. I should know: that was me all day every day at that age, and I can’t deny that I felt a kinship with her. “Sooner can’t come quick enough.”

Coach clasped her hands gently, hiding the girls from view. “I’ll write a letter to the parents of the deceased, as well as the moms and dads of our new classroom pets explaining the situation. In the meantime, I will be assigning various responsibilities on a rotating basis to the rest of the actual humans. If you want to keep your pets, you’re going to have to put in the work. Understand?”

More casual murmurs of agreement.

“Good. Alright, form up! Sebastian, you lead them inside. I’ll scrape up what’s left of the girls’ team out here, don’t want their corpses muddying up anyone’s shoes.”

As the boys arranged themselves into a single file line, I remained behind the fountain.

I was in shock. Am in shock. For one reason: I hadn’t even made a wish that time. That ‘making the girls into pets’ schtick was just, like, a thing that they chose to do. It was so incomprehensibly flabbergasting that I could only mouth, “Oh my god oh my god oh my god,” over and over and over again as I shimmied around my cover to avoid their gaze. Sadly, I underestimated the crunchiness of the grass.

“Did you guys hear that?”

“Yeah, close to the fountain?”

“Huh… is that… it is! Coach, Cooooach! There’s a teenager here!”

Crap.

Before they could reach my hidey hole, I skittered backwards on my hands and knees like a crab before I realized that was an extremely inefficient means of travel. Turning, I ran—smack dab into another student, sending the both of us tumbling into a scattered mess of entangled limbs.

“GAH!!”

My head ached, and the time spent behind the fountain meant that my limbs were sore. Whoever I just bumped into extricated themselves from my accidental tackle as I tried to regain some semblance of consciousness. Then, with only five words, everything changed.

“Aghh… my head. W-wait, Deka?”

When I opened my eyes, I had already been tackled again. This time, however, it was a true, honest to goodness hug. And the angels sung in my chest as I realized I had been entangled in Cary’s arms all this time.

Quiz Bowl Junior!

“C-Cary!!” I stuttered, and I suddenly realized just how uncomfortable a position I was in on the ground. I stood up and dusted myself off. Then, I offered a hand to Cary who was sitting patiently on his knees, and I helped him up. I straightened out his mussed-up, midnight-colored hair of wavy curls, and picked off a few strands of grass that adhered to his brown, desi cheeks and accompanying maroon uniform blazer. I was 4 years older than the kid, and yet he was already on pace to overtake me by the end of the year. Granted, I’m not quite average height for my age myself, yet it still felt bizarre that he could almost look me straight in the eye.

Almost.

“What are you doing here?” Cary said. He gripped his backpack with a carefree energy as he rested all his weight on his right foot. God, he was so goddamn cute. “You’re not here to pick me up, are you? It’s still so early!”

“You’re one to talk.” I crossed my arms. “What are you doing getting here so late? And where’s your buddy, Oscar?”

“Ah, ha, well,” Cary said, and he scratched his head sheepishly. “He already went inside the building; I wanted to walk around in the fresh air before I went in. Like you said, we’re already late, so no need to worry about being more late, right?” he said with a shrug. “Ms. Manchester decided to make waffles for us, and she sort of lost track of the time.”

“Ms. Manchester?” I inclined a brow. “I hadn’t realized she still knew how to cook. Doesn’t her personal chef do that sort of thing?”

“He’s on paid leave, apparently a family thing. But—wait, hey! Don’t change the subject!” Cary pointed at me with an accusatory pout that made me want to bequeath him everything I owned. “It’s good to see you, but, also… why?”

This was what I was concerned about.

Momentarily I paused time. I only admired Cary’s cheeks for a few seconds before considering my options. 1) Tell Cary the truth. 2) Tell Cary the truth while also using my mumbo jumbo magic on him to make him agreeable. 3) Don’t tell Cary the truth.

Option 3 was out. If I were to ever live out the extent of my fantasies, I needed him to understand what he had available to him. I wanted to give Cary the benefit of my gift, his reward for being the most adorable little brother who ever little brother’d. As I thought more, I also accepted that while it really wouldn’t be ideal, in the event I alienated Cary with the full truth I could also just rewind time to rectify any mistakes I made. Therefore, there was no permanent harm in telling him exactly what happened to me, just so I can see his reaction to it.

But, as I prepared to restart time, I realized. This might be more of a “Show don’t tell” situation.

Time resumed, and with it came the din of the athletes who just as quickly disappeared through the gates of the school building. Cary was still pointing at me with that irresistible cross between a childish smirk and a grimace that was probably meant to be intimidating.

So, I replied to his question with a question.

“Is there anyone in the school that you just… don’t like? A teacher, student, staff, faculty… anybody? Literally, anybody?”

Cary’s point lowered, and he thought for a moment.

“I mean, there are a few, but I—oh! I know! But, agh, that wouldn’t work…”

“Why not?” I asked, feeling the power tingle in my fingertips. “Why wouldn’t it work?” My lips curled into a grin as I prepared to prove him wrong.

“It… she…” She. “It… might be better if I just show you.” And Cary grabbed my hand, dragging me along with him as his loyal retainer. My heart was pounding—not just because his warm hands had wrapped around mine, but only because my little brother knew the importance of “Show don’t tell”! He’ll make a great writer one day.  

He buzzed the intercom at the front door, and an electronic voice shredded my eardrums from the speaker. “CCRRCCK—yes, yes, who is it?”

“It’s me Cary! And a guest!”

I shuffled a bit in place. This was another concern of mine that I had been mulling over how to rectify. As much as I wanted to observe the kid in his natural environment, I was very conspicuous in an elementary school (which, considering my predilections, was probably a good thing). So, I leaned over to Cary’s ear and whispered, “Hey, kiddo, I’m going to try something so, um… just act like I’m not here, okay?”

Cary looked understandably confused, but like the good boy he was he agreed with his big sister and nodded. “Scratch that—it’s just me!”

“CCRCK—yes, yes, okay, come inside.”

Click!

Cary grabbed the door, and I hoped to God the wish I made worked. This was one of my more logistically complex wishes, and the consequences if it went wrong could be more than just a little annoying. I kept my hand tight in Cary’s grip, and I waited.

Sure enough, when the door opened, we were greeted by a female security guard. She had a short bob cut, tattoos, and a holstered Taser as she eyed Cary with what could only be described as disappointment.

And yet, her gaze hadn’t glanced over me once.

“You’re late,” she sneered.

Cary gave that sheepish smile and scratched his head again. His signature move, it seemed. “Heh, heh… I overslept.”

“By an hour and a half?”

“I’m sorry! It was waffle day!”

 The security guard looked nonplussed, and she turned in place and walked down the hall, calling out, “Remember to visit the principal’s office for your tardy note.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t remembered I was holding; meanwhile, Cary was looking back and forth from her to me in confusion. “I, I didn’t, how… why didn’t she—”

In a feat that, to me, felt Herculean, I let go of Cary’s hand.

Immediately, his eyes switched focus, and he walked in the direction of what I could only assume was the principal’s office.

It. Was. A success.

I had become, for all intents and purposes, invisible. However, I only had a moment to bask in my victory before I realized Cary was departing at an uncomfortably fast rate. I racewalked to his side and placed my hand on his shoulder.

The child seemed to hit an invisible brake and turned to me, “Oh yeah! I gotta show you the thing! But, still, how did you do that? Where she didn’t ask to see your guest pass and stuff?”

“You’ll see,” I smirked, and I took his hand in mine again. Being invisible to everybody I wasn’t actively engaged in conversation with (or, in Cary’s case, physically touching) sounded like it might be Hell on Earth, but when you’re a shut-in fujoshi with no friends aside from your literal baby brother… it’s a disappointingly familiar mode of existence. “Anyway, where was this place you were trying to show me?”

Principal’s office forgotten, I was led through the corridor, taking a twist and a turn and even through a set of double doors. It was a solitary trip, though at various junctions, decorative suits of knight armor stood guard against the walls, wielding swords and shields, battle axes, and spears pointing upwards. I always had to give a whistle—these rich kids knew their décor.

Eventually, we stopped before a normal classroom door. Cary took in a breath and glanced at me. Then, with a gulp, the boy pushed his way inside.

It was… dark. Blank light reflected off the projection board, and a female teacher’s voice lazily sighed and waved the two of us in. “Cary, glad to see you made it just in time. We were about to watch the broadcast.”

Was this who he was talking about? Then, I realized…

Broadcast?

Cary navigated through the grid of desks with the reticence of an abused dog before finding his way to his seat, nestled in the approximate heart of the phalanx of students. It was hard not to feel pressured by all the sets of eyes on me, even knowing they were truly focused on someone else. I squeezed Cary’s shoulders and rested my chin on his crown as he sat down and waited. What were we about to watch?

My question was answered moments later:

“Quiz Bowl Junior! Where only the best—and brightest—have what it takes to make it to the top! Here, six local students—the best from their respective schools—will battle it out for the role of Quiz Champion! So, why don’t we go ahead and meet our challengers?”

After the disembodied voice ceased, the camera panned across a stage. The walls and floors were lit up with floating spotlights stenciled in the shapes of things like notebooks, globes, pencils, and the ever-generic elementary school apple. Six podiums were arranged in a concave semicircle, each with its own student at the ready, four boys and two girls in total. I paid rudimentary attention to most of them—most shuffled in place or chewed their nails in charmingly restless displays. They even stuttered! And yet, at the farthest end of the stage, the words Olive DeMoyne – April Green Prep burned brightly in the podium’s LED display, and a mousy girl with glasses and her hair in a bun filled the projection screen. Her head was apple-shaped, and her face was mildly chubby. Her glitter and make-up looked… embarrassingly self-applied, but that didn’t stop her from grabbing the mic like she owned it and adjusting it closer to her lips.

“Hi everyone!” Olive waved with her fingers, and only when she opened her mouth did I notice her teeth were fitted with braces. Still, she only spoke with the slightest wisps of a lisp, and with an air of confidence I didn’t expect from someone who looked like… that. “My name’s Olive, I’m in the fifth grade, and I came here to win! I already beat everyone at my school in the premina… prelina…”

Olive inexplicably counted on her fingers.

“Preh-lim-eh-neh-rees.” Then she took a breath and spoke again. “…and I plan to take this all the way to the top! So, um, if any computer maker people wanna sponsor me, I’m open!”

“Ha-ha, well, I have no doubt that local companies will be chomping at the bit to have your pretty face as their mascot. But, hey, I bet those preliminaries were pretty challenging, right?”

Olive’s face twisted into an obvious sneer. How could a girl so nerdy-looking and mousy have command over such caustic facial expressions.

“Not really… The only real trouble was with this one boy, Cary? I thought for sure I would be a goner, but then he misspelled the word ‘before’! Can you believe that? Ha-hahahahaha!” Olive laughed so hard that her doubled-over form was momentarily blocked by her podium.

Back in the classroom, several students turned toward Cary with expressions between pity and ridicule—one even made the “L” symbol with his hands, people still do that?! Cary meanwhile immediately put his face down on the desk. If I didn’t know any better, I could’ve sworn I heard muted whimpering.

I understood. I completely understood.

“Wowwww, poor kid. Well, I wish him luck in his future endeavors. And, finally, if you win today—”

“Which, to be clear, I’m gonna!” she interrupted with a metallic smile.

“Cocky, aren’t ya!” the disembodied host said with what felt like a bit of snippiness. “But, seriously, say you get your wish and bring home the big bucks. What are you going to use that cash for?”

“Hmmm…” Olive put on airs of being deep in thought, but the ‘pretending to mull over something you were damn sure about’ expression was one I was plenty familiar with already. “Well, I would say I’m using it for college, but I’m plenty smart enough to get some scholarships on my own. So, I’m gonna put it all into the stock market!” And she nodded, satisfied that her answer sounded sufficiently precocious as the audience applauded her maturity.

“Now that there is a smart bargain! I hear AI tech is a safe bet these days, so good luck to you! But, now that all our contestants have been properly introduced, it’s time to—"

“Quiz! This! Bowl!” the audience cheered in unison.

The game began. Question topics ranged from the Revolutionary War to the mathematical formulas for the area of a circle to elements of the water cycle, but by that point I had mentally checked out of the game, and I instead crouched beside my baby brother’s desk, running my fingers through his hair.

“Is that the girl you don’t like?”

Snifffffff.

And a very nasally “Mm-hm.”

I could understand why.

“And you want to… show her who’s boss? Bring her down a peg? Teach her a lesson? Something like that?”

Cary lifted his face, and even in the darkness I could see the hate in his eyes as they reflected the light of the projection screen.

“Yes,” he said curtly.

I gulped. And I smiled. And I gently took his arm in my hand. He looked at me, a bit confused, but acquiescing.

“Then,” I began. “Try this.”

I angled his arm forward, and I uncurled his fingers until they were pointing at the screen. I held them there for a moment, and together we waited.

The game had only just begun, though Olive had taken a slight lead over the others. The disembodied voice of the host had just finished asking a question about the organelles of the cell, and Olive buzzed in.

“That’s an easy one,” she said. “It’s—”

I pushed Cary’s arm up, and suddenly—

Olive was yanked upward.

“Wha-whoa!!”

The audience gasped, then hushed. Olive had been pulled out of her spot on the podium by an invisible force, and now, she simply hung in place, kicking her legs. Her face, previously sooooo smug, was for whatever reason now drenched in fear.

I glanced at Cary, and his eyes were gigantic with possibility. He testingly waggled his finger from side to side in gentle motions, and like clockwork, Olive on the TV floated from side to side as well.

“Wha-aat ii-ss ha-aa-ppen-ning to-o me-eee!?” Olive warbled, as the speed at which she flew from side to side increased.

“Wow! Would you look at that?” went the host, clearly nervous but still keeping his professionalism. “It looks like our contestant Olive is having technical difficulties. Or, well, I mean, she’s having difficulties of some kind! So, ahm, just stand by while we get our engineers on the stage to figure out what’s what, got it?”

Olive didn’t seem to hear him, on account of Cary’s hand movements becoming far wilder and erratic. The boy was swinging his forearm with the fervor of an orchestra conductor, and Olive was flung from one side of the stage to the other at quite literally break-neck speeds. Her foot—clad in open-toed high heels—clocked one of the other contestants in the temple and sent her to the ground with an “Ouch!!” But Olive, the selfish bitch she is, was unconcerned with the inadvertent assault she’d just committed. Her eyes were rolling around in their sockets as Cary’s arm finally tired out and left her panting as she hung in place like freshly washed laundry.

“You wanna try something really cool?” I whispered. Cary looked at me, and I gave him a move to pantomime. “Do this.”

Cary analyzed my move.

Then, he arranged his hand into a fist, and squeezed.

“ACH—”

Olive’s face turned blue, and her neck struggled in vain to suck in life-giving air, undulating uselessly against the pressure of Cary’s thumb and forefinger. Olive’s limbs, once limp, now seemed locked at her sides. The girl couldn’t move, couldn’t struggle, couldn’t even fight as the disembodied power now seemed hell-bent on choking the life out of her.

With futile chokes, she managed to squeeze a few pitiful syllables out of her esophagus. “C-C-Can’t—b-b-breathe—H-h-hel—” Then she was silenced totally as Cary renewed the strength of his grip. Her eyes were bloodshot—better yet, they were bulging, both at the peril and at the confusion of not knowing what the fuck was going on. Whatever the case, it was delicious, and remembering my brother crushing the daylights out of the girl who’d wronged him would certainly feed my wet dreams for years to come.

Then—sadly!—it was over. Cary relaxed his invisible grip, and Olive fell to the front of the stage in a crumpled heap. She swallowed down heaping mouthfuls of air aptly like her life depended on it. The cameras knew no boundaries—this was likely the most interesting thing in the history of the program—and they zoomed as close into Olive’s face as possible. Tears blended her mascara all over her face in blots, and after a few moments to catch her breath she whimpered, “Wha-what was tha-a-at?!”

The only reply she received was another telekinetic yank. One more trick. Cary grabbed her by the ankle between his thumb and pointer finger. “No, no no! Not again!” Olive shrieked, sounding more exasperated than scared this time, before her chubby, bespectacled, brace-encrusted face suddenly rushed toward the camera, screaming all the way, and…

Disappeared.

Olive was gone from the projection screen. She vanished.

“Ah… ah-ha… ahem. That… was… well, our friend Olive definitely did put on quite a show, ain’t that right folks?”

At first tentatively, then with growing zeal, the audience broke into scattered claps, and finally a full round of applause. Whistles carried out through the audience as they shared their admiration of Olive’s impromptu magic performance.

“Unfortunately… that is not the name of the organelle responsible for processing DNA. And, seeing as their contestant has left the stage unannounced, I must sadly declare April Green Prep disqualified from this season’s Quiz Bowl League. Better luck in the spring, fellas! Anyway, onto history. Jonas Salk is best known for manufacturing…”

The broadcast continued in the background, but I was far more interested in the squirming girl in my brother’s grip. In the semi-darkness, the projector light reflected in Cary’s eyes made them look even more deliciously huge as he gawked at Olive, struggling futilely in his grip. She remained bruised, a shoe had been left behind inside the TV, and her bun was collapsing save a few heroic strands of woven hair. She was screaming and struggling and pummeling against Cary’s clasped hands.

“Whoa…” Cary whispered. “This is real?”

I nodded. “Bask in it, little brother. Bask in it.”

Cary looked at me. “So, like, I… I can do…”

I glared at him, and if I could’ve made my eyes ‘glint’, I would’ve. “You. Can do anything you want with her. Anything.”

He looked back at Olive, who had ceased her assault now that she finally knew in whose possession she was.

“C-C-Cary! I, oh, I… I mean, thank God you’re here, I was at Quiz Bowl but then I was flying and I was getting thrown around and it was bizarre and, I, and… y-you’re not… still mad about me for beating you in the qualifiers… are you?”

She flashed a set of puppy dog eyes that probably would’ve spurred Cary to mercy if not for me egging him on. Unfortunately for her, that just made me want to destroy her all the more.

“Anything I want…” Cary murmured to himself as he held Olive close. His fingers had squeezed most of the hard-fought air out of her lungs, and her pleas for mercy were being interspersed by choked gasps. He licked his lips as he glared down at his female tormenter. Then he gave a few winks and crinkled his nose in anticipation. He fidgeted slightly, the excitement of his future actions so palpable that it could be felt all throughout his body. He scratched his head, needing perfect homeostasis if he were to enjoy the next few minutes. He—

He was stalling.

“Um, dude. Are you gonna, like, do something with her?”

Cary looked at me indignantly. “It’s haaaard! I don’t even know what I want.”

“T-take all the time you need,” Olive insisted. I wanted so badly to thump her in the head and shut her up. So I did!

“Owww!!” The welt on her brow combined with the trickle of tears that fell down her face… they did something to me. I couldn’t wait for Cary to subject her to fates just as justified, if not moreso.

“Well,” I started, already going down my pre-written list of ‘Things to Do to a Shrunken Woman’. “You could eat her, step on her, take off your shoes and then step on her, step on her and then as she’s adhered to your foot eat her, rip off her limbs one by one, smash her with a book, tie her to the wheel of your bike, wring her body in your hands like a moist washcloth, eat her but you chew her up this time—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Cary said, and he looked at me with bemusement. “Why do so many of your ideas involve ‘eating her’?”

I looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “I mean, she’s food sized. You are a growing boy. Her name is literally Olive. What are you not getting about this?” There was no way on Earth I was going to be looked at as ‘the weird one’ for this, he’s the one who just used her like a ragdoll on national local television.

To his credit, Cary did stop and think about it. He brought the shivering Olive closer to his ajar lips and rolled her around in his fingers. He lightly stretched her from every limb.

“I, ahm,” Olive said between sniffs as Cary’s fingers were currently testing how far her legs could spread without causing damage. “You can’t seriously be considering—ah-ah-ah-stop-STOP!!”

Cary stopped and gave a few apologies. I rolled my eyes; it would’ve been nice to hear them snap like toothpicks. But this was Cary’s moment, and I wanted him to have this.

Then, Cary spoke up, but not to her. To me.

“Do you think she’d fit?” He opened his mouth wide in my face, giving me a direct view of the glistening maw that I’d fantasized about for years. His teeth were perfect, save a singular gap in one of the frontal molars, the result of a nasty fall he’d taken on our family trip to the Grand Canyon. He also undulated his tongue for no real reason other than to gross me out.

I looked back at Olive. She was small, but she wasn’t, like, tiny. She was maybe close to four inches tall, which would be a challenge even for an adult, and not someone with the throat and esophagus of a child.

I didn’t want Cary to hurt himself. But, on the other hand, I did want to see this bitch go down a gullet. So I gulped, and I said in the most non-‘is that a challenge?’ way I could muster:

“You’ll have to test it out, and see!”

Cary looked at me, looked at Olive, shrugged, and opened his mouth wide.

“N-no! Don’t eat me! Don’t—MHFF—”

Cary almost certainly didn’t know what vore was, so the pageantry of a good swallow was lost on him. There was no teasing or dangling or psychological torment—he simply stuffed Olive into his jowls and shut them. Olive’s feet remained between his lips, kicking for dear life as the rest of her body was probed by my little brother’s monstrous tongue. The complete and utter innocence with which he performed an act that I’d gooned to thousands of times was driving me mad, which probably prompted my next split-second decision.

“Oh, I’ll help you with that.” Unprompted, I used my finger to jam the rest of Olive inside, and the girl was subsequently swished around like a washing machine. As his mouth was full, all Cary could offer was an appreciative chirp that for a split second drowned out the blood-chilling shrieks that leaked through his puffed-up cheeks. His lips closed around my finger, and suddenly the warmth of his saliva encompassed the digit. It felt sooo much like a kiss, and I allowed myself a swoon before dismally extracting my finger from his mouth. But not without the gift of his precious saliva, which I nibbled on before returning attention to Cary directly.

It was something I’d only imagined in my dreams. My little brother was munching on an actual preteen girl like she was a wad of gum. His cheeks were full to bursting, but his eyes still had that enraptured glow.

“How does she taste?”

Without thinking, Cary opened his mouth, and a wave of drool fell from out in fat, stringy globs. Olive was exposed, body coated in a thick layer of glistening saliva, face coated in abject horror. Just before she was swept out of Cary’s mouth as well, Cary’s jaws snapped shut, once again sealing her well-deserved fate.

 I reached inside Cary’s desk for a napkin to dab off his lapel, just as Olive emitted a wail of despair and dread. “What a beautiful sound,” I swooned. “Now all that’s left to do is—”

“I do hope you brought enough to share with the class?”

I jumped, Cary jumped, I’m sure a few of the students jumped. They’d been so engaged by watching the broadcast earlier, I hadn’t expected anyone to pay attention to me and my brother. We were even whispering! But I hadn’t noticed that the plump teacher had paused the video and made her way to where we were seated with the stealthy silence of a Sengoku-era assassin for some reason.

“Mrshes Ahfulfwahm—” Cary slurred in a way that gave me no indication of what this woman’s actual name was, while also allowing another unintentional droop of saliva to coat his chin and lapel.

Miraculously, Olive made it outside of Cary’s mouth this time, holding onto his lip before falling out of his mouth entirely, hitting the desk with a hard, wet SMACK. The sad little girl’s outfit was drenched and torn, and she writhed on the surface with the urgency of a worm on the sidewalk yearning for the turf. Between teacher and student, I dared not touch any of them. Instead, I backed away, not wanting to abandon my brother, but also not wanting to make any unnecessary reality alterations. I wanted to see this play out.

“Ugh,” Missus Affalbowata upturned her nose at Olive’s hacking, squirming form. “On second thought, you can keep this one. Just don’t… wait…”

Her eyes bulged.

“Olive?!”

Then Mrs. Awalawooloo snatched the girl up in her hands and brought her close to her face. Cary’s own face was red, and he gulped down any leftover saliva that didn’t end up on his blazer. “I, ahm, I’m—”

“Cary. You know the rules. No eating in class! It’s distracting!”

Cary looked at his lap and tied his fingers into knots. “Y-yes ma’am.”

Then the schoolmarm looked at Olive, and her brows knit in disappointment and spite. “As for you…”

Olive was hacking up the spit that had invaded her lungs, ears, mouth, eyes, everywhere. Tear-soaked and terrified and battered, she’d been given a new chance at life, and she wasn’t going to waste it. Once her throat had been sufficiently cleared of irritants, she screamed, “H-h-help!! H-he was g-g-g-gonna eat me!!”

A slightly cocked head, and her sneer deepened.

“Yes. And?”

Olive stopped, Cary stopped, I stopped. Everyone fell silent at the exchange. I knew, internally, I shouldn’t be surprised anymore, but something always made my heart flutter at seeing just how far-reaching the effect of my abilities goes in terms of making the abnormal feel… normal.

“H-h-huh?!” Olive pleaded. “B-but M-m-missus Applebaum—”

“Ugh, Olive, please.” Mrs. Applebaum (thanks for the info, Olive!) put two fingers to her forehead. “I don’t think I need to state the depths to which I am disappointed in your behavior today. The only reason we chose you to represent our school is because I felt you wouldn’t humiliate us on live television. And, well…”

She gestured vaguely to the frozen TV screen, where one of the podiums remained conspicuously absent.

“B-but, I-I… that wasn’t me? I-I…”

Mrs. Applebaum sighed. “Olive, you should know better than to give me excuses. You embarrassed me, and the very symbol of our school, the honorable milk snake. Do you have anything you wish to say for yourself?”

“I…”

Olive looked into Mrs. Applebaum’s gigantic brown eyes as they trained on her with laser-guided focus. Olive looked back into them, and seemed to metaphorically shrink away, not wanting to reckon with the massive woman who held her life in her hands. She twisted within the boulder-sized grip to Cary, who was staring enraptured. I didn’t register to her at all.

Then she turned back to Applebaum. “I’m… s-sorry?”

The titanic teacher rolled her eyes. “Right. I’m sure you are.”

Then, she just… left.

She started walking away, with Olive’s terrified, spit-coated form in tow, toward her desk.

Cary raised his hand. “Ahm, Miss? Could I… have her back at the end of class, maybe?”

“What, this?” she said, brandishing a mewling, petrified Olive. “I’ll consider it… at the end of the school year. In the meantime, into the Box it goes.”

“Into the what?!” came Olive’s miniaturized voice, and for once I shared her sentiment. What exactly was the Box?

Luckily, a few onlooking students were able to provide useful context. “The Box?” “Oof... press ‘F’ to pay respects for that.” “I sorta forgot the Box existed.” “Of course you did. Every new homeroom teacher says ‘I’m gonna clean out the Box’ and then never does.” “My big brother lost his Pokémon deck to the box… good times, man.” “I think she sometimes gives the stuff away for good behavior.” “Who would want her though? Look at her, she’s all sticky and junk, and the dust inside ain’t gonna help I bet.” “Wait, so, like, Olive is just… gonna… be in there?” “Good riddance IMO.” “Did you just say ‘I-M-O’ out loud?” “Think if I ace the Water Cycle quiz I can bring Olive home? Brutus’s chew toy just broke so he could use a new one.”

Soon, I received visual confirmation of what ‘the Box’ actually was—the lowest drawer on the beige metal filing cabinet next to the teacher’s desk. It was protected by a simple combination lock which Mrs. Applebaum entered and pressed, eliciting the click that unlocked the mechanism and allowed the drawer to open freely.

Olive was in hysterics. “N-NO! HELP, DON’T PUT ME IN THERE! C-C-CARY, YOU CAN COMPETE NEXT TIME I’M SOR—”

Plorp!

The spit-soaked girl descended unceremoniously, exclaiming as her body slammed against the hardshell chassis of a Gameboy Color. By the time she squirmed to face the sun, it had already been replaced with darkness as the cabinet drawer closed with a SLAM! The tiny bangs that followed were in that perfect sweet spot of being inaudible, yet just loud enough that if you really tried, you could be reminded that somewhere in this room was a trapped girl whose chances of escaping as a free human were less than nil.

Mrs. Applebaum, I apologize. I truly was not familiar with your game.

“Anyway, this was fun, but I think now’s a good opportunity to break into independent study. We still need to be prepared for our exams at the end of the year. They’re coming up, and for anyone who isn’t Cary or… the departed… I’m not terribly confident in your chances. Understand?”

“Yes, Mrs. Applebaum,” came the unified reply. I, on the other hand, was stunned at how quickly and easily she forgot about disposing of a student—a former star student.

Then, I remembered—Cary! He stared down at his desk, dejected. I rushed back close to him and grabbed his shoulders. “Hey, dude! You okay?”

Cary jumped slightly at the sudden contact, then saw me and relaxed. “Y-yeah. I’m, I, just… that felt… a bit disappointing.”

“Cary… I’m sorry. That didn’t go the way I planned.”

Cary simply murmured in a vaguely agreeing way. I glanced at Mrs. Applebaum, and I pondered. Technically, there was nothing stopping me from reversing time or pulling some other shenanigans to place Olive back in Cary’s capably cute hands… but I stopped myself. If I reversed every slightly-unfortunate thing that ever happened in our lives, what exactly would be the purpose of living? My job was to use my powers to make the most interesting decisions, and if the consequences of those decisions don’t pan out, I make new decisions dealing with the consequences and hopefully do better next time. And, in the end, isn’t that how everybody should live anyway?

Besides, I can’t deny, even if Cary was disappointed at the show, I certainly wasn’t. On the other hand, I did really want to see him swallow that girl.

But Olive was just one girl. There were 4 billion women on the planet; surely, of them, there were plenty tasty enough for my baby brother. And with luck, we could find a few of them right here in town.

I tested the waters. “Do you want me to make it up to you?”

He turned to face me. “Make it up how?”

I bit my lip. “I am going to take you out on a trip. Just you and me. A sibling outing, just like old times. We can have fun, I’ll show you my powers, and… if you really want… I can… let you test them out?”

Cary’s eyes brightened. “Y-you can do that?”

“Brother… for you? I would do literally anything,” I said. And I meant it. Then, I tried to figure out how best to word my next few sentences. “But, ahm… there are going to be a few ground rules to abide by first…”

Thinking Inside the Box

“Now, repeat after me. Girls are the enemy.”

“Girls are the enemy.” Cary said it dutifully, though his bemused smirk told me I hadn’t yet converted him to a true believer. “And they deserve everything that happens to them,” he finished.

“Ooooh, you remembered the second half!” I tousled his head just as the subway was pulling into the stop, sending a gust of wind past both of us. With one hand wrapped tight within Cary’s and the second on my bike, I lugged the both of them aboard. It was a school day in the middle of the week, so the metro wasn’t terribly populated, though of the commuters that were there, a decent cross-section of the city was represented.

As it turned out, explaining to Cary that I was now an omnipotent goddess was way easier than explaining to him he now had a divine mandate to sacrifice as many women for his pleasure as possible.

“I… I just don’t understand why,” Cary insisted.

“Because they’re evil little monsters? Do you not remember Olive? You can’t tell me she didn’t deserve what was coming to her.”

Cary’s brown cheeks turned red, and he looked away furtively. “That’s different. Like, don’t get me wrong, they can be annoying and all… but do we need to kill all of them?”

“Who said anything about killing all of them? Just… a lot of them. We’re showing them their true place in the world.”

“Right. And that place is?”

I glared down at Cary with a devious smile. “On the ground. At your feet. Observe.”

The subway pulled to the station, and I tugged Cary and my bike out with it into a massive underground atrium with venders, newsstands, and passersby of all stripes. The main wall was lined from floor to ceiling with portraits and landscapes ranging from photorealistic renditions to abstract expressionist collages. In front of the wall… was nothing. Which was unusual—I distinctly remember there being a statue of the town founder last time I took the train into the city, but for whatever reason the twelve foot by twelve foot raised concrete platform upon which he stood was now empty, plaque and all. Renovations, perhaps?

I didn’t have to scan the crowd for long before the perfect mark passed by—a woman in a pencil-skirt, phone buried firmly between ear and shoulder, dragging a suitcase behind her. Whether she was departing or arriving, I couldn’t surmise—I simply knew she would make a perfect victim to demonstrate my point. With a single, well-aimed thought, the girl shrunk, hanging in the air momentarily like Wile E. Coyote before tumbling to the ground. The shadow of her suitcase buried her in darkness as I brought Cary closer to examine my handiwork.

“Doesn’t she just look crushable? Surely, she wasn’t going anywhere important. Here, give it a try.” I pushed Cary forward, gawking over his shoulder as my adorable little brother contemplated reducing her to a stain. Testingly, he lifted his shoe above her head…

Then…

Stopped.

He set his foot back on the ground, and in a panic the girl skittered out into the crowd, abandoning the shadow of her upright suitcase in a rush to be anywhere but here.

I groaned. “Cary, you—”

Crunch!!

We both glanced aside—the woman was gone, and a chatty pair of teenagers had just intersected her trajectory, oblivious of the life they just ended and the bloody wet stamps beneath their sneakers. I shook my head and returned attention to my brother with something between a whisper and a hiss.

“Cary. You must work with me here.”

He shrugged. “She looked scared. I just didn’t have the heart.”

“Dude, they always look scared when they’re about to die, because they always know that they deserve it! It’s like a possum playing dead—an involuntary defense tactic. You just need more motivation...”

I yanked Cary alongside me and walked, ignoring his exasperated huffs. I was suddenly reminded I was not only pulling a full-sized bike beside me, but now I had to contend with a child-sized child through a crowded underground metro station. Thankfully we didn’t have to go far before I found another viable target: the art wall, and the empty lot in front of it. At a middling distance, I noticed the tiny red flag posted at the corner of the empty space, and I scoffed. My renovation theory was correct, but I can’t blame anyone unable to connect the dots when the city made such a piss poor effort at deterring curious youths from approaching the worksite.

Such as right now. In front of the platform stood a boy and a girl close to Cary’s age—upon closer inspection—the pair may have been a year, perhaps two years apart. The girl was older, a late tween or early teen with flaming red hair, freckles, and a braid that went down to her back. She wore a black beret, monochrome striped stockings with sneakers, and a denim jacket with cut-off sleeves. Hands on her hips, she looked at the empty concrete square… then turned on her heel to face the boy, whose hair was equally red and face equally freckled. Siblings.

“It’s obviously making a point about the vacuous nature of metropolitan life. Why else would they put a big empty space right in the middle of a subway station?”

One hand in his pocket, the other on the phone playing Subway Surfer, the boy was paying no attention.

The girl sighed, and exclaimed, “Ian!”

“Wha!” He jumped, and his phone went flying out of his hand. Ian barely caught it in time before the girl stomped directly in front of him and stuck her face into his bubble.

“Well? Tell me that I’m right.”

Inches away from kissing, Ian politely planted his finger on the girl’s forehead and shoved her back a foot. “I think… the same thing I thought when we first got here, Maebh. Which is that maybe it’s just an empty piece of floor.”

Maebh sighed. “That’s just it—with you, nothing actually means anything because you never want to look at anything for more than two seconds that isn’t, like, Candy Crush or something.”

Then, suddenly, Maebh lifted her leg, planted it onto the ledge and hoisted herself up, attracting a few brief glances from the masses but otherwise unnoticed by anyone save Ian.

“Maebh, we are still going to the arcade today, right? Why are you so hung up on this?”

Sauntering to the center of the platform, Maebh gave a haughty chuckle. “Because it’s art, and art is important! If you go through life without ever looking at anything twice, you’re gonna be a sheep! And you don’t want to be a sheep, you know why?”

“Ahm… no?”

A thin huff of breath left Maebh’s lips in a sigh. “They get slaughtered. That’s why being able to interpret art is important, Ian. Do you want to be slaughtered like a sheep, Ian?”

“Noooooo…? But, like, there’s nothing there. You’re standing in an empty box.”

Self-satisfied, Maebh nodded. “Exactly. The fact that it feels like there’s nothing there just makes it all the more meaningful—you can imagine anything, and it’ll feel just as legitimate. Yet in this capitalist, misogynist, patriarchal dystopia, empty dreams are the only thing people can grasp for hopes of a better tomorrow.” Point made, she approached the ledge to rejoin her brother. “Obviously not everybody is cut out to understand art. But as long as you have me around, you can—"

Bonk!!

“Gah!!”

Maebh struck something hard and stiff, and fell backward onto the concrete. Her beret broke her fall a bit, but when she sat up, she was rubbing her crown tenderly. “What the hell…?” She reached a hand out tentatively. Her fingers traveled through empty air before they came up against something invisible, yet impassable. “When did this get here? Ian, help me down?”

Ian rolled his eyes. “This isn’t another one of your lame performance art thingies, is it?”

Maebh was becoming pale, and her chest rose and fell with increasing urgency. “Um, no? It’s not? Please, help me?” She tested the barrier all around her, standing up and following it with her hands spread across the unseeable surface. “Fucking… small spaces… what?!” Maebh whispered, as she realized with dread that she was surrounded by an invisible box that perfectly aligned with the perimeter of the platform. “When… how? What?”

As Maebh and Ian were trying to work out what the fuck happened… I gave a modest snicker. There was, technically, no barrier. I just made it so that Maebh was incapable of leaving that spot. Even Ian was able to reach through the border of the installation, no problem, and grab his sister’s hand. But pulling back only resulted in wrenching Maebh’s face into the invisible wall. The girl gave a pained exclamation, and Cary had to suppress a chuckle of his own. Now was the time. I turned to him.

“You see, dear brother? It’s not just Olive, it’s all of. Them. All of them.” I shook my head a bit and started again. “The female race is composed of bratty, smug, arrogant, stuck-up specimens who deserve everything that happens to them. They think they know better than you do, and it’s even worse when they actually do know better—they make fun of you for not knowing impossible things like social cues, or how to dress pretty and do makeup and braid hair, making fun of you for being into totally normal manga but then when it gets popular they pretend they were into it all along and then gaslight you into thinking you’re the weird one for pointing out the switch-up and when you ignore that and hope against hope that they’ll accept you anyway they look at you like you have a terminal disease. You can try. So. So hard… and it… it just… doesn’t. Work.”

“Are you okay?” Cary asked.

“YES.” Completely! Who was he to think I wasn’t?! Totally unrelated to my not-rant, I nonchalantly wiped my face with my jacket before dumping it back into my bike cart, but in like, a chill way. “I’m fine!”

I sniffed hot, and I turned toward Maebh and Ian. Maebh was relentlessly testing every inch of her newfound enclosure for weaknesses, gaps, or points of egress, and it was satisfying watching the fear in her eyes become more palpable as she realized it was a losing battle.

“In fact… I’m better than okay.”

My next wish was crystal-clear, and the universe responded in kind.

Maebh was crouched in the southwest corner when she started vibrating involuntarily.

“W…what’s happening…?”

Maebh locked eyes with Ian.

“Ian. Ian. Get me the hell out of here.”

Ian examined his sister dubiously. “I mean, I would but… I don’t know how.”

“You idiot, try pulling me out again! Go and grab someone, I don’t care, just… um… what are you looking at?”

“Maebh… you’re growing.”

Suddenly, Maebh backed away from the invisible border and looked at her black undershirt sleeves, denim jacket and shorts, shin-high striped socks… everything on her body felt tighter than it was before.

“What the fuck?!” she screamed, and this finally got the attention of more passing commuters. Some stopped to observe what they could only assume was a bizarre piece of performance art. Maebh didn’t care; emboldened by her new stature, the girl launched herself against the barrier, only succeeding in sending her backward with equal parts embarrassment and pain. As she pulled herself up to the ground, Ian retorted lackadaisically:

“Maybe this is, like, karma? Or something?”

Bitterly, Maebh shot back, “Karma for what?”

Ian shrugged. “Well, for saying the ‘F-word’, for one?”

Maebh growled, taking a few preparatory steps back from the barrier. “Oh, you little rodent… when I get my hands on you I’ll—”

BONK!!

This impact was the one that turned on the waterworks. After that failed lunge, Maebh lay unmoving on the concrete for a few moments longer than felt apt, all the while Ian watched in fascination as her body lengthened before her eyes. Once knee-high socks now barely reached her calves, and the threads were straining against the broadening of her leg muscles. The first visible, audible rip came from her shorts.

Suddenly, Maebh shot up to her knees, running her hands along the rim of her waistband, searching for the undone seam so she could cover it, only for a second tear to radiate across her abdomen. Her top was coming undone.

“No, no, ahm, um…” Mortified, Maebh tried in vain to bring the halves of clothing together before they were torn completely, but it was a Sisyphean struggle. Every time she successfully located a rip and tried to cover it, another rupture was created at the opposite end of her body. Her feet grew out of her socks and shoes next, and Maebh had to chuck the useless things away into the crowd as her mega-sized toes were now free for everyone to admire. She squirmed on the ground, cursing to herself as she tried to regain some semblance of control over her life, until—

Boink…!

“Ouch! W-what…?”

Maebh had tried to stand up to height, only for her head to bump into something hard, invisible, and impassable.

“Whoa,” Ian said. “That thing has a ceiling?”

Maebh, now twelve feet tall, could only nod with blurred eyes at her little brother. Her clothes were now mostly in tatters—about all that remained on her body was part of one sock as well as her panties, and another growth spurt sent the both of them in strips to the ground. Maebh was now well and truly nude in the middle of the subway. The freckles that coated her face were genuinely everywhere, from her stomach to her legs to her A-cup chest, and Maebh still foolishly tried to protect her modesty.

Unfortunately for her, that same growth spurt then forced her to hunch over. “AGH, God!!” Maebh screamed.  “What is happening?!” was all she could say as her body expanded, more and more. Before long, Maebh’s back was unable to take her horizontal stance, and she fell onto her buttocks. “OW, ouch!!” she called out, more tears flooding her eyes as another involuntary growth spurt rubbed her bumcheeks raw against the concrete. As Maebh ballooned, her feet pressed against the barrier wall, soles now on display for everyone who wanted a peek… or a touch, if they were into that. Her knobby knees were jammed into each other, her arms flailing for purchase as her body shuddered into another expansion. She tried to push with her hands against the invisible box, to somehow stave off the inevitable as she realized where this was going to end. “No, no, no, NO—”

At last, Maebh was now immobile.

“Whoaaa…” Cary breathed. “She’s been circumcised!”

Pft.

Cary looked at me with a raised brow. “What’s so funny?”

“N-nothing.” I waved it away. That mistake was too hilarious for me to correct. But just as Cary was about to insist I explain, we both stopped and realized she wasn’t done growing.

Though technically Maebh couldn’t move, there was still a decent amount of empty space left that could be occupied. And with another three painful growth spurts (accompanied by some truly pained shrieks—I could swear I heard her bones creaking as they were stretched to their absolute limits), it very well was. Her limbs were forced into the most optimal position for storage, and her face was stuffed into the nook between her thighs before coming to rest against the frontmost barrier. Her cheek flattened against the forcefield, her single visible eye was jammed open and observing the enraptured audience, bloodshot as the irises slid across the milky white disc in search of sympathy, understanding, something that would demonstrate that the people outside actually cared about her as more than something mildly interesting witnessed on the subway. Maebh’s neck undulated but, in such a bizarre contortion, there was simply no extra airflow available to facilitate speaking—she could barely breathe, much less speak. She grunted pitifully, only for even that to cease as one final spurt of growth locked her entirely in place.

The box was 12x12x12 feet. On the other hand, the creature now before us was likely close to 40 feet tall. And all she could do was watch helplessly from behind glass that wasn’t even there. She wasn’t literally a cube now… but she might as well have been.

And to add the most delicious insult to injury, only now after having been thoroughly humiliated did the crowd break into scattered claps, followed by subsequent applause, whistles, and cheers. I felt a flashback to the Olive incident, and I once again felt grateful that the most plausible explanation in the minds of the people was performance art.

“Yeah, I’m thinking a Banksy.”

“Dude, no way Banksy would do something this ostentatious.”

“I think…” Ian began, and all eyes turned to him, including Maebh’s. Was he finally about to call for help? Point out the ridiculousness of this whole scenario and figure out a way to rescue his sister?

“I think that… it’s a commentary on the way society forces women to squeeze themselves into boxes to perform to their gender roles.”

The hatred with which Maebh glared at Ian made me glad that she was in there and he was out here. Nevertheless, Ian walked around his sister’s immobile form, planting a hand on the supple sole of her left foot as he explained to the crowd. Her toes twitched at the tickle, to which he paid no mind. “Crushed by the expectations of a sexist world, even young teenagers are forced to play their game, losing their individuality in the process. They become…”

A few slow rubs down the smooth underside of the food that elicited muted rumbles from the giantess trapped inside.

“Nothing more than meat to be gawked at.”

The crowd at first didn’t know what to make of Ian’s brief speech. But then…

“Hey… that was pretty insightful.”

“That makes a lot of sense.”

“You’re a smart kid, you know that?”

“Where’d you learn so much about art anyway, huh?”

As he was showered with compliments, Ian blushed. And with an ironic glance at Maebh’s helplessly knotted form, he said, “Well… my teacher once said that if you can’t understand art, then you’re no better than a sheep! And you know what happens to sheep? They… uh… ahm, I forget the next part, but whatever she said it wasn’t good! Wonder where she is now…”

Then, Ian walked away.

Maebh’s body was vibrating with rage, fear, despair, and pain. Pure and utter pain of being folded into a human pretzel at 40 feet tall. But as Ian walked off, so too was the last individual who had ever seen her as anything more than an art installation. Maebh became utterly alone.

Until—

“Whoa… it’s warm!”

Maebh’s eye grimaced as she felt the prick on her exposed butt—someone was digging their hands inside?! She wanted to move, to scream, to do anything, literally anything.

“Can’t believe the city got the money for a display like this. It feels so real.” The teen whose arm had buried into the doughy flesh of Maebh’s buttcheeks was grinning ear to ear, pocketing his phone to get both hands in on the action. Maebh, unable to fight back, could only cry as a second, and a third, and eventually a fourth art appreciator rubbed his hands along her exposed skin. Some of the younger, more feisty ones took advantage of the one-way barrier, climbing onto her naked body like it was a playground. Her skin was taut where it met the limits of her containment, but there were crannies galore of soft skin further inside where spectators could squirm into and out of at their leisure, no matter how violently Maebh’s rage burned inside her enlarged body. Just a helpless piece of meat to be touched, explored, and ogled, in perpetuity.  

“Whoaaaa…” Cary whispered under his breath.

“Would you believe I went easy on her?” I pulled Cary in tighter.

“So, like, she’s stuck there?”

I sighed, and I crouched in front of Cary grabbing his shoulders. “Cary, being stuck there implies she’s trapped in some way. She’s not stuck, she is where she’s supposed to be. Isn’t it great?!”

Cary’s hand tightened in mine, and I could tell he was choosing his words deliberately. “It’s… definitely interesting. To look at.”

He was unsure—I could tell from the look in his eyes. But the way he blushed and the heat that radiated off his temple… the hormonal smell wafting off of his pubescent body as his pores physically reacted to Maebh’s continued fondling by the masses… everything gave the indication that he was coming along.

Cary was a tough nut to crack, but he was still my brother. And luckily, there was precisely one button of his that I was in a unique position to push. Giving him a front row seat to such a visceral scene of growth was only phase one in my brilliant two-step plan, and when phase two kicked off, he would never be able to see a woman and not feel the urge to squash her beneath his feet.

I gave his shoulders a hearty squeeze and whispered in his ear. “Trust me… I know exactly what your wish is going to be. And when we get to the next stop, you’ll see just how good it feels killing girls.”

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