“Hey, Junebug!” My older sister April beams. It’s the first thing I hear, loud, booming, commanding. She knows exactly what she’s doing. She practically gets off on it.

I force myself awake, sliding my feet off my makeshift bed, and I look up to see my sister’s smiling face hanging over my room, a drawer on the side of her bed. Every time she does it, I find myself staring at her sharp canines. I don’t even know why—I just do.

Without any sort of warning she scoops me up in her fleshy hand, giving me no time to change or even mentally prepare for anything. I feel her thumb knead into my back, and we both know she’s exercising her power over me. It’s better if I don’t call her out on it. Believe me, I’ve tried.

April looks down at me, smiling sweetly as she drops me on her bed. She removes her necklace, dropping it right next to me. I hate that stupid cage since it resembles a rustic cylindrical birdcage, a not so subtle way of insisting that I’m nothing more than a pet.

“Here, go inside while I brush my teeth, Junebug.” April orders. God, I hate that nickname. Once again, It’s better if I don’t mention it.

At least I’m with April today. I don’t think I could handle spending my “quality time” with my other sister. The last thing I need today is to be trapped under May’s foot.

And before you ask, yes, my oldest sister’s name is April, I have another older sister named May, and my name is June—well Juniper. My mom thought it was cute, go figure.

Reluctantly, I climb inside the cage, fearing April asking the question again. I lock it behind me, knowing it was better for my sake. I lost count how many times I forgot to lock it and fell into April’s bra. I know for sure I locked it the last time though.

I swear I have a heart attack every time I see April come out the bathroom. Her dark brown hair is wet, and her eyes are wide and alert. I hate that cheeky little smirk she has whenever I obey her without protest.

She reaches towards me, and I stare helplessly at her long fingernails, her pink nail polish chipped and faded. As always she grasps the gold chain, and I skyrocket upwards at a flick of her wrist, whipping back and forth against the metal bars. Luckily for me, there’s barely any room to be tossed around enough to break something. Bruising is another story.

The worst part is, she knows she’s hurting me, but she keeps it under a lightly veiled façade of “for your protection, Junebug.”

At least May is straightforward about her torture.

I keep forgetting that the chain is long, and I always remember right as I’m dropped directly between my sister’s breasts. I swear she cares more about her tits than she does about me, giving them the cute little nicknames Alpha and Omega, which is on the level of immature as frat boy describing his muscles.

They’re not a bad pair… but don’t tell her I said that.

She wore a v-neck, brandishing me out in the open for everyone to see. I’m an accessory first, sister last, and probably a stress reliever in between.

I'm along for the ride, attached to her body as she makes her towards May's room. I wince a little as April knocks against the door. And within seconds, I see my other sister groggily step out the room, still dressed in her pajamas.

Yawning, May simply brushes away the loose black hairs from her face and back into her bob. She doesn't acknowledge my existence even though we just made eye contact. I'm practically dead to her if I'm not under her feet.

"What?" May asks, nearly scoffing.

"You have got to stop waking up at noon."

"Yeah, yeah." May hums dismissively, patting April's back. "Just chill. It's Sunday."

May saunters off into the bathroom, and I hear her mutter something under her breath, most likely directed at April.

Thankfully, the car ride is uneventful, and I can already tell she's forgetting about me. I can tell because she's singing along to radio, something she only does when she's alone.

I space out, and the next thing I know, I'm in the bookstore. Her hands surround the cage as she pins a name tag against her shirt. Today should be a breeze, I think to myself. There should also be a new shipment of books today, hopefully keeping my sister distracted before she remembers me.

It's still a half hour before the store opens, and April is already seated comfortably behind the counter, reading a book that shouldn't even be on sale yet. I sit helpless as she absentmindedly twists the cage between her thumb and pointer finger, and I get acquainted with the feeling of whiplash. It doesn't help that she licks her fingers to turn the page either, coating me in her spit.

It continues on like this for at least an hour. The only solace I get from being with April, besides not getting trampled over, is that I like to people watch. It's pretty much the only thing I can do while dangling on my sister's chest.

A teenage boy walks in. He's shifty, silent, and I can tell he's not a regular since he scans the place and makes a beeline towards the young adult section. He's not here for himself, probably here for a gift. His body language suggests he wouldn't be caught dead here, and he keeps looking over his shoulder as if anyone from his school would suddenly appear.

I catch him sneaking glances at April's chest when she's ringing him up. We make eye contact for a brief second, just enough to give him a stink eye and a quick shake of the head. Despite the brief look of shame, he doesn't make a big deal. I'm pretty sure he just doesn't want to admit to being a pervert. I’m pretty sure inch tall girls would warrant a bigger reaction.

Other than that, nothing really interesting happens. I’m able to catch up on some sleep, something virtually impossible on busier days. Nothing keeps you awake more than slamming between two massive mounds of flesh because some idiot kid can’t find the comic books.

I wake up, and I hear April talking to someone. I’m too groggy to recognize the voice, but I don’t really care. It’s probably around noon. I’m just hoping I didn’t miss lunch since I don’t think I can wait till she gets home.

I recognize the voice now. How could I even forget it? Her name is Asha Wilson, and she lives next door to me with a couple of roommates. Every once in a while, whenever April or May feel generous, I get to look out the window, and Asha is always outside gardening.

I think April and Asha were classmates at some point. They’re friends as far as I remember, and she’s been to my house before.

She doesn’t even know I’m alive. As far as the world’s concerned, Juniper Peña died two years ago at fourteen. I don’t even try to get her attention. It’s better that way from what my sisters tell me. It’s super rare for anyone to get the shrinking disease, and they all get hauled into the research labs if discovered. I’m honestly not sure if I even prefer my sisters over being dissected.

April’s ringing up two books for her, but I’m staring at Asha’s hair, long dreadlocks that reached the small of her back. She walks away after paying, and I find myself looking at her figure, lean, toned, and curvaceous.  I don’t even know why I’m looking at her like that.

Time passes, and I’m still in the cage. April stopped reading, and now she’s absentmindedly shoveling pudding into her mouth. She only seems to stop whenever someone approaches her with a question. And that’s when a young girl, around twelve or so, walks up to the counter. She’s holding a list or a reserve order or something, but April bends over the counter to get a closer look.

I swear I locked that stupid door. I know I did, but that doesn’t stop me from falling out the now open gate and into the open pudding cup. I’m screaming and flailing, calling for April’s help, but it doesn’t work. I hit the pudding, and I consider myself lucky I didn’t sprain anything.

The chocolate snack makes it hard to move. I’m planted firmly in place, and only my chest upwards is sticking out. I’m treated with the view of my sister’s giant chest hanging over me with the birdcage dangling open, almost as if it was taunting me.

She leans back over and point the girl towards the back. She sticks the plastic spoon back into the cup, missing me by a dozen or so feet. I know she saw me. I can see the corners of her lips form into a smirk as she twists the spoon in her right hand as I’m pinned under a wave of chocolate.

I’m holding my breath. I don’t know how long it will take, but I know exactly what she’s gonna do. I force myself out, pushing through the viscous muck until I see light, and sure enough, I see April’s open mouth ready to shove me inside like I’m a goddamn piece of candy. I don’t even try screaming for help. April’s got her mind made up, and there’s nothing I can do to stop her.

Her breath, although humid, is not unbearable. It still smells of cocoa, but that doesn’t lessen the situation I’m stuck in.

I hit her tongue, and I make a sick splatting sound. Her warm spit coats my face as the sludge piles on top of me.  She moans, probably to rub salt in the wound, and I’m pinned against the roof of her mouth. Her tongue is pressed against my face, and I can feel every little bump rubbing against my body.

She’s sucking on me. She’s really sucking on me. If April was unaware before, she’s definitely playing dumb now. The force hurts as it pulls on my arms and legs, and I’m tossed from one side of her mouth to another. It doesn’t take long to lose my sense of direction as I’m knocked senselessly against her cheeks or pinned underneath the all encompassing muscle.

Everything’s still for a brief moment, and It’s hard to catch my breath while sitting in a pool of spit. Screaming, I slam my fists against her tongue, hoping she’d cut the crap and let me out.

Before I even know it, I’m sitting on April’s palm, cold, confused, angry. She’s looking down at me with a false expression of sympathy.

“Juniper!” April shouts, raising her voice an octave. “I swear I didn’t see you fall in.”

She’s hamming it up. She doesn’t care. No one’s even in sight from what I can tell. I just tune her out as she makes a promise to make up for what happened. We both know it’s an outright lie; it’s just better I don’t call her out on it.

April cups me in her hand, keeping me held and hidden until she walks into the bathroom. Unceremoniously, she drops me into the sink, and I’m staring up at her as she places her hand on the faucet.

The water’s cold but definitely more preferable than April’s spit. Her soap coated hands grab me by surprise, rubbing me in between them with little effort.

“Don’t look at me like that, Junebug.” April speaks up. “It was an accident. Plus, I’m pretty sure you had a dream about a world made of chocolate once. I know I have.”

I want to scream, and if I could open my mouth without swallowing water and soap, I would. It’s just better if I don’t. Instead, I just stand there, motionless, letting April clean me off.  

April holds me in her hand as she dries me off with a coarse paper towel. Playfully, she plants a kiss on my head, nearly burying my face between her plush lips, reminding me where I’ve been.  She pecks at me again right before I’m placed back into the birdcage.

I can tell she’s upset with me, like it’s somehow my fault. I just sit there and bide my time, waiting for April to get off of work. I don’t mind the cold shoulder actually. It’s pretty much the least damaging thing she could do.

The day goes by quietly from that incident, and after work April leaves me on my own to kill the afternoon, which I spend staring out the window. There’s still light out, and I could even see Asha tending to her garden.

She’s walking around, wearing dirty overalls, kneeling over to pluck weeds or trim certain flowers. She looks happy and at peace while she’s out there, and I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to have her as a sister.

It’s therapeutic, and it definitely helps keep me calm as mentally I brace myself for my day with May.

“Oh, Junebug.” May calls teasingly.

Oh god no. It’s too soon. I swear I always wake up half an hour before her. I shoot upwards, and my eyes dart towards the clock. It’s five after seven, and she’s already fully dressed for school.

I can feel her hot morning breath over me, and I don’t dare look up at her. It’s like engaging a rabid dog—don’t.

“Junebug,” May calls again, this time with much more authority in her voice.

“I’m awake!” I croak, hoping May would be merciful.

“Okay, good,” she says.

May grabs me between her fingers, holding me in front of her face. She has this cruel smirk on her lips as she drops me on her bed, and I’m looking up at her from a low angle.

She disappears under the bed and comes back up holding a pair of flats. The shoes are a light green color, something like a darker mint or a light vomit. Needless to say, the shoes are ugly, and I swear the only reason she picked them was because I hate the color.

Expectantly, she points toward the opening of the shoe, and I climb in, knowing I’m better off following directions the first time. My feet sink into the bottom of the ground, and the smell hits me immediately. It’s a stale, cheesy musk that assaults my senses.

Being at least half an inch tall, I’m able to walk without crawling until I reach the toe section. I look down at the imprint of her foot, finding an outline of my body. I lie on my back, lining myself up with it. Sure it’s not the most pleasant thing, but it’s the safest. I’d rather have my head stuck between May’s toes than struggling to breathe.

I close my eyes, expecting the worst. It’s the same every time, but I still can’t get used to it. I can feel my sister move the shoe and place it on the floor. From the skewed view I have, I can see the tips of her toes hanging above, grasping the rim of the shoe.

Her foot slides in with a brute force, knocking the wind out of me. She wiggles her toes, getting herself comfortable and kneading me into the shoe. My head is right between May’s big and second toes, and she squeezes me face in between them.

May stamps her foot against the ground, twisting the ball of her foot. I’m pressed against her sole, feeling the full force of her weight on me. She hasn’t even taken a step, and I can already tell today is going to bad.

The first step is always the worst. There’s something about the brief half second of weightlessness before the full, effortless weight of my sister is on me. The ball of her foot twists and bends my form as I’m lifted back into the air.

My arms and legs are open, spread eagle, and I’m planted under the thickest padding of May’s foot. It still hurts and I can feel my joints and bones lock in pain. The crushing weight of her foot is hard enough make my experience hell, but it’s never enough to knock me out or even kill me.

Maybe I was taking April’s torture methods for granted.

Her toes are massive, battering me senseless without any sort of remorse or mercy.

With May, the only silver lining I get is that I’m not being treated like a toy. Then again, being an insole isn’t much better. At least my intelligence isn’t insulted.

What the hell am I even saying?

May takes the bus to school every day, and the short walk from the house to the bus station is just a notch a way from being unbearable. Her strides are smooth, rhythmic to say the least, and I count my blessings that she’s not the type to drag her feet.

I hate the lack of stimuli. It’s dark, musty, and everything hurts, and that’s pretty much it. Over time, I’ve pretty much picked up a lot of May’s habits. She’s reclining slightly on the bus seat, alleviating some of the pressure, not as much as I’d like though.

I can hear the pressurized whine of the bus’s breaks, and I count each one, dreading the eighth as it approaches at an alarming rate. Sure enough, the eighth stop comes around, and the pressure increases just as I barely get used to it.

I don’t have time to breathe. I only get brief gasps in before it’s forcefully knocked out of me as May simply takes a step. As time goes on, I can smell the slightest bits of perspiration forming. It’s either mine or hers, but I’m soaked within minutes. I can feel the dirt on her soles rub off on me until I have a layer of filth around me.

I faze in and out of focus, sometimes for hours at a time. It’s probably the one defense mechanism I have other than obedience. It definitely helps keep me sane. There’s something about repetition that makes it easier.

When I regain my focus, the cold air against my skin is the first thing that registers. I’m outside of her shoe, but I’m stuck against her foot. Her sweaty sole is like a glue trap, and I can’t move or even wiggle without pain shooting through my limbs, which is why I keep my hair short. If I kept it as long as when I was fourteen, I’m pretty sure it would be forcibly ripped off whenever May peels me off her foot.

May’s sole is turned sideways, and I’m treated to the view of the other students in her class. There’s someone talking in the distance, but I can hardly make out the words. All I can really say is that it’s youthful, springy with a little bounce to it. The speech seemed prepared, and the girl is probably talking about some recent news. If I remember correctly, May’s second period is a current events type class.

Gosh, have I been out of focus that long?

There’s a sudden movement in the corner of my eye, something almost unnoticeable on the floor. My head darts to the left, and I hold back a scream as the pain quickly follows.

It’s a boy. He looks around my age, maybe a little older, but more importantly, he’s exactly my size. He seems cautious as if one wrong move could be his last. His long, shaggy blond hair covers his face, and I can see the dirt coating his body, the same amount of grime I face every day.

For a brief second we lock eyes. We’re both staring in shock, and we both immediately recognize that I’m the first tiny he saw other than himself, and he’s the same to me. And I can’t help but connect and identify with him and his plight despite not even knowing he existed.

The boy snaps out of his trance, remembering his goal at hand. I’m rooting for him as he runs off but not before looking back at me with a sympathetic nod, almost encouraging me to stay strong and bide my time for the perfect moment. How I got that through a simple nod, I don’t know. For all I really know, I’m just making that up. He’s hiding behind the desk’s silver leg, hiding from the giant girl occupying said desk.

I assume the girl is his sister. She shares the same bright blonde hair and similar face structure. The girl’s wearing dark brown sandals, and upon closer inspection, there’s bright pink string wrapped around the thong of the shoe where the boy was probably tied up before.

Ever so slightly, a look of panic goes over the girl’s face, but it immediately disappears as if she’s expecting others to catch on to her expression. She lifts a pencil off her desk, twirling it around her long, slender fingers before purposefully dropping it on the floor. As she bends down to look under her desk, a wide, menacing smile forms on her lips. Unfortunately, the boy can’t see his sister from behind the table leg.

She lifts her pencil back up and sits upright in her chair. My heart’s pounding, not knowing what to expect next. The girl wiggles her right foot, the one with the string, and takes her sandal off. And in one swift motion, her massive bare foot strikes and pins the shrunken boy under it.

Just as quickly, my heart breaks in half. Any hopes of escape have been dashed, and the way she caught him only served to humiliate him. I’m scared to even imagine what kind of punishment she’d subject him to.

I’m not sure whether or not I’m glad I’m not the only person like this or feel depressed for every single one of us tiny people have someone like May or the boy’s sister dominating their lives.

She’s holding his body between her big and second toes, and I watch helplessly as the boy thrashes and slams his fists against the meaty prison. She wiggles her toes, and that’s the last I see of the boy as she’s dragged beneath the crevice.

Not a second later she raises her hand and asks to go to the bathroom, and my stomach drops as I imagine what she might do to him while they’re alone. I’m just stuck there, knowing that someone’s life has probably just gotten a hundred times worse, and I’m the only one around to witness it.

After staring numbly at nothing for a minute, my attention goes back to the girl upfront giving her speech. She thanks the class and walks back to her seat and another student walks up. The voice is quiet, fumbling her sentences, but I try to listen to it, hoping it would take my mind off the boy and his sister.

It’s hard to focus, but I manage to pick up a few words like “tiny, protective, legislation, and population.” Immediately, my mind tries to piece them together, but I have trouble finding a possible link.

My prison shakes, and before I can truly realize what’s going on, I’m being pressed into the stale depths of the shoe as May forces her foot in. I panic at the sudden crushing weight, and my mind goes into full shut down.

By the time I realize I’m home, I’m still thinking about the boy and his sister.

I think I’ve only seen one other tiny. It was before I shrank, and I was about seven or so. She was on tv—I think it was a late night talk show, and they were interviewing her. I think her name was Ashley or Amanda Sch… something. But before I even started paying attention, my parents sent me off to bed.

I kinda wish I asked to stay up longer.

“Yes, April,” I hear May’s voice speak up. I’m cut off from my thoughts as I watch my sister pace in front of the couch. She’s talking on the phone, and I’m just staring at her long legs, following the tan pillars until I’m staring at her feet. If anything, the nicknames Alpha and Omega would probably apply there. I’m just lucky I’m not under them right now.

“She’s fine. Look, she’s waking up right now. I’ll put her on if you want me to.” May’s gaze is directed towards me, a small pitiful form sitting quietly on the couch. My legs are dangling high above the ground, and I can’t shake the feeling of vertigo every time I look down.

May places her phone directly in front of me, and I see my sister April’s name and a picture of her face on the screen. It’s a picture of April at around fourteen. She’s acne ridden with the most awkward set of braces, but she’s smiling widely regardless.

 Little things like that remind me that they’re really my sisters and not some monsters keeping me prisoner.

“Hey, Junebug,” April greets sweetly. Her voice is a little distorted from the call, yet it never gets any less patronizing.

“Hi, April,” I say.

“You feeling okay?”

I hesitate, not knowing if she’s expecting an honest answer or not.

“I’m fine,” I force out.

“You sure? You looked pretty out of it when I saw you earlier.”

“I’m just tired.”

“Oh,” April pauses, “well, I have a surprise for you when I get off work, so don’t pass out before I get home.”

“Okay,” I answer, and we both say are goodbyes before April hangs up the phone.

About a second or two later, May flops on the couch, and I bounce up at the sudden disproportion of weight. I can hear her laughing, a half entertained chuckle as I hit the center of the cushion. She’s back to texting on her phone while she has one leg hanging over the other.

Every once in a while, May would start a small conversation, but it almost always ends up dying. I really have no way of getting off the couch other than asking for help, so I just sit there next to my sister.

After a good amount of time, May grabs me between her fingers. She’s holding me by the back of my shirt. Besides a startled yelp, I make no protest as I’m brought in front of her face.

“Ugh,” May groans, “you reek.”

Thanks to you, I bite back the comment, simply nodding in response.

 I’m whisked into the air, and I’m carried along the house until we’re in the kitchen. May drops me on the counter, a bit haphazardly, but it doesn’t hurt. I watch her move about the tiny galley kitchen, digging in cabinets, taking out a cup, pouring water in it, and sticking it in the microwave for about thirty second. It’s a simple process, but the way she executes it is mesmerizing. I swear she knows the layout by heart.

She lets the cup cool for a minute while she checks her phone. And after she deems it ready, she pours a small amount of warm water into a bowl just high enough.

“Get undressed,” she orders, her tone is gentle, despite being a little blunt with her command.

I’m forcibly removing my shirt, and it’s harder than you think it is. A day’s worth of foot gunk would leave anyone grungy. I do the same with the rest of my clothes before I climb on to May’s outstretched hand.

The water is warm, heavenly to say the least. I lie against the side of the bowl, letting my body soak in the soothing water. There’s a faint splash, and I notice the tiny lump of soap floating in the water. I let it sail there as I close my eyes. I just want to let this moment last.

“I’ll just leave you alone for a bit and get your clothes washed.” I nod, knowing she wouldn’t have seen it. I let out a soft hum of appreciation though as I continue to bask in the steamy water.

I know what you’re thinking: Juniper, how can this May be the same one who wore you in her shoe all day? Truth is, I don’t know exactly, but I like to think my sisters remember every once in a while that I’m actually family. It’s very rare, but I choose not to question it.

Our relationship as sisters has always been rocky, unstable to be more accurate. April and May have been butting heads for as long as I can remember. I remember my mom telling me it started when a six month old May loved pulling on her three old sister’s pigtails. My parents expected April, May, and June to be harmonious little angels, about as cute as their names. But of course it didn’t turn out that way. I’m actually glad my they decided not to have July.

Sorry, that was a terrible joke. It’s always been a running joke in my family. We’d pretend there was a fourth sister after a friend realizes how my sisters’ names relate. Although sometimes, I like to think little Juliet would be nice to me.

Anyways, being the youngest, I’ve always been the great mediator between April and May’s disputes, and I had to pick sides more often than I’d like. I think I’ve cost April a new car because of a secret speeding ticket and months of grounding with no phone or tv for May after she went to a high school party with alcohol, and all that stuff adds up to them when you’re the designated snitch.

I honestly think me being tiny brought them closer together. Instead of being the family referee, I’m the family lightning rod. The funny part is that those two aren’t so different.

I can hear the front door being opened, and I know April’s home. I can hear her keychain full of useless trinkets jingling from a mile away.

“I’m home!” April chimes brightly. Her keys hit the counter with a loud crack.

“Juniper’s in the kitchen.” May shouts from the other side of the house. “She’s taking a bath.”

I pay no attention to April when she walks in. I can tell she’s waiting for me to finish bathing. I take my time. She can wait. She owes me that for yesterday.

“Hey, Juniper,” she greets.

“Hi, April,” I say back nonchalantly. I raise my right leg out of the water and into the air. I’m comfortable, and I’m not about to let her pop my bubble.

“You seem content,” she points out, stating the obvious.

“Yup.” I answer, dragging the bar of soap on my leg.

I think I’m hanging on to the bath because it’s the one thing I have in control right now. That, and May still has my clothes.

Minutes pass, and I’m on the couch in a fresh set of clothes. April’s sitting next to me, digging inside of her messenger bag.

“I got you a little something,” she says, finally mentioning her surprise.

“What is it?”

Smiling, April pulls out a large brown wrapper. It’s crinkled and folded over, but I immediately recognize the marking. Sure enough, April brought me a chocolate bar.

“I kinda ate half of it on the way back, but it’s still good.” April’s voice is a little sheepish as she spoke, and I can’t help but appreciate the thought. “It’s for yesterday. I still feel really bad for what happened.”

She doesn’t, but I don’t fight it.

April breaks off a small block, and I find myself eagerly holding my arms out. It’s a piece of candy as big as me. How can anyone resist that? I don’t even hesitate in digging in, not caring about the possible acne or calories. I can hear her giggling from above, but I don’t mind it. If she’s happy, I’ll be just fine.

“You’re adorable, Juniper.” April coos, tearing a piece of candy for herself.

“Damn straight,” I call back, wiping the stains of the first few bites off my mouth.

“Whatcha got there, sis?” I hear May ask as she walks into the room and carefully sits next to me, keeping me between them.

“Chocolate, want some?” April offers, breaking off a larger piece and handing it to.

“Watch out, June, I think that might be a little too much for you,” May teases lightly.

“There’s never too much chocolate.” April comments, and as corny as it sounds, we all kinda just laugh to it.

It’s surreal. One day I’m trapped underfoot and almost eaten in chocolate by my sisters, and now I’m sharing a chocolate bar with them. We’re watching tv, talking, laughing over the cheesiest sitcoms. And I’m really feeling like I’m part of the family again. I don’t question it, but I want this moment to last.

My sisters aren’t all that bad. They can be nice…

When they want to be.

Today’s a little busier at the bookstore than it was on Sunday. It isn’t hectic, but I’m swaying inside the birdcage quite a bit. I don’t mind it, but April’s sudden movements catch me off guard from time to time. I’m gripping the steel bars tightly, wincing every time a customer calls for her attention.

 I’m watching from the cage as April’s stocking books into shelves. I’m mesmerized; whether it’s out of awe or boredom, I can’t tell. April’s humming to herself, some mindless tune she’s making up as she goes along. She’s effortlessly moving stacks of books several times my size into the book case. She does it efficiently as well, like a well oiled machine working consistently.

A giant, stonehearted robot.

When she’s done, we’re sitting at the counter. Well, she is; I’m just stuck dangling on her chest. She’s eating her lunch. Thankfully there’s no pudding anywhere in sight, just a sloppily prepared sandwich that April’s struggling to keep together in her hands.

I’m dozing off as a woman bursts in. She looks like she’s in her mid thirties, and she carries herself like a mother.  She seems panicked, and she knows exactly what she’s looking for. I can’t help but notice how fidgety she is as if anything might tip her over the edge. She kept staring at the floor, keeping eye contact away from anyone of April’s coworkers. Her hair covers her face, and but I can tell from my low vantage point that they’re red, puffy.

The woman stops at a small section of the store. Not many people have been there, but everyone who did acted similarly. She grabs the first book on the shelf, hungrily scanning the covers., and she keeps the book close to her chest as she approaches April.

I’m holding on to a feeling in the pit of my stomach. It’s instinctive, visceral, telling me that there’s something important about that book. The woman’s hands were shaking, covering the cover of the book as if embarrassed people would see her with it.

“Is this for you or a gift?” April asks, a trained line she’s told to say, something about telling how it’s sells in certain demographics.

“It’s for my son,” she says under a low breath. It’s strained, a little hoarse.

For the brief second she takes her hand off the book while she digs in her purse for her credit card. And I manage to capture a glimpse of the author’s name, Ansley Schrader.

Immediately, I recognize the name. She was the tiny on tv.

“Is he…already?”

“No,” the mother answers, “not yet.”

April’s expansive palm shrouds my vision as she clutches her chest.  Everything’s dark, warm, and I can hear April’s beating heart off in the distance. It’s comforting, kinda.

 By the time April’s done holding her chest, the woman’s shuffling away, quickly stuffing the book into her purse. I don’t know if I should ask April about the book, for all I know it could be nothing. I might as well try. My heart’s pounding, and my hands are sweating. I’m scared to ask her, but I don’t know why.

“April,” I call hoarsely, rattling against the steel bars. It takes her a second, but she finally acknowledges my existence.

“Yes, Juniper?”

“What was that book about? Sh—she seemed really protective of it.”

“Oh it’s nothing special,” she states with little enthusiasm, “it’s an autobiography about a woman who shrunk like you.”

“Like me?” We can both hear the tone in my voice flutter. As much as I tried to keep it contained, it's exposed, and April's eyes seem to gleam in response. “Do you—do you think you can read me some of it? When you’re not busy of course.”

April paused, and I could tell she wasn’t expecting my request. Hopefully she’s kind enough to say yes.

“I guess I could. Does it mean a lot to you?” April asks.

“Yes,” I mumble honestly.

Within seconds, April’s hands are dexterously handling the cage, unlocking the tiny door with her fingernails. I jump on her palm, and I’m planted on the counter, staring up at my massive sister’s smiling face as she’s leaning forward with her hand on her cheek. Her gaze is dopey, playful as her attention’s fixed on me.

“What do I get out of it?” April asks teasingly. Her tone’s light, but we both know she’s actually expecting something. I really don’t have much to offer other than a blank check of being April’s plaything. Even then, it can’t be that bad.

“I don’t know.” I say, and I immediately bite my lip, knowing I just said the worst possible thing.

“I’ll think of something,” she says, standing up from her seat behind the counter.

She walks off over to the same corner, picking the first book off the shelf and lazily shuffling back over. Flipping through the pages, April sighs, most likely out of inconvenience.

“It’s a pretty long book,” she moans. April wants more than just a favor. I can tell from just the look on her face; it's prying, and she's used to getting her way. There's no compromise, but she keeps up the thinly veiled front.

“Please, April.” I’m desperate at this point. Ansley’s book might be the only insight I get about being tiny, and we both know that. April’s just dangling it out of reach like it's tied on a stick.

“Oh, all right then, but you owe me,” she concedes, but I don’t feel like I’ve won. She has a wide smile as she rubs my head with her index finger, scratching a little too roughly. “You should really use those puppy-dog eyes more, June. You’re too adorable for it to not work every time.”

Yeah, sure.

I’m sitting on the coffee table, listening intently as my sister reads the book in her hands. I’m holding my knees to my chest, talking in short and shallow breaths.

April’s halfway through the first chapter, and I realize that Ansley Schrader is a flowery writer who’s in love with long sets of prose, pretentiously digging into her own life like she’s had it the worst. I don’t mind it, but I just want to know how she handles it without being forced to think about an existential crisis every time she loses an inch or two.

I know my place in the world. It sucks, but I have to deal with it.

I didn’t really get much information from her so far other than it took her ages to start shrinking, losing inches at a time compared to my spurts of half a foot or even more.

I don’t know what I was even expecting. I just thought it would clear things up, but I’m still fuzzy about everything.

Ansley was nineteen when she was diagnosed, and a whole three years later she was at a stature of two inches, about twice as tall as me. It’s weird to think about. We’re both stupid tiny but I barely reach her waist if I ever met her.

We're not much different from what I can tell. We both started off as plucky, young girls, started off being the keywords. There's a certain cynicism laced in her writing, and I can't blame her for it. Because even in the author's intro starts off from a quote from her publisher telling her that her book probably won't be published because, and I quote, "the lives of diminutives don't sell."

Decades later, A Life in Hand, is basically required reading to tinies and the normal sized. So that kind of fuck you attitude is something I admire.

I wish I could say more about Ansley, but I don't get much from what April read.

I'm sitting cross-legged on the coffee table, and my eyes occasionally drift towards the tan monuments that are my sister's feet. They're still for now, but the occasional twitch or flex of her toes put me on edge. April’s making it obvious that her feet have something to do with the favor I owe her.

It's hard to read my sister's reactions aside from a brief pause in her voice whenever Ansley questions if her life even matters. The most I get is a brief chuckle from April when one of Ansley's sisters helps the shrinking woman into a booster car seat.

This book better not give her any ideas.

Before I know it, the chapter's already over, and I'm left there thinking about what a bust that was so far. But the last thing I do is show my disappointment, wouldn't want to give April a chance to think I'm ungrateful.

She closes the book, glancing down in my direction, giving me that cheap sickly sweet smile.

"Schrader has a knack for prose," April comments, "a little wordy if you ask me."

I don't say anything, but I nod.

"So, about that favor."

It's literally been twelve seconds, and she's already calling it in. Oh well. I really can't anything about it if I tried.

April gestures towards her feet, wiggling her toes expectantly as she shoots a cheeky grin.

"It's been a long day on my feet." April complains, trying to justify her request. It doesn't, but I "owe" her, I guess.

"Yeah, yeah," I hum under my breath.

My stomach drops as I stand next to her foot. I'm shorter than her heel, and I take note of the off white signs of chaffing under her peachy foot. I sigh, digging my elbow into her heel, and rotating my arm. The last thing I want to do is actually use my hands while I try to ignore the husky, throaty moan coming from her direction.

"You're surprisingly good at this," she comments. "A little more force wouldn't hurt, though."

It goes on for minutes as I knead my arm into her foot, working from her heel to the ball, biting back the urge to scream. I avoid her toes, refusing to go anywhere near them, but each time she shifts her foot I can tell she's waiting for me to get to them.

"Why'd you stop?" April asks.

"I'm tired."

"Oh come on," she whines, "just a little more."

I flinch at the tone of voice, knowing that it basically means she gets whatever she wants, and I can't do a damn thing about it. The best I can really do is pretend it's my choice.

Even when her foot is turned sideways, it's taller than me. The slight cheesy smell doesn't help either. And before I know it, I'm digging out chunks of sock lint from between her massive digits.

Without any warning, My arm's caught between her big and second toes, and I immediately attempt to pull it out, struggling to gain any leverage before the rest of my body is pulled in closer, and my head is caught. I let out a scream, getting the taste of lotion in my mouth as the pressure only gets worse.

April lifts her foot into the air, and I just hope she doesn't let go. I'm kicking against her foot. And very faintly, off in the distance, I can hear an amused chuckle from my captor.

The musty smell, the oily taste, the coarseness of her toes, her condescnding laugh, they all come together in a hellish mix that only serves to overload my senses in the worst way possible.

She lets go and I hit the ground, losing my breath as I struggle to even sit up. But when I do, I'm met with April's complacent smile,staring down at me after her disgusting display of power.

"Sorry," she says, "I couldn't resist."

Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.

Fuck. You.

My blood's boiling, and I grit my teeth, but I do nothing but lie there as she lifts me with her hands, giving me that same cheeky smile.

You ever just daydream?

Like not just some normal dream but some grossly exaggerated reverie on how your life should have been: Straight A's, meeting the lover of your dreams, finding a lottery ticket worth a hundred million, whatever. And when it gets good, good enough to the point where you're left with the dopiest of smiles, you're ripped away with your own crushing reality.

I don't really know where I was going with that, but I go through that every day. It helps, I guess.

All it takes is a brutal step from my older sister to snap me out of my trance.

May's relentless as usual, and I'm stuck with her throughout the day, plastered under her foot with no chance of getting out on my own. She makes no effort to lessen the pain, and I'm left to wonder if it's through malevolence or just plain negligence. I can never tell for sure, but I always lean towards one or the other at the end of the day, but I never fully decide.

The air is cold, almost refreshing, and my eyes shoot open. I'm out of her shoe, gasping for clean air but only suck in the thick, muggy air of my surroundings. It doesn't help that today is probably one of the hottest days of the year. My sweat soaked body is stuck to her foot again, and I'm once again blessed with the sight of the bottoms of students' shoes.

Desperately, I scan the area, looking for the blonde girl from two days ago, and I immediately wish I hadn't. She's sitting in the same seat, scrawny, surprisingly tiny for a girl her age, yet she holds a life in her own absolute mercy. I begin to lurch at the sight of her feet, stuffed in thick combat boots that reach her shin.

I keep telling myself he's not in them, but I know better.

Her idle movements haunt me the most as she leans her feet against each other. At some point she begins to shake her right leg, jittering erratically while her foot bobs in a rapid motion. Her hand is resting on her cheek, obscured by her thick, wavy blonde hair.

The look of absolute apathy, no boredom, on her face is enough to infuriate me, and I want nothing.more than me running up to her and kicking her teeth in. And even then, that won't be enough.

It's just a big bark from a such a little dog.

There's no way that I'd be able to do anything about it as I'm left with a hopeless weight on my chest. I don't think I would have even done it if I were still normal sized.

What I truly want the most if I were normal, is to just hold the tiny boy in my palms, giving him the most warming smile as I tell him everything will be okay. If anything, I just want the same to happen to me.

I close my eyes, attempting to keep my cool, not for me, but for the boy and others who have it much worse than I do. Luckily, I manage to space out with the brief moment of inspiration, letting myself lose me senses as I begin to tune out.

When I wake up, I'm in my bed, my real bed. I sit up, looking around in disbelief as I smile out of pure shock. This is a dream, I tell myself. I can recognize it instantly.

Excitedly, I get out of bed, and a load of weight unloads from my tense shoulders as my feet firmly touch the ground. My toes grip the soft carpet fibers, something I hadn't  been unable to do for years.

"Juniper!" I hear a voice call. It's quiet, distant, almost as if...

As if it were muscle memory, I dart towards a small cardboard box on my nightstand, and my breath stops as I see two impossibly small figures standing inside, my sisters.

"G-good morning," I stammer, gripping the rim of the box as I look into my oldest sister's eyes.

"Morning," she greets cheerily, the wearing the same cheeky smile, "you're a little late to rise."

"Yeah," May adds, "you still down for sneaking us into the movies today?"

"Sure," I say quietly.

They're looking up at me expectantly as I bring my hand into the box, and without hesitating, they both climb aboard. Looking back, the feeling, it's unreal as I feel the tiniest amount of pressue on my palms.

If I just clench my fist...

But the thought never comes, and I never even consider it in my half lucid state. I know this is a dream, but I can't help but hold on to it like it was real.

Next thing I know, we're in the bathroom with April and May both bathing in separate tea cups. And that's where I finally get a good look at myself, of who I should've been.

My hair is long, soft and healthy, a dark black that compliments my earthy brown skin, almost glowing in the light. I resemble my father, like May, appearing short and a little stocky.

I get undressed, hopping into the shower and letting the blissful streams of warm water pour over me, taking a deep, relaxed breath with the steamy rain massaging my back.

When I wake up, when I really wake up, the water is freezing, suffocating, and I feel May's nail accidentally dig into my back. I let out a sharp screech, choking on tap water as I start coughing violently. I'm on my knees, spitting out the metallic after taste while the heavy waterfall hits my back with bruising force. My head hurts the moment I realize I'm back to reality.

I'm an inch tall in the bathroom sink as my giant sister May rinses me off.

“I hear you’re giving foot rubs now,” May comments. My stomach drops, and I begin to pray that she just drops it at that. “Would have been nice to let me know personally. I can read too, you know.”

Her words aren’t angry, just teasing. Her thumb pats against my back as she continues to dry me off. I don’t say anything, and I let her dry me off with a scratchy paper towel.

“Today’s really hot out, like, stupid hot,” she says, “and I don’t want you dying of heatstroke or something.”

As weird as it is, that’s her own way of telling me she loves me…I think.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and it takes all my energy not to break down. She looks different than the happy girl in the dream, dark sunken eyes, a thin, hungry frame, paler skin, and a short, boyish haircut about a relative inch in length. I’m a wreck, physically and mentally.

I’m held out against the open side pocket of May’s book bag, and I sigh in relief as she nudges me into the small pouch. I don’t question it, letting my older sister grant me the smallest of mercies. As soon as I’m inside, May zips it closed, leaving me in the darkness for what seems like hours.

May goes through the rest of her day, forgetting I even exist as I’m tossed around the inside of her bag, but luckily the heat isn’t much of a problem other than the occasional sudden burst of warmth.

When May finally opens the pouch, I’m assaulted by the oily smell of French fries. I’m not complaining since it’s a hell of a lot better than the smell of May’s feet.

I can hear her from above; she’s with a group of friends, talking, laughing, and going on with her life without paying attention to the shrunken human trapped in her backpack. Their conversations aren’t much to note, but I listen closely to them anyway, taking in the information as my sister talks about boys, tests, whatever comes up at the time.

She’s off doing people things.

People things? That’s new.

The smell of food gets stronger, and I finally notice how hungry I really am, skipping breakfast seemed like the right choice at the time, but now I can feel the need to eat biting at my stomach. And as if she read my mind, May drops in a small piece of the fry, and I attack it ravenously and gratefully.

I get through about half of the food before I’m too full to even think about eating again. The greasy goodness is enough to lull me into a content haze.

Maybe a minute or so later, May’s massive fingers dig into the pocket, grabbing my left leg in between her thumb and her index finger. I’m too full to even fight back as my panicked flailing had become more of a lazy struggle.

The blood rushes to my head as I’m dangling right in front of May’s thick, intimidating lips. They’re curled to a smile, and I don’t dare look up at her eyes. Her hot, foggy breath, smells like cooked meat and starch. I let out a slight shriek as I feel a sudden warmth at my back as I realized I’m being pressed against a French fry.

Not even a second later and I’m submerged under the viscous layer of chocolate milkshake, gagging on the sweet drink in an attempt to hold my breath. And just as quickly, I’m brought out back into the fresh air before being placed directly into May’s waiting mouth.

Her tongue tosses me around with no sign of stopping as she pins me beneath the expanse of muscle. I’m knocked against the chunks of food, thrashing in complete darkness, slipping in spit with her tongue as the only point of reference to where I am.

I’m planted against her cheek with brutal force as the pink muscle claims complete dominance over my tiny frame. I grit my teeth and keep my eyes closed, hoping to just bide my time as the humid air only gets worse by the second.

Unceremoniously, I’m spit onto her palm, sputtering and gasping for air while I hear an amused giggle come from above. I keep my head planted against her hand, hoping May would just leave me alone, and she does for the most part.

“Is that?” A voice calls in disbelief; it’s curious but uninterested in my well being, It’s one of May’s friends for sure.

“Yup.” May hums with absolutely no remorse. In fact, her tone is laced with pride as she shows me off to her nearby friend.

I’m breathing heavily, too tired to even focus on my surroundings as the chorus of teasing laughter tears into my brain. I want to cry but I don’t, forcing myself to keep it together just because I don’t want them to gain any more power over me.

It’s hard to even think, but my mind fully wraps around a single idea.

I have to run away.

"Hey April," I call out. I'm sitting down on the window sill in April's room, anxiously swallowing the intrusive lump in my throat.  She stops at the sound of my voice, looking over at me as she continues to brush her hair. She's in her morning routine, and I can tell she didn't really appreciate being interrupted. 

"Yes, Junebug?" She addresses while planting her hairbrush back on the counter. 

"I was wondering it it was okay-- never mind." 

"What is it?" she prods.  

"Nothing-- it was stupid." I say as I bite my cheek. I wanted to drop the subject. I don't even know why I brought it up. Instead, she just leaned over closer to me just enough to loom directly over me, her heaving chest casting a slight shadow. 

"It's probably not," she says, inching in even closer. Unsurprisingly, I back away as she's about an arm's length away from me. 

"Just drop it." 

"Juniper..." 

"Okay--fine!" I concede. "I just wanted to know if you'd let me stay home today." My words were quick, quiet, silently hoping that she didn't hear. 

"Oh." I can tell she's disappointed. It's plastered all over her voice. "But you always go to work with me." 

"I know. It's just, I-I don't know." 

She backs away. 

"Okay." April says sullenly. And without warning, she leaves quietly.  Not having much else to do, I flop and lie on the floor, spread eagle, staring up at the ceiling fan that hasn't worked in years. I don't even know if she's coming back, but at least I'm being left alone for once in my life. 

There's not much on the window sill except for an old, broken lamp and a picture of me, April and May at April's graduation, circa three years ago. I never really took a good look at it, but the image strikes me as odd. There's May's smug grin and April's cheeky smile, but the third girl-- she's smiling too. She looks nothing like me, not anymore. 

She's Juniper, and I'm Junebug. I can never be her again.  

There's a click of the door, and April walks back in, stopping in front of the wall as she kneels down. She's carrying a bundle of objects in her hands, ranging from a single potato chip, water bottle cap, the tv remote, and the house phone as she carefully places the items next to me. What catches my attention is that she's holding a blue throw pillow, placing it at the floor below the edge. 

"Just in case," she says thoughtfully. "If anything happens, call me." 

I nod but quickly answer back, gratefully making my thanks known. 

She stands back up, placing her arms at her hips again, seemingly checking over her handiwork in case I needed anything else. I can tell from her loose smile that she's reluctant to leave, but sure enough, she musters the strength to turn away and walk towards the door. 

Stalling, April stops at  the open door to get a last look at me before quickly shutting it with a resounding click. 

Anxiously, I wait, counting the minutes and listening for the hum of an engine to disappear. 

When I deem it safe, I stand up, rushing over to the edge. I mutter silent thanks to April for inadvertently assisting me in my escape. The pillow seems plush enough, but the sweeping sense of vertigo is enough to make me hesitate. 

You're psyching yourself out. 

"I can do it," I say out loud, rocking back and forth as if that tiny shred of momentum would somehow increase my chances of survival. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath as I rush towards the edge. 

Funny enough, I hit the ground after what seemed like no time at all. I'm lying on the pillow, perfectly safe and sound. 

I slide off the pillow, taking in the view of what is my house. They never allowed me to walk on the floor. It was one of the few limits my mother actually placed on my sisters before giving them free reign over my life. 

My mother. 

I never really talked about her-- or even referred to her as my mother in the recent years. It wasn't until I started shrinking. She didn't want me, and I didn’t need her. It hurt at first, but you learn your place quickly. When you're like this, you throw away your feelings for the sake of survival. You bottle up your grudges because you can't do anything about them, clinging onto the good will and fickle whims of your loved ones. 

I lean against the pillow, biting into my cheek until I can taste the full metallic taste of blood. I don't care about the pain. It's a useless, stupid pain that never helped anyone. That was my mentality for the last two years. It helped me get through it, why isn't it helping now? 

Am I crying? 

I force myself back up, wiping away the heavy tears while I trudge through the carpet. It's hard to stand, but I keep walking, making my way towards the sunderside of the bed nearby. It's a five minute walk, enough to compose myself. Now's not the time to cry or even get emotional, not now, maybe ever. 

I walk inside, fumbling in the darkness until I bump into something with the powerful scent of plastic and rubber, old running shoes. I work the laces, hopping from one side to the other as I use all my strength to pull them loose. It gets easier as I go on, and eventually I'm standing over the dirty gray shoe lace, coiled over itself. 

I take a minute to rest, feeling like I didn’t earn it, but I needed it. And once I regain my strength I'm dragging the lace over my shoulder until I get back to the wall. I stop at the dangling wire of the lamp. It doesn't work-- it never worked. She just liked the look of it, so it sits unplugged against the wall. If that wasn't so convenient, I'd assume the universe is set against me. 

I bite into the shoelace, trying to ignore the taste of dust and dirt as I grip the lamp wire. The shoelace has its own weight, making the climb much harder, but I force myself upwards as I hold  onto the idea that I could be gone within the hour. 

I'm sweating profusely, absolutely breathless, but I'm at the top, taking another break once I make sure the shoelace is safely on top. Curiously, I walk towards the  tv remote, using more force than I should have to press the power button. 

There's a high pitched chime of the screen and I sit as close to the edge as a picture begins to form on the tv. I'm holding a clump of broken chips, and my legs are dangling off the edge. 

I never really watched tv after I started shrinking, mostly because I didn't want to. But when I did, I watched whatever my sisters wanted. 

From what I can tell, it’s a sitcom, and I can tell it's not a great one. The laugh track is grating, and the story so far seems generic. It's entertaining enough to watch, but I'm always reciting a line right before the actors on screen say something. It's definitely for kids since most of them are younger than me. 

Five minutes in, the story shifts away from the main character, Holly, I think, and moves towards her older brother. And get this, he's a tiny too. They make every mention of it, almost rubbing it in his face with each chance they get, but they never hurt him aside from little bits of cheap visual gags where Holly accidentally sits, steps or even eats him. I find myself caring more for the shrunken boy than Holly and whether or not she has the right gift for her friend's birthday.

But even at the worst moments, little Max Fischer is still a part of the family. 

 Before I know It, I'm watching the show for a few hours. The episodes are disjointed, seemingly having no consequences aside from the growing relationship between Max and his childhood crush who's also the one who's the source of a mojority of the visual jokes. It's the most apparent in the episode of their first kiss, and somehow his budding girlfriend finds a way to nearly swallow him. 

It's played for laughs, but I can't help but think about the boy who's in her mouth. There's no way he's okay with this. He probably doesn't have a choice. 

Still, I can't help but appreciate the fact that he's on screen. 

Hours pass, and all I have accomplished is a single shoe lace dangling out the window and another tiny to think about. Fortunately, that's all I need to get out. 

I'm an idiot. My god, I am an idiot. 

It's too late to run. I won't make it past the front lawn, not today at least. I can see her car turning the corner, and the weight of my stupidity sinks in. 

I'm standing outside, carefully waiting on the steel bars of the window guard. The wind is blowing at my side as I hang onto the dull black columns just to keep on. I just need a taste, for at least a minute. I know it won't last, but  I need too just enjoy the moment before April barges in. 

The outside world, it's the exact same as I remember. Nothing's different from now than my view inside April's necklace. For some reason I just thought it would look different with nothing holding me down, not the necklace and not May's foot. 

Just myself. 

There's a slight movement in the distance, across the street. A car pulls into the driveway, parking into the house opposite of ours. I know who it is the second she steps out. It's been forever, I think. Four days, actually.  Just seeing her again makes me realize that there's not a thing different than before, so why am I so fed up with it? 

Maybe it's because I want to be as happy as Asha is while she's gardening. We might as well be on separate planes of existence. It's been so long since I've last had time to watch her out in the lawn. 

The woman disappears inside the house, gone for at least a minute before coming back out in an old t-shirt and jeans. She bends over the flower bed, watering the flowers and checking on the sprouting vegetables. At least that's what I imagine them to be. She has a slight hop in her walk as she roams along the lawn. At the very least I know my destination when I do get out. 

When. I'm assuming so much. 

"Juniper," April calls. I freeze in place, clutching the iron post even tighter. I don't know what to do, make up something probably, but nothing comes to mind. I'm drawing a goddamn blank. 

"You alright?" she asks, "you seem a little low." 

"I'm fine," I force out, "I just wanted some air." 

I know it looks bad. I'm just staring off in the distance, refusing to move an inch as I hug the metal bars with both arms not even wrapping around it. She doesn't see the shoelace thankfully. 

April takes a deep breath, biting her lip while her eyes lock on me. She's on edge. It's in her eyes. Something happened to her at work, and I'm probably going to take the worst of it. 

"Come inside, Juniper," she calls. Her hand is dropped right behind me, inviting me back. And against all of my judgment, I hop back onto her palm. She sits back on her bed, breathing a little hoarsely as she stares into the drywall. She's holding a book in her other hand, her thumb inserted into a page marked by a pink slip of paper. 

I'm dropped at her side, landing on the plush bed sheets while I'm facing skywards. I sit up, not really knowing what to do as we sit there in an uncomfortable silence. And shakily, she opens the book. 

"I've been reading some of it at work, and there's this one bit that--" April cuts herself off. Her voice is quiet, and her eyes are locked with the book's pages. I walk over to her, planting my hand onto her thigh, knowing that my gesture wouldn't even register past the thickness of her jeans.  "I'll just read it."

"I remember the first incident," April reads from the book. "I was twenty four, about five years older than when I first started shrinking. And it's been a couple years since my last loss of height. Of course for years after, I feared that I'd get even smaller. I never would have guessed that my first near death experience would come from someone I loved so much. 

"When I was younger, I watched over my siblings since I was the eldest. My parents worked two jobs each, and I often found myself giving my youngest sister, Esther who was four, baths while simultaneously preparing macaroni and cheese for my other sisters, Janine and Barbara. I was twelve then, undeveloped, forced to mature as I was responsible for three lives other than my own. 

"I held the closest relationship to Esther. I would force her into the bath against her will, and no matter how much kicking, screaming and flailing was involved, she always came out clean. It wasn't until years after she was allowed to bathe alone that she confessed to me that she was afraid of being sucked down the drain. At the time I laughed at the sentiment, thinking nothing of it, but one day she brought it up again while she washed me off in the kitchen sink, returning the favor as her gentle hands caressed my frail frame. Of course this time the chances of falling in the drain were real then. 

"I watched my baby sister bloom, mature much more gradually, gracefully, becoming a woman of her own, yet she always had time for me." 

At this point, April was tearing up, choking back halted breaths as she stopped reading. 

"I was sitting off to the side as Esther slowly brushed her auburn hair. Her nightly routine was meticulous, just like her. She counted each stroke with a singing tone, looking into the vanity mirror that used to be mine. After she was done, she tied her hair neatly behind her head. How she managed to contain the locks that reached the base of her back is beyond me. 

"I'm on her stomach, sitting cross legged and gripping the sky blue nightgown between my toes. It was late in the night, and we spent the majority talking to each other. Before I knew it, the television had already signed off with the national anthem, leaving nothing but static on the screen, and  after a few minutes, Esther was soundly asleep. 

"I hop off her gut, landing on the soft bed. I looked over at  my sixteen year old sister, resting peacefully with a slight smile on her face. I'm left  in the afterglow of the television, the dim light leading me towards the pillow next to Esther. 

"A light snore was the last thing I heard before a sudden, immense weight pinned me to the ground. There was no air, only Esther's body warmth and the chilling darkness. Off in the distance, almost miles away, the beating of her heart boomed, muffled slightly by her body. I fought to breathe, taking in small, hopeless gasps. 

"No matter what, her heart beat is consistent, slow, relaxed, drowning out my screams and pleas for help. I clawed, bit and scratched at the resilient fabric. With each explosion of Esther's chest, it got harder to focus. I could feel the pressure set in my bones, pushing them to a breaking point.  

"The fiery pain set in the center of my chest, every breath hurt, and my mind drifted towards my baby sister who's completely unaware of the sheer power that might as well have ended my life. Once the pressure became unbearable, I blacked out. 

"When I woke up, Esther was brushing her hair in the morning like nothing ever happened." 

April closes the book, inhaling deeply.

"Juniper," she says. "Is it anything like this?" 

I can't read her, her big, dumb stupid face is frozen solid. She's staring right at me and I feel small, smaller than before. I don’t even remember what I said, just that feeling of utter shock and helplessness.

"Are you sure?" April asks.
"Yes! No! I... don’t know. I don’t know."

I should've left when I had the chance. And in the moment, I try to run, but my legs aren't cooperating. April holds me in her hand, still silent and unmoving. I can feel her mouth the words, "oh Junebug." I still can't tell if she's sorry or not.

The odds are still high that she's trying to fuck with me. I can feel it in her tone.

She closes her hand around me and I'm encased in a suffocating darkness. The clammy palms are wrapped around me tightly, reminding me of the years of unpleasant days under my sister's feet without even trying.

I let out a frightened screech before sinking my teeth into April's hand.

"Juniper!" April yelps as her hand snaps open. I fall to the ground, landing face first into the unstable cushion of the bed, and I find myself instinctively scrambling out of her line of sight. I feel a sharp pain in my ankle as my face collides with the comforter again.

I claw at the ground, shrieking like an animal caught in a bear trap.

"Juniper! What's gotten into you!?"

I'm hanging upside down, pinched between April's fingers. She's saying something, but I can't hear her over the blood rushing and heart pounding. I don't even try to force a response, opting to stare at my giant sister in the eyes.

I feel the air whipping at my face as April carries me out her bedroom. I'm stuck, helplessly hanging in the air as my now pissed off sister stomps off into the kitchen. From the metallic taste in my mouth, I realize that I drew blood.

Heartlessly, she drops me onto the wooden table. I force myself up, wobbling hakily on weak legs. My back is shot, and I'm hunched slightly, but I stand up straight, keeping the cold stare directed at my sister.

"Juniper, please tell me you're okay."

"I'm fine." I force out. My voice is wheezy, strained and unconvincing. I just need her to leave me alone. Just for a couple of hours.

"Is it something I did? I'm sorry I dropped you, but you bit me!"

"Just leave me alone!"

"June..."

"Take me to May's room." I say, more accurately bark. I don't even care what happens next. She could bring her fist right down on me or actually do what I say, either would be preferable at this point.

I feel a short jab at my back, and I'm lifted in April's palm again, hopefully for the last time if all goes right. 

There's a slight, dingy quality to the air in May's room. No matter how many nights I spend trapped in a makeshift hammock comprised of an old gym sock, I never get used to the stench. But now, it's welcoming as it means May's sadistic neglect is what will grant me my freedom in the middle of the night.

"June, if there's anything you need."

"I just want to be alone for a bit." My voice is calm, hopefully enough to keep her from getting too worried.

April reluctantly leaves, and I'm alone again, a feeling I have to get used to as I lie down. And before I know it, I pass out.

When I wake back up again, May's back, and I thank whatever force kept her from waking me up. Realistically it wasn't some beneveloent supernatural force but my sister April, looking out for me one last time.

The light's are off, but there's a soft glow coming from my sister's cell phone. I see a shodowy outline of May's face from the backlight. I jsut wait there, knowing after some amount of time, she'll just fall asleep. Every second is interminable as my nose finally re-registers the smell that surrounds me.

I hold back coughing, knowing any signs of life would get May to notice me. For what seems like hours, I lie there, breathing softly to feign sleep. 

Then the blue light goes out. The bed creaks, and I commit myself to another impossible hour of waiting. Luckily for me, I don't really have to count it out as I can make out a skewe view of May's alarm clock, just enough to make out the minutes.

The numbers hit zero, and I shoot out of the hammock, falling face first onto the dresser. I run to the edge, running my hand along it as I reach a certain spot. At the floor, there's a pile of dirty clothes, definitely enough to break my fall. I take a deep breath as I prepare for the drop.

"I've done this before," I whisper to myself, making my voice barely even audible to myself. I needed the boost, closing my eyes as I step off the edge.

I crawl out the bundle of clothes, pushing through a tshirt unti lI hit carpet, and from then on I'm running blindly along the side of the dresser to the right of me. It takes a few minutes, and I'm winded by the time I reach the door. It's slightly open, and I run through.

"Okay," I sigh, taking in the first real breath in hours.  Once again sticking to my plan, I keep to the walls, inching my way to April's room.

There's a slight booming in the distance and my heart stops. I halt in place and keep my back pressed against the wall. The thuds get louder, and I watch helplessly as the lights click on. I feel faint, staring up at my sister as she walks past me.
She's groggy, still sleepy as she scratches at her back lazily. Her long stries make me sick, but I keep still, knowing that if I'm caught, I'll spend more years under the forces of nature she calls her feet.

She steps into the bathroom, and the flourescent light, seeps from the door's underside. I sigh in relief and immediately sprint towards April's room. I'm coughing now, but I keep it quiet, the strain of running already setting in.

Within minutes, I'm climbing up April's broken lamp again. This time the pain is settling in my arms, a rippled burning sensation in my biceps. I keep climbing, forcing my way up through several grunts and moans, stopping only for slight shifts in April's movement. And when I get to the top, my arms are still aching, but I'm in the last few legs of my escape. I take a breather, letting the cool draft comfort me.

My heart's racing as I step out the window, my hand awkardly grasping the shoelace, recoiling at its cold touch. I grip it tightly and grit my teeth. I start climbing down, the strain on my arms getting worse by the second. I'm reckless as I climb down, my mind focused on how close I am to finally getting out. I reach the plastic tip in a minute, hangin dangerously high above the ground.

It's not fatal. It's not fatal. It's not fatal.

I let go, and a sharp, stabbing pain hits my legs. Even then I stand up, my right leg weak. I let out a pained screech, a sort of reward for pushing my body to the limit. I stab at the ground with my leg, the pain spiking and eventually dulling ever so slightly to a bearable wildfire.

It's the middle of the night, and I hear the sound of distant crickets. I force myself to take a step, crying out in agony. I follow the walkway, something I haven't done for years, but this time the familiar landscape is large enough to be a mile or two of walking.

I reach the curb, and that's when my mind completely registers what I had just done.

"What the fuck..." I say in shock. I sit at the edge, taking in pained breaths. I take a look at the house in the distance. My destination. "What if she doesn't care? What if she's as bad as them?" 

Regardless, I keep pressing onward, taking the chance.

I start my way across the street, running down the slight slope of the corner. I keep my teeth grit, pretending to ignore my leg. Walking and running on and off, I make progress across the street, reaching the end just before dawn. There's a chill in the morning air, something uncommon in the desert of the southwest. 

There's an earthquake, and as much as I don't want to lose  even an inch's worth of progress, I reluctantly run back to the cliffside of the curb.

I pause, complelty in awe at a pair of morning joggers, covering miles relatively without any sort of effort. They boom down the sidewalk as I star at a single black-gray splotch of gum stuck at the bottom of a woman's running shoe. 

I can't shake the feeling that if I had kept running recklessly, my life would have ended under the patch of chewing gum.

I keep moving forward, the house closer than ever before. I'm sweating, tired, aching. My arms are on fire, and at any moment it feels like my legs will give out.

And they do.

I'm on the ground, resting under the shade of a  bush, coughing and hacking, staring up at the unforgiving sun that now begins to burn mercilessly. My throat is dry and I realize how long it's been since I last ate. I can feel my body begin to shut down. My entire body is in pain, but I don't care. Best case scenario, I'm picked apart by a swarm of fire ants.

There's one more rumble, but I don't bother to look until a shadow blots my vision. I see a familiar, rounded face, formed into a frown of concern.

It's you I'm sorry I even bothered you in the first place. I shouldn't have bothered.

I'm sorry.

A gloved hand, covered in dirt and mulch reaches out, lifting my lifeless body into the air. I don't dare look at her, my head turned towards what had provided me shade.

A goddamned juniper bush.

There's a stench in the air, citrus. It stings my nose, and I try to sit up, but I can't . My eyes shoot open, and there's a blinding whiteness to the room. It takes a few seconds, but my eyes adjust after a few painful moments of squinting.  

I'm in a hospital. 

There's a nurse nearby, towering over me in a sickly snowy uniform. Her light blonde hair sticks out against the white walls. Considering I can't move, I just stare at the woman attending to a small podium. She's on the heavier side, and it shows on her pale face with healthy round cheeks. My sight drifts towards the patient she's helping. He's my size, getting a gentle sponge bath from a tiny washcloth. 

Her pudgy fingers lift him where he needs to be, gently kneading the cloth into his back. And when she's done, the nurse gingerly places him back on a cot his size. 

She turns towards me and notices that I'm staring. She smiles before warmly leaving the room. 

The tv is on in the distance, turned to the afternoon news cycle. I can barely make out the words, but a few key words get through. 

"Stricter legislation, Guardian Act. Investigation... Homunculi abuse." 

Homunculi, is that what I am... legally? 

It's not hard to piece together, and I'm slowly focusing on everything the newscasters say. 

They're debating, ranting to be more accurate, something about the restrictive tendencies of said act, talking as if common sense and basic human decency isn't a thing. 

"The Addendums are just too vague. Who's to say that it won't be taken advantage of. Forced probation for minor offenses is too strict. Those who are legal guardians of our diminutive population have a right to care for them as they see fit." 

Says someone who's never spent a day inside a shoe. 

"Bi-monthly check ins are going to be a strain on the taxpayers." Another voice added, a woman, her voice harsh, entitled. "I understand the need to protect Homunculi, but the legislators are going too far." 

I'm sneering, hoping that neither of them have someone like me in their control. 

The nurse comes back in, this time holding a clipboard instead of a washcloth. She scowls as she hears the debate on the tv before turning it off and walking towards me. 

"Name?" She asks, tapping at the clipboard with a pen. 

"Juneb—Juniper." I crack, my voice hoarse, "Juniper Peña." 

"Your birthdate?" 

"June twenty-first." 

"Year?" 

"Ninety-eight." 

The nurse mumbles to herself, dragging her pen across the paper. 

"Your guardian is your sister April? Since August of twenty-twelve?" 

Hearing her name causes bile to form in the base of my throat. It doesn't help that the nurse also brought up the time I was diagnosed.

"I guess."  

"Your sister has been been notified, and she's on her way." 

I can feel my eyes begin to well up as all that effort was ruined by a simple phone call. I try to get up from the cot, but when my feet touch the ground, a sharp pain hits my foot. 

"Careful!" The nurse shouts before stopping herself. "You'll rip your IV out." Although worried, her voice still held the honey in its tone. The blonde woman came in closer, looming over the counter. I stop at her instruction, noticing the plastic wire attached to my arm. I sigh, looking down at the white cast around my foot. 

"You also shattered your right ankle," she says informatively, "you were also severely dehydrated." 

"Where is she?" I ask, "the woman who brought me here." 

"She left. She stayed for a bit but had to leave for work." 

The nurse sits down on a nearby stool, somehow still towering over the counter. 

"Happy birthday." 

"What?" 

"The twenty-first, right? It's today." 

I only nod, acknowledging her attempts to keep my spirits up. Her smile, while infectious, doesn’t help me in the slightest.  

"If you'd like, I could bring in a cupcake from the cafeteria." 

"No thanks," I huff. The nurse nods. 

"Your sister should be here at any minute now." 

There's a groan to my right, and the nurse instinctively rises to tend to the person in pain.  

Three years, I think to myself. It's been nearly three years.

I don't even realize it until it's too late. I'm staring into the watery pools that belong to my older sister. Neither of us speak up, sitting in the most uncomfortable silence. She's alone, still in her work uniform, still wearing the birdcage around her neck. I scan the room, but the nurse is nowhere to be found. Instead, I see a little remote with a red button. I keep note of it, ready to call in the nurse. 

"W—We were worried for you." April says, holding back tears. "Why did you..." 

I don’t respond, staring past my sister and at  the featureless wall behind her.  The entire experience is surreal. I feel nothing. I'm a passive spectator, as every single one of my actions don't feel like my own. It just doesn't feel real. 

I'm crying, choking back helpless sobs as my sister covers her mouth with her hand. 

"Oh, Junebug..." 

"Don't call me that!" I scream. My voice is strained, tired, "I--I hate that stupid name!" 

"But we've always called you--" 

"I hate it!" I scream out again, knowing that my anger probably wouldn't help. "It makes me feel like—like... Like a toy or even a fucking pet." 

April kept quiet, biting her lip. "Why didn't you say anything?" 

"Because you never listened!" I paused for a brief moment, "I—I just gave up. I felt so helpless. And-And you and May just..." 

"I-I...We never meant to--"  

"Yes you did! You just tossed me in your mouth the other day, and May just throws me in her shoe." 

April recoils, her brow raising, "she did? I—I didn't know she--" 

"Bullshit!" I scream, my throat straining, "you always knew. You just never cared enough to do anything. You could have stopped her, but you just joined in too." 

She moves in closer, reaching towards me, and my hand springs towards the small red button, pressing it violently until I feel pain in my fingers. She jumps back, right before the blonde nurse comes crashing in. Urgently the nurse grabs April by the arm and begins to escort her out. 

"Please, let go! She's my baby sister." April pleads. 

"I'm sorry, Miss. You're disturbing our patients." 

There's a brief struggle between them until there's a resolute click in the door. 

I sit in silence before a choked sob cuts it. I can hear an argument outside, but I can't make out the words. Just yelling. And after a minute or two, the nurse comes back in, but this time she's stonefaced.

"I'm sorry," she says. "It was my fault. I shouldn't have left you alone with, even if she is your sister." 

"It's fine," I force out, lying through my teeth. She catches on to my tone as she sits at the counter. 

"D—Did she hurt you? Like, enough to remove custody as guardian?" 

I pause, before I leave my own conscious body, staring back at myself as I utter the word, "no." 

"Are you sure? She can't hurt you anymore. We can put you with a federal guardian." 

"No." 

"Please, we know it's hard, but it's not in your best interest to be in that household." 

"I don't care," I say stiffly, "just don't take me away." 

The nurse looks down at me, her arms crossed at her chest. "I can... put your sister on probation." She uncomfortable with her words, "every two weeks they'll check in on you and assess your health, but after a year you're on your own." 

"That." I say, completely cold and calm. "Just say whatever you need to do that." 

"I can only do that if it was a single, first time incident." I can hear the heartbreak in her voice, "Are—are you sure you want that?" 

"Yes. We just had an argument, and we got a little heated." 

We both knew I was lying, but my say finally mattered for once. 

"Just say the word, and we can put you in the better hands." 

"No."  

"She still wants to see you." 

"Let her wait. I want to think," 

Once again, I'm staring into the featureless wall in front of me. And for some reason, it helps to clear my head. I think about the past week, and I ask myself if anything's really different. It's hard to answer, but there's something that keeps me from being absolute in either way. 

I think about the stuffy people on tv, remembering their arguments over the lawfulness of the new probation system. Even when the year of probation ends, I'm not sure if it'll change them at all. 

It's going to be different. It just has to be different. It needs to be different. 

There's an urgent knock on the door, but the nurse ignores it. And from the little window I can see both of my sisters standing outside. 

"Open it." 

"Are you sure?" 

I pause for a moment, finally thinking it through. 

"Let them in."