Paul thought that his eyes may adjust and find a few tiny patches of light in his coffin, but no; it was too well sealed. There were no sighs, no sounds but his own breathing, and no sensation apart from the fabric beneath his backside. It was pure sensory deprivation, a horrifying prison from his body and mind where there was no escape.

  The box slowly started to heat up from Paul's body heat. He worried that he might sufficate, but there were unseen airholes that allowed circulation. The circulation was still not great and Paul found himself increasingly light-headed and woozy. There was just enough room to roll over, which he did now and then just to change positions.

  Time itself broke down as it had no meaning in this box where nothing ever changed. How long had it been, an hour, two? Maybe much shorter, perhaps he had only been in there for fifteen minutes. There was no way of telling. He got so frustrated he let out a shout and started punching the top of his prison. It did not budge an inch.

  It took a long time for Paul to calm himself down. There was no way out of here and he would only be wasting energy and hurting himself further if he continued to act out in this way. He had to think about something pleasant, something comforting that could calm him down and take his mind off things. Of course, in his own life Katelyn was the person who had provided that relief for him. Thinking about her no longer provoked a sharp tinge of pain but rather a more muted, dull ache. He missed her dearly, and he really needed her now.

  Paul tried to imagine that Katelyn was in his hand. It was very hard to do as he couldn't even see his hand. He tried placing two of his own fingers in the palm of his other hand and squeezed them, pretending those digits were Katelyn. But it was no use. He couldn't picture her there.

  Of course, Katelyn and he were the same size now so he tried to imagine her laying in the coffin along with him. He tried to recall how it felt cuddling next to her on his bed, but the memories were muddled and confused. He remembered her climbing onto his lap and pulling back her clothes to reveal her pussy at him, which then reminded him of Bethany. He tried to comfort himself with the memory of the beautiful, intense encounter they had two afternoons ago, but he couldn't help thinking about how that lead to him being here with several painful injuries, so it was hard to feel comforted by that.

  If only Paul had a big that was on his side, a protector. He knew Hannah was out there somewhere, probably still wondering what happened to him, maybe having already learned. Who knows, she might have already moved on to somebody else. But he still wanted to think that she cared for him, and if she knew what he was going through right now she would swoop in and rescue him.

  Paul imagined Hannah pulling the lid off the box and lifting him up, looking down at him with pity and sympathy. She would tend to his wounds, calmly and methodically, and then hold him in her hand, stroking him gently. Paul tried to remember what Hannah's hands looked like. It was hard to say—in his mind they just conjured up the image of generic female hands, and it was hard for him to fall into the illusion. After all, Hannah and he had never been physical, and the idea of her comforting him in this way was a complete abstraction that he couldn't really grasp.

  No, at the end, there was only Katelyn. Paul tried to imagine her as a big in a world where their roles were reversed, and he was the companion. Paul remembered what Katelyn's face looked like close up; he might have only seen it for a short time when they were the same size but it was a particularly sharp memory. He knew what it felt like to be held in Sarah's hands. He didn't want to focus on the hands, just the face. He thought about how Sarah's face had hung over him, huge and imposing, and tried to imagine Katelyn's face in that spot instead, looking down at him with the same sorrow and concern.

  And at once the walls of his prison became Katelyn's hands, and his mind projected her massive face into the darkness. She held him in hands so close together like a cocoon, comforting and warming him as she held him in a caring embrace. She spoke to him: Shhhh. It's all right. You're going to be all right. Katelyn's here; I'm here for you.

  The throbbing of his injuries lessened and he relaxed greatly as Katelyn held him in her hands. You don't have to worry about anything now, I've got you. Katelyn said. A smile rolled across his face. He was her companion now; she would take care of everything. Being a tiny was not so bad when this was the life he was leading...

  He didn't know how long he had slept or indeed whether he slept at all or just daydreamed. It seemed like hours. There were no sounds to indicate the time of day. The vision of Big-Katelyn was fading in his mind. He wanted her to stay—but the lack of stimuli in this prison caused his mind to wander and he couldn't control to where.

  He thought about things that made him angry, annoyed, or upset. He thought about his father's death, how angry he was at his mother for the way his childhood had gone after that, and lamented over how different it could have been if he was still alive. Sarah and Brie were happier then too—as children they would play and tussle with their father. But they had turned cold after that, particularly Sarah. Brie was much more anxious and neurotic. They had both dealt with the loss in different ways. But it was his mother that had turned into an ice fortress; her daughters found a way to co-exist with her but Paul had always felt like a spare, an afterthought. It was like the only thing she cared about was that Paul didn't embarrass her and by shrinking he had utterly failed in that.

  Paul thought about how he never really fit in with the boys at school. Most of the people he had been close to over his life were girls. He thought about childhood adventures with Hannah—the innocent play and fun that they had had. He remembered how they had ran all around Gettysburg playing various games and places to hide. He remembered the tiny they found together. But now it was Paul that was the tiny held in Hannah's young, curious hands, and it was him who was turned over to the authorities and handed back to Sarah.

  Sarah was now buying candy for Hannah in his mind, but Hannah had turned into Jen. Jen was all too happy to turn Paul in for a reward. She was all too happy to think of tinies as nothing but property, and her family didn't even have the fig leaf of pretending to care about their rights like his mom. Jen wanted to collect Paul as a husband in the same way she collected tinies. Jen was so persistent in acquiring Paul that everyone assumed they were a couple, or at least would become one when school ended, and the way their families were connected made her almost inescapable in his life.

  Paul tried to shift his mind off of Jen and back onto Katelyn, the one person whose memory brought him comfort, but he couldn't bring back Big-Katelyn in his mind. No; Jen reminded him of Brie, who would always tease him about her, and Brie reminded him of Sarah, who reminded him of Barney, whose words were seeping back into his mind. Before the intensity of his situation allowed them to drift out of his mind, but now they were coming back to haunt him like cold on a winter's night when the campfire had gone out.

  Now Katelyn was quite small in front of him; she looked weak and hurt, as if she had been crying. She was naked but not in an erotic way; it was as if she were now truly exposed for Paul to see. Though she was close he could not touch her; it was like an invisible barrier separated the two of them. Ashamed, Katelyn could not meet Paul's eye.

  Katelyn, please tell me what Barney said wasn't true. Paul pleaded. You never had sex with Barney, did you?

  Katelyn finally looked at him, her eyes red from crying. Please forgive me, I was so young and so naive. Katelyn said. I loved and cared for you dearly. But when you and your sisters were all together with your companions, Barney would always give me the eye. It felt so dangerous to keep such a secret, but it was so hot at the same time.

  No... breathed Paul in disbelief.

  You always treated me well and I liked when we would relax. Katelyn said. But you were young, clumsy yet gentle, unsure of yourself, and oh so big. You could play with me like a toy but never please me like a woman. Barney was older, experienced, strong, and so confident. I just had to know what it was like. I used to sneak over to Sarah's room every single night. She'd smirk whenever she'd see me—it was humiliating but turned me on like nothing else. She put me with Barney and never took her eyes off of us. She loved to watch; Barney was right. He would put me in all these positions you couldn't even imagine, Paul, and he wore those condoms he's always using with the models. He turned me inside out, and I love it, Paul, I loved it.

  Katelyn put her face in her hands and cried. The barrier between them prevented Paul from comforting her, but he was too repulsed to even try.

  I cried when Sarah moved and took Barney with him. Katelyn said. I should have been happy because I no longer had to hide anything from you, but I missed it Paul, oh god I missed it. You can't possibly understand how good it felt...

  Paul could feel his heart breaking all over again. But the night I shrunk you said you wanted me to be your first, not a random guy you were bread with! Paul said in desperation.

  No, I said I wanted to be your first. Katelyn said. You were always so fragile, and I thought by doing this last thing for you I could do something special to make you happy before the world would snap you like a twig. But I have to be honest, the main reason I wanted to do it was selfish. I thought that by having sex with you I could cleanse my own guilt for Barney. I thought that by taking from you what I allowed Barney to take from me would make me whole. I didn't deserve to take your virginity, Paul. I'm glad that Bethany was the one to do it.

  No, it should have been you. Paul insisted.

  Paul, I'm not as innocent as you think I am. Katelyn said. Just because I lived in your bedroom and didn't understand calculus doesn't mean I didn't understand the world. I knew far more than you did. I only wanted to protect you.

  I don't understand what you're saying! Paul wailed desperately.

  Of course you don't. You never will. Katelyn said, looking at him with sad—but strangely mature—eyes. He looked at her long and hard. He was ready to break down. All of this was just too much.

  What's going to happen to me? Paul asked in a small and meek voice.

  You're a tiny. Katelyn said simply. You'll do what your owner tells you to do. There's really no choice.

  But I want to be with you! Paul wailed, almost feeling like an infant calling out for his mother, or even the deeper idea of a mother rather than any physical person. Please! I don't care what you did with Barney, I forgive you!

  But Katelyn only shook her head, now looking strangely emotionless. That can't happen. Katelyn said simply.

  Please! Paul almost screamed. I want you to be big! I want you to take care of me! I need you to love me!

  But as Paul's pleas became ever more desperate the vision of Katelyn in front of him became less coherent and before long he couldn't distinguish her at all from the air around him. In fact the entire world outside of his prison seemed to dissolve into abstraction. The world inside too, for that matter. His whole body seemed like nothing but a concept; an idea supported by flimsy evidence. His thoughts were dissolving like ice into a hot drink.

  Now individual words and phrases battered Paul's mind like mad bats in a dark cave. He couldn't clasp onto a single one. He had been in this coffin for years, no, decades, and yet he still had an infinity of time ahead of him. He was never going to get out—there was no life after the box, and there had been no life before it. In fact, there was no box, as the box was the universe and he didn't exist.

  Sounds came to his ear—or did they? He could just be imagining them. He put his hands on the side of the box. The box was real, and so were his hands. At least something was real. The sweat on his body was real. The piss that had escaped him and mixed with his sweat was real too. He could smell it. He could feel it; he felt crusty, nasty. These were real sensations, fascinating sensations, and it was about all he had to hold onto.

  And yet his imprisonment continued, lasting for days and days. Maybe Sarah intended him to die this way. She would have been kinder to crush him under-foot because this was not death; it was an endless non-life. There was nothing that could change his world. Nothing that was, and nothing that will be, there was nothing, and he was nothing, and he was over but it was never over because it never began.