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.