The 6-Inch Man

Waking up, Brendan thought at first that he’d been buried alive. He was covered in a layer of warm, nearly hot, softness that covered his entire body. He had to crawl and crawl until he was finally able to push his way out and draw in a gasping breath of clear air.

Wherever he was was dim and hard to see, but it was some huge space. The ceiling and walls on either side seemed to be miles away. He’d never heard of a building that had been built on such vast proportions. It was like being inside the ridiculously oversized mine of Erebor from "The Hobbit" movies, which had boggled his mind because one industrial accident would have resulted in a devastating flood of molten gold.

He squinted through the darkness, wondering if he’d been abducted by aliens. He’d gone to bed last night and here he was. Completely naked.

Who knew what had happened to him while he was sleeping.

He fumbled around on the surface he stood on, the bumpy softness made it hard for him to walk and he stumbled and fell several times. He reached the edge and realized he was at least two maybe three stories up. If he jumped down onto the hard wooden surface below he might break a leg. He didn’t think it was safe enough to risk it.

The light around him was brightening slowly. When he’d first woken, it had been dark enough that he’d been barely able to see his hands held out in front of him. Now he could make out the wood grain of the level below him.

He sat down to wait for it to get brighter. He didn’t want to waste his energy stumbling around in circles. He was already a bit hungry and thirsty, but he had no idea where to find food or water. It was better to conserve his strength until he could make a survival plan.

Brendan sat and closed his eyes. He drew in deep breaths through his nose and slowly exhaled out through his mouth. He couldn’t let himself panic.

The surroundings brightened and he opened his eyes to look around. His brow furrowed, then his eyes widened in surprise.

He got to his feet and turned around in circles, taking everything in.

This is my bedroom, he thought in amazement. It was the same size as it had always been, but it was him that had gotten small. Incredibly small.

So small that his electric blanket had nearly suffocated him in his sleep.

"How…" He clenched his hands together, squeezing until it felt as though his fingers were going to pop off, then he forced himself to let go.

Today was the first day of his two week vacation. He’d put in for time off from work with the expectation of a video game fueled staycation. Nobody was going to care if he didn’t show up today, or tomorrow, or the next day, or the next day… Nobody was going to check up on him or call the police or worry about him at all because they would just assume he was enjoying his vacation.

Nobody was going to care until they found his teeny tiny skeleton, likely still on his bed BECAUSE HE WAS TOO SMALL TO CLIMB DOWN.

Brendan stared out at the vast room around him and didn’t know what he was supposed to do. He didn’t know how he’d shrunk in the first place, so reversing the process was as far away from him as the moon.

"This sucks."

=END=

~Harper Kingsley

https://paypal.me/harperkingsley.

https://patreon.com/harperkingsley.

https://ko-fi.com/harperwck.
https://amazon.com/shop/harperkingsley0.
https://www.harperkingsley.net/blog.
https://kimichee.com.

https://www.youtube.com/c/HarperKingsley.

https://harperkingsley.bsky.social.
https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/HarperKingsley.

Chestnuts Roasting On An Open Fire

Seated in front of the fireplace drinking hot cocoa with little marshmallows and snacking on homemade zucchini chips. It could have been a normal winter day in a normal life, except it wasn’t. Because the world outside was dark and grim, ashes coating everything, the air far too thick to breathe.

If Bernie hadn’t ever heard about "Silent Hill," she would have fallen so far into shock that she would have died before figuring everything out. As it was, she was glad there weren’t horrible mutant(?) monsters running around with like blades for hands or something. She’d never played the video game and the movies had been too scary for her to watch, but she’d seen trailers and heard enough about the franchise that she’d been able to realize that she was screwed. The world was screwed, and she was living in it, so she was screwed too, and there was nothing she could do about it but enjoy the last bits of her life before she died.

She’d used packing tape to seal up the windows and doors, and she was glad there was a carbon filter on the fireplace flue to prevent the stuff outside from coming in. Though she knew it was far from perfect, and this was all just borrowed time.

"Hey Mom, Mom, are Dad and Uncle Ross going to be okay?"

No, they’re dead, Bernie didn’t say. She forced a reassuring smile and looked at her daughter. "They’re probably fine. The minute everything happened, they would have gone inside where it was safe. They would have blocked up the windows and doors just like us, and just like us they’re waiting for all this to clear up before they come back home. We just have to wait."

"Oh." Alice chewed on her lower lip with tiny white teeth. She held her reindeer mug with both hands and the pink thermal shirt and pants she wore were dingy and in need of a wash. Her favorite fleece blanket was draped over her shoulders like a cape.

"Honey, don’t bite your lip. You’re going to hurt yourself," Bernie said. "Why don’t you eat another chip?"

Alice grimaced. "They’re gross. I don’t like them. Can’t we eat something else?"

If this were a regular disaster, one where they could expect the government to send in the national guard and rescue them, Bernie would have insisted that they should save the little food they have. She would ration things so Alice would have enough to eat while she would eat just enough to stay alive until help came. But this wasn’t a regular emergency.

This wasn’t the aftermath of a hurricane or a tornado or a flood. This was the aftermath of nuclear war.

Those last few minutes watching the news before everything had cut out had made it clear that this was the end of everything. Those ashes falling from the sky, choking the Earth, were loaded with radiation.

We’re dying already, she thought. She didn’t know much about nuclear bombs or nuclear winters, but she’d seen stuff about Japan after Hiroshima. She’d watched "Chernobyl" on HBO.

Knowing that these last moments were fleeting at best, she forced a smile. "I know, why don’t we roast chestnuts?"

"Huh?" Alice cocked her head. She was so young it made Bernie’s heart hurt.

"I’ve never done it, but I’ve always wanted to try it. Like in the Christmas song. We can roast chestnuts over an open fire."

"How do we do it?" Alice asked, sounding interested.

Bernie thought a moment. "I’ve looked it up before. We’ll use a cast iron skillet when it’s time to roast them, but before that we’ll cut Xs in them and soak them in water. That makes them steam to cook themselves and we don’t have to worry about them cracking and popping. I don’t think they explode, but we don’t want to risk losing any of our chestnuts."

She stood up, carrying her half drunk cocoa with her toward the kitchen. "I’m glad I bought them. They were supposed to be for the squirrels, but I don’t think the squirrels will mind if we eat some."

Alice followed after her. "I’ve never had roasted chestnuts. Are they good?"

"I don’t know," Bernie said. "I’ve never tried them either."

There were so many things she’d never tried before. So many things she was never going to get to do–like growing old or watching Alice grow up–but today, on the eve of destruction, she was going to roast chestnuts over an open fire with her daughter.

She hoped they were delicious.

=END=

~Harper Kingsley

https://paypal.me/harperkingsley.

https://patreon.com/harperkingsley.

https://ko-fi.com/harperwck.
https://amazon.com/shop/harperkingsley0.
https://www.harperkingsley.net/blog.
https://kimichee.com.

https://www.youtube.com/c/HarperKingsley.

https://harperkingsley.bsky.social.
https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/HarperKingsley.

Modern Ebenezer

Three days after Christmas, Eben sat down to really consider the experience he’d had. The "dream" that had been so realistic that he’d woken up gasping like someone saved from drowning. The way his heart had beaten so wildly in his chest that his heart rate monitor watch had been loudly beeping.

It was so loud and insistent. Now, in the light of three days later, he had to wonder how it hadn’t woken him up. The sound should have been reverberating in the background of that life-changing dream. Should have been a jarring discordance as he visited his past and his future while cringing away from his present. But there had been nothing.

The terror he had felt had been so real. As was the hopelessness and despair as he’d realized that nobody would miss him were he to die.

All he had was his money. The fortune he had made through a lifetime focused solely on his work.

He had no close family and no hobbies. The only times he visited anywhere outside of the city it was for work, and he never stopped to enjoy the scenic views along the way. He worked and he went home. It had been the only life he’d ever known.

When he’d been a child, his parents had been poor. His father had been a laborer and his mother had worked in a laundromat washing other peoples’ clothes. When he was 10, his father had been working at the docks and a broken cable had resulted in his father’s legs being crushed. The settlement money had barely paid for the amputations and the manual wheelchair. Prosthetic legs had been far beyond the family’s reach.

Eben’s mother had had to work harder as his father could no longer work. Her hair had turned prematurely gray and the laughter that had always brought sweetness to her face stopped. She worked so hard that her shoulders began to stoop and her hands got rough and cracked.

She had died young. A small cough had turned into a never-ending wracking cough that had sapped the strength from her bones. She hadn’t had a single good night’s sleep and she had withered away before his eyes.

Eben’s mother had died when he was 12 years old, and then it had fallen to him to provide enough food and money for him and his father. He had begun working for a local street gang, running errands and sweeping floors all night while going to school during the day.

Sometimes he wondered what his life would have been like if he hadn’t had to work so hard. Would he have been like the other kids in his class, happy and well-fed, secure in the fact that their parents would always be there to take care of them? Would he have grown up coddled, spoiled by knowing he was well-loved and that his life in the future could only get better and better?

He would never know. Because his life had only gotten worse and worse.

His father had died when he was 17 years old. He had worked so hard and long for himself and his father, but in the end his father had died anyway, leaving him behind. Alone.

He had spent the seven months until his 18th birthday pretending that everything was alright, not wanting to end up in foster care. He had studied hard and worked hard and saved enough money that with a small scholarship he was able to work his way through school.

He had gotten a degree, started a business, and when he’d made a success of himself, his mother’s relatives had appeared. Her cousin and his wife. They had entered his life, acting as though they had always been there, and tried to ride his coattails to a good future.

And that was why he had quietly resented them. Because they had only appeared after his mother and father were dead. After he had grown up and no longer needed them, but had become successful enough in life that he could be of use to them.

His "nephew" was a distant relation. But that family still expected that the younger man would be his successor. That he wouldn’t object to them using his good name to climb the social ladder, and at the end of it all, everything that was his would become theirs.

The dream he’d had, it had shown him that there was no one to care if he died. That everything he’d built meant nothing. That strangers would desecrate his grave because their parents would speak badly of him as the boss they hated.

He’d woken up from that dream, desperate to have one good Christmas. He’d given out raises and promised money to help Bob Cratchit pay for his child’s medical treatment. He’d set up employee funds and passed out end of year bonuses. And the smiles and joy he’d received had warmed his heart.

But three days later, he knew that it hadn’t changed anything.

He was still alone in a big house. His mother and father were still gone. And even if crowds of people showed up for his funeral, what did that really mean at the end of the day?

Eben brooded the day away and stayed up late into the night. And when he finally laid down on his bed, he wondered if he would be visited by three ghosts that would tell him everything was going to be all right.

But there were no ghosts. No assurances. No supernatural events that would forever change him and his view of life.

There was just him waking up on the 29th of December to eat a bowl of oatmeal and watch the news. Just him showering and dressing and going to work and living another day as himself: Ebenezer Scrooge. Rich and lonely and growing older every day.

It was up to him to make the changes he wanted to see. Up to him to find the happiness he wanted to live.

He had spent his whole life working hard, depending only on himself. He had strived and strained and here he was, at the top of the world.

It was up to him to find someone else to bring to the mountaintop. It was up to him to alleviate his own loneliness.

He didn’t want to leave everything he’d made to his mother’s relatives. Didn’t want to die knowing they would receive everything he’d fought so hard to earn, taking it as their due, as though he owed them something for never having been there for his family as his mother had worked herself to death and he’d fought everyday to make enough money for him and his father to survive in poverty.

Eben spent the next few days in thought. Then on January 2nd of the new year, he made some phone calls and changed his life.

He’d never thought that he would have children because he’d never had the time to fall in love. There had been a brief moment when he’d thought he’d found someone, but it hadn’t lasted for long. He had resigned himself to being alone.

But now he made a choice.

He adopted three children, each to represent one of the spirits of Christmas. Each to serve as a reminder for what he wanted out of life: hope, joy, and remembrance.

There was nobody to bring him happiness. He had to earn it for himself. So he did.

=END=

~Harper Kingsley

https://paypal.me/harperkingsley.

https://patreon.com/harperkingsley.

https://ko-fi.com/harperwck.
https://amazon.com/shop/harperkingsley0.
https://www.harperkingsley.net/blog.
https://kimichee.com.

https://www.youtube.com/c/HarperKingsley.

https://harperkingsley.bsky.social.
https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/HarperKingsley.

Yellow Raincoat

Staring at a plate of flavored rice wrapped in egg. "So… are these supposed to be the Morton’s Salt Girl?" she asked.

"What?" Bruce asked, looking over. "No, they’re just little rice shapes I made. I thought the egg looked like a yellow raincoat, so I gave them faces. Eat them, they’re delicious."

"You even gave them seaweed hair," she pointed out. "You want me to eat adorable little people! I can’t do that. I’d feel like a cannibal or something."

"They’re rice and egg! It’s only cannibalism if you’re eating your own species. I made these for you. Try them."

Lilah met his expectant gaze and uncertainly picked up her chopsticks. She stared at the oval plate holding twelve egg wrapped rice girls with black sesame eyes, red pepper mouths, and cut seaweed sheet hair. She picked up the one nearest to her and brought it to her mouth, closing her eyes so she didn’t have to see the approaching little face as she bit the egg wrapped rice girl in half.

She chewed, swallowed, popped the rest of it in her mouth, and with her mouth full opened her eyes wide to give him a delighted look. "It’s delicious!"

He looked so relieved that she liked the food he’d made that she finally had to understand a truth she’d been avoiding: He had feelings for her. She was important to him. Because he liked her.

She picked up the next nearest rice girl and held it toward his mouth. "Eat with me," she said.

He looked into her eyes as he opened his mouth and let her feed him. They smiled at each other, a delightful tension filling the air around them.

He used his chopsticks to pick up another rice girl, offering it toward her.

He fed her. She fed him. They fed each other. Laughed nervously. Flirted delightedly. Eventually they gave into their passions as she swallowed the last bit of the eleventh rice girl and wrapped her arms around his shoulders to pull him close.

They kissed, tongues mingling, and in tandem they left the dining table to retreat to the living room. They weren’t ready for anything more than this, but there was something nice about sharing kisses and hugs as they twined together on the couch.

---

Behind them, unnoticed, the last rice girl raised her head from the plate, saw that they were gone, and hurriedly climbed to her formless feet. She looked around her, silently mourning her sisters. Then she focused on saving herself.

She didn’t understand what had brought her to life. Didn’t know how long this life was going to last. But she would enjoy every moment of it until the very end.

She awkwardly climbed down from the table, using a chair to help her reach the floor. Then she ran away as fast as her legs could carry her, thinking to herself, "Run run run, as fast as you can!"

=END=

~Harper Kingsley

https://paypal.me/harperkingsley.

https://patreon.com/harperkingsley.

https://ko-fi.com/harperwck.
https://amazon.com/shop/harperkingsley0.
https://www.harperkingsley.net/blog.
https://kimichee.com.

https://www.youtube.com/c/HarperKingsley.

https://harperkingsley.bsky.social.
https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/HarperKingsley.