The Biggening

Early on, there was some speculation as to what had caused The Shrink. Or the Biggening, as some of the folk had come to call it (who said so with the grin of someone trying desperately to be clever in the face of something horrifying). Some said it was an alien assault. Others declared it was a government experiment gone wrong. One group had decided it was God’s divine practical joke.

At one point, this would have been the stuff of comedy: every human being reduced to a height of about three inches. It might have even been an ideal dream for some. But there is something significantly disturbing when the pet chihuahua decides that its former masters are its new chew toys.

The world was not kind to the small.

Joey knew that she was not alone in this experience, that it extended beyond her immediate existence. She had found her parents easily after the chihuahua incident, though there wasn't much of them remaining. And, after an exhausting climb to her laptop, and an even more exhausting attempt at typing, she could assume that the rest of the world had suffered a similar fate.

Because the news had just stopped.

Instead, it was a smattering of social media updates that were gibberish and filled with typos, but one standalone word consistently showing up:

SMALL.

In the years that followed, the world grew quiet. With no one left to maintain them, the sounds-of vehicles, of technology, of electricity-faded. It had all been replaced with the sound of crows, the roar of the wind, the stomp of beasts as they took back the land and homes the people had once occupied.

Now, Joey sat next to a small fire in a clearing, the chihuahua that had taken her family by her side, sleeping half hidden in the tall grass, the daylight fading. She decided, at the time, that taking revenge for her loss was not beneficial to anyone. So with the help of some now oversized milk bones and her mom’s heart-shaped locket, she was able to wrangle the beast, formally known as Munchkin, into submission and begin training him to obey her and, in time, allow her to ride him like a steed.

Her father’s toy collection proved to be more valuable than she could have imagined, as was her mother’s insistence on Joey learning how to sew. As only the humans had decreased in size, the clothing in Joey’s closet became a non-starter. Yet, in her parents possessions, Joey found plenty of outfits and footwear that, with some alterations, fit perfectly. She was even able to find a harness for the dog, perfect for hauling supplies in what was once a Cinderella pumpkin carriage, which now looked more like an onion.

Joey turned a morsel of mouse meat over the flame, impaled on one of the needles from her mom’s sewing kit, like one would roast marshmallows at a camping trip. Her stomach rumbled at the memory of the flavor, but she pushed that down into a mental crevice.

Occasionally, she would cross paths with others who had resorted to this way of living, some of whom had done quite well. Clothing from dolls and figures had become a norm for those who could find them, though depending on the homestead, options had been limited. She had certainly seen her share of men who were now dressed in Barbie swimsuits or Bratz schoolgirl outfits, likely from their daughters’ collections. Or their own. Joey didn’t judge.

That was one benefit to the Biggening: gender norms were out the window completely. Joey had never subscribed to such esoteric ideologies, but now, with options obsolete, and survival the only objective, people didn’t seem to care if they were dressed as G.I. Joe or Wonder Woman. Clothing was a luxury, and cloth pre-shaped in human form was far superior to strands of grass or paper towels, or, in extreme cases, nothing at all.

Joey had realized quickly after seeing one group of "Nekids," as she called them, that she could use this to her advantage, and after a return to her parents' abode, she was able to fill her “wagon” with excess outfits. Venturing out, and with one final goodbye to her childhood abode, she set off, offering clothing to those who needed it.

She sniffed the mouse meat, touched it, then put it back in the fire. Not ready.

She never asked for payment, which worked out in this small world. Besides, society had not advanced enough through the catastrophe to figure out currency. Some had tried to offer pennies and dimes, but quarters and even nickels proved to be too cumbersome to allow capitalism to survive. So bartering became the norm, clothing the commodity, and information the gold. Without social media, knowing what was happening the street over was what people most desired. And Joey, with her caravan of clothing, became the most effective method of information brokering.

She heard the mouse meat sizzle and brought it out of the flames, sniffing it again. She sincerely wished that seasonings hadn't been left on the unreachable kitchen counters. Besides, the little she did have needed to be used as a preservative, not a seasoning. Flavorless rodents were what she was stuck with. Still, it was better than dog food, a meal which she had been forced to partake in more often than she would have liked to admit.

Munchkin, whom she had renamed “Snarlbark,” twitched his nose at the meat but didn’t rise. He had already eaten his share of the mouse, and while he would have happily taken more, it was not enough to rouse him from his slumber.

Setting the meat down on the open locket, its chain curled up by her leg, she pulled out her journal (what was once a pad of sticky notes) and a shaved down golf pencil. She cycled through the reports she had collected from the latest towns, most about a block apart. She was hesitant to extend her travel distance, but these days, one couldn't be picky. Greenstreet had suffered a crow attack but had found an effective way to combat cats. Hidden Cove had lost three explorers on a spice run, something about a stove being left on. Oak Avenue had managed to get a garden growing and was seeking volunteers to caravan in exchange for safe passage. The Downing Lane Gang had expanded their domain to West Elm and was preparing for an assault on Maple Road.

That last one was the most important, as she had several clients still on Maple. They weren’t a warrior group of people, mainly full of geriatrics and their grandchildren. As such, clothing was in high demand-the elders passed on and the young grew too large for their pint sized outfits, a situation Joey could not help but find amusing. They had taken to farming fairly quickly, thanks to many of the elders having grown on farms themselves. But none in the community were fighters and would certainly not be able to withstand an all out assault from the Downing Lane Gang, a formidable group even before the Biggening.

On a back page, she marked a map she had drawn with a general idea of where she thought she might be and how much further she had to go to get to Maple Road, about a half day’s journey. Snarlbark could probably make it in half an hour, but the wagon could only go across roads smoothly. She had already had to repair an axel this month, she was not about to risk losing her transport by leaving it behind.

As Joey put her pad down, she picked up her mouse meat and took a bite. She’d learned to stomach the vile taste, but it was still unpleasant.

A rustling in the grass caused her to react. Throwing the locket over the fire, she extinguished the flames till only red coals remained, dog and caravan disappearing without the light to illuminate them. She pulled a bow (rubber bands around a rather strong paperclip) from her back and notched a needle. Aiming where she had heard the noise coming from, her mouse meat still impaled on the end, she cursed silently to herself and eyed Snarlbark’s visage, which shuddered in his sleep but otherwise did not move.

The grass quivered and through the smoke popped the head of a rat bearing what appeared to be a harness, originally intended for a plastic horse of some kind. No rider. She breathed uneasily.

“Well now, what have we here?” came the whisper behind her, a sharp blade resting gently against her neck. The rat stared at her through the smoke, but stood still until its apparent master gave a command.

“You are making a grave error in judgement, friend,” Joey whispered the warning to the man behind her. “Remove the craft knife from my neck and we can start this interaction over.”

“Stop aiming at my beasty and I’ll consider it,” the voice said, pressing the blade into her flesh, not quite cutting it but making the point clear. Joey hesitated before letting the bow slacken and lowering it to the ground. The voice chuckled and took it from her hands, removed the mouse meat from the end with their foot, before tossing the needle to the side. Slowly, they crept around to the front of her, a man sizing her up in the dark, not once looking towards the wagon or the sleeping dog.

“Now, I will ask this again,” he hissed. “What have we here?”

Joey eyed his blade with contempt, and took in his clothes. A mix of Minnie Mouse polka-dot blouse, bell bottom jeans, completed with a fighter pilot jacket, and a magician’s top hat. Like her, a belt was wrapped around his torso, with various tools strapped tight. Specifically, a small telescope, likely from a pirate set, with what appeared to be real lenses inserted.

“You a scout?” Joey queried, not taking her eyes off him. The man leered at her.

“Last chance,” the man whispered, his silhouette illuminated in the coals, the rat’s tail twitching behind him.

“I already told you,” Joey said, holding her hands up. “A grave mistake.” She brought her hand to her lips and let loose a shrill whistle, piercing the night.

Snarlbark rushed out from his sleeping spot, leaping on the rat who let out a squeal of panic. The man turned sharply, distracted by the commotion. Joey leapt forward, seizing the bow’s strings and pulling them as tight as possible. The man instinctively clung on, not letting her have it.

Fine.

She released the band, sending the force back at the man who fell backward in pain and anger, stumbling over the locket, revealing sparks underneath the ash. Joey moved quickly and wrapped the locket’s chain around his neck and pulled tight.

“I pull harder,” she whispered, “and you don’t see the dawn. My price is simple. Information, for your breath.”

The man nodded furiously, while beating his hand against the earth in submission. Joey released the chain slightly, but not so much that the man could escape, and listened.

-----------

As she rode away from her campsite, the man gasping for air, the rat dead, she made some changes to her notes. Maple Road had fallen and was now territory of the Downing Lane Gang. She would have to adjust her trade route after all. Putting her notes away, she shook the locket’s chains around the neck of Snarlbark, who trotted forward, content with his victory over the rodent.

When it all had started, people speculated how the Biggening had come about. Joey didn’t really care. The world was forever changed, and there was no returning to the way it had been. Molehills were now mountains, and men were now mice. Still, day gave way to night, and returned again, the way it always had and always would. If only a little larger than before.