Chapter #4Young Tyson by: lark   It was Tyson, your 1-year-old cousin. Twenty-two months, Aunt Lisa always corrected, yeah, that's one. Age debate aside, the baby boy was dressed in a swim diaper, it only looked like a speedo at first.
He was a cute, round-faced bouncing little boy with short, dark hair. He also was the size of godzilla to you currently, which was especially terrifying as his head only barely came above the children's bench seat where your miniaturized form lay. At first it looked like he had seen you, leaving you panicked and shuddering with fear as his chubby form grew even larger with his approach. Covering your eyes, you felt the bench shake, knocking you off-balance. Eyes once again taking in your new world, Ty's bare chest hovered above you, wet from splashing around and just close enough to brush your fingertips against it, if you dared to stand up and do so.
Awkwardly, the boy pulled himself onto the bench, laying flat on it, nearly smothering you as he did so.
As if you could shrink further into yourself with terror, you somehow managed to avoid the tangle of limbs and flesh as the eager boy brought himself to a more proper sitting position to get at whatever had grabbed his fickle attention on the table.
Uncoiling yourself from the fetal position after feeling the movement die down, your heart sank at the view.
In front of you scaled an insurmountable monolith, or at least it sure felt that way. You had your back facing under the table, and your front was completely blocked off by either the thick, round thighs on either side, and a navy-blue wall of polymer.
Having a moment to catch your breath, you gleaned that you were small. Really small, with your fevered mind and no frames of references you really wanted to get close to and compare yourself to, it was impossible to know just how small, but it was probably around an inch or so.
"How do I get out of this situation...?" You mused aloud, heard by no one. Jumping was a no-go, the drop turned your stomach just looking at it from this size, climbing Tyson's thighs would be impossible, there was no hair to grab onto, and even if they weren't slick with water, you were too small to get past the curve. Said curve could easily roll over and crush you if the boy squirmed an inch, which he was likely to do.
Scream? At this size it'd be useless. Could maybe stay here? Risky, but so are any other choices available.  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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