It started with an inch.
I was just sitting there reading the news; something about hurricanes and nuclear war. I felt pressure on the top of my head. I stood up and had to cough.
I ran to the bathroom. That spot of toothpaste splatter on the mirror that had always sat on my cheek was just about eye level. I didn’t want to think about it, so I cleaned the mirror. I ate, a little less than usual, and headed to work.
When I got home, my roommate asked me if I’d heard about a shooting in America. I said I hadn’t and headed to my room to check the news. I picked up my computer. It felt heavier. When I went to google I found I’d somehow typed all the wrong letters. I looked down at my hands. I’ve always been self-conscious about my hands but this was serious. I got up, went to the mirror. My clothes were baggy, my glasses looked huge.
I tore all my clothes off, glasses too. I went to bed.
When I woke up there was no denying. I couldn’t have been more than four feet tall. I had to wear my girlfriend’s shirt and shorts to go to the store. They wouldn’t sell me cigarettes. When I got home I immediately got on my phone. I started to try and look up something, anything that might explain. I found myself reading an article about how children in Ghana are not as tall as they used to be; something to do with a lack of food or maybe something in the water.
I tried calling out for my roommate but even my voice wouldn’t carry. I leapt down off the couch. I looked up at the lip of my coffee table and realized that it was my last chance. I jumped and caught the edge of my laptop; brought it down. Thankfully it didn’t break. I got it open by some miracle. I’ve been having to write this by hopping from one key to another. I can’t be more than an inch now. Something is very wrong and I am so very tired.
I am going to take a nap on the mouse pad.