Your mother’s scream for you to get up pulled you from your slumber. You groan and roll over on the sock that you call your bed, thinking that maybe its time to ask mom to buy the softer brand of tube sock. You wipe the sleep from your eyes and stretch out, working the kinks out of your sore body. Yesterday you had accidentally fallen into your sister’s shoe and for the millionth time, she forgot the one rule to always check where she is stepping and you ended up being carried out of the house in her shoe. It had been an unpleasant day for you, sure, it was aright for a little bit, but around the time your sister got to the nightclub and started dancing, things went sour. Being pushed against her sweaty toes for hours had been a pain, but when you slipped under her sole and was stepped on, you decided that you liked being with her sweaty toes more. That night you’re sister danced till the early hours of the morning, you didn’t know what time she stopped because they were yet to make watches for the three millimeter wide wrist. After the night was finished, your sister headed home, taking off her shoes when she arrived; she never even noticed the small sweat crusted body crawling out of her shoe.
You had stumbled to your bed on the lowest shelf in the living room and got about an hour of sleep before your mother started screaming for you. Stuffing your head under your sock/bed, you try to ignore the screams to wake up and get a few more moments of sweet sleep. For a second you do doze off, but are awoken again when you sense a shadow looms over you like the angel of death.
“Come on honey, it’s time to get up.” The sweet voice and the shadow belong to your mom, but you don’t care if they were the president. You need your sleep or your going to be like the living dead for the rest of the day. You wrap your sock/bed tightly yourself and try to block out your mother. Maybe if you ignore her, she’ll give up and go away.
“Honey, it’s a beautiful day out. The birds are singing, the cars are revving by and I think it might rain.” You groan at your mother’s mismatched words. You sometimes wonder how she ever graduated high school or kept down a job. Then you see her DD-cup breasts and you know the reason.
“Five more minutes,” you grumble, wishing that your sister had come home an hour earlier last night. All you need is a few more minutes of sleep and you’ll be ready to face the big bad world.
“Wake up or I’ll let your little sister look after you when me and your older sister are out.” This gets you up right away. Being trapped in your older sisters shoe all night was bad, being trapped with your younger sister for more then a minute, a hell of a lot worse. Sitting up, you glance upwards at your mom. Her huge bust blocks her face, but you know she has the sickening sweet smile on her face. The same smile she has when she’s rewarding or punishing you. Her hand lowers towards you, offering you a ride, but you wave her off. Your fourteen now and don’t need you’re mothers help doing everything. You’ve some how survived the last fourteen years at this size, with minor physical and major physiological damage. Your mother walks away and your alone, just the way you like it. Time to start another day as the three-inch boy.
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