I don’t give a fuck.


I watched my right hand dig into my purse when I did it. I didn’t recognize it, even though it had been my hand from the moment I was born. It felt like a new hand. I saw it reach into my $80.00 purse (which is damned cheap as far as purses go, let me tell you) and come back up for air with a syringe in tow. 

I was so happy.

I walked right up to him, without a single thought on what I’d say. I felt every pound of my body with each step I took; heard the rasp of my Converse as they both hit the pavement of that well-lit parking lot, and it occurred to me to look for cameras. I saw a couple of them, aimed at the general direction of my psychopathic intent. I didn’t give a fuck. I was going to shrink him. 

He heard me come up to him, and turned around instead of climbing into his car, which might have saved him.

I smiled at him, and said his name.

There’s power in a name. It casts a spell. When you tell someone your name, you give them power over you, and he had told me his name years ago, never knowing I’d use it against him. I stretched my arms wide, the way people do when they are going to hug you, and I stretched my smile wider, the way people do when they know someone intimately. I ventured a high school name, and I knew it didn’t matter if it wasn’t the right one, because I knew his name. 

He looked at me, and not at my syringe-carrying hand.

When my arms closed around him, he only saw a woman he might have known, but had forgotten, or a woman he had never known, who was confused. I watched his arms twitch in response to my hugging gesture, and if only he had stepped back and held up his hand in defensive clarification, he might have been safe.

But I was wearing very tight jeans. On purpose.

His arms flinched again, and when I plunged the needle into his neck and pushed the contents of my syringe deep into the flow of his bloodstream, it was too late for him to fight back. I smirked and winked at the cameras, because I knew that even if they worked, no one would be able to make sense of the footage they saw.

Woman comes in for a hug. Man responds appropriately. Man vanishes into thin air. Woman stands still for a second. Woman squats and searches pile of clothes that mysteriously materializes in place of man. Woman leaves scene. Man is never seen again.

Find me a crime that fits that mold. I knew I’d never be arrested.

That was Christmas Eve Eve. When I drove home with my treasure between the denim that barely contained my thighs, I smiled as I imagined the suffering I was bringing to his entire family. I don’t give a fuck. He’s mine. He’s my toy. He doesn’t belong to those that grieve for him. He belongs to those that hold him in a firm grip, and use him as intended.

And boy, do I intend.

They see him as a person. I don’t. I see him as what he truly is, nothing but a sex toy, a bundle of arms and legs created to serve my needs. That’s why I filled that syringe with ingredients of my own design, and that’s why I chose him. That’s why he’s now two inches in height, and that’s why I don’t give a fuck what you think about what I’ve done. Shove it. He’s mine now, and I don’t care how much they cry, I’m never giving him back.

I really don’t give a flying fuck.

That’s all I have to say to you. I won’t say anything else, because I have to go grab him now, all of him, in my hand, and put him to use. I don’t care if he’s crying, or screaming, or scared. Fear is a function that serves my needs.

They are giant.

16 thoughts on “I don’t give a fuck.

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  1. The feds easily traced the security cam footage back to the mall security dude who posted it to YouTube, but it racked up over ten thousand views before they could get it removed. As predicted, no one seems to have guessed what happened, but everyone now and then it shows up in some mashup or music video, so it has clearly tapped into the Zeitgeist somehow. Bowman wrote an algorithm that logs and tracks each appearance, but no pattern so far.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I’m sure plenty of those viewers left a “clearly staged” or “so fake” comment on the video. No one simply vanishes like that. Not as if every cell in their body disappears and leaves only an empty pile of clothes.

      I certainly don’t know anything about the man in the video.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Oh no! You should be more careful. What with how ubiquitous the cameras are these days. Find a guy at a bar, invite him over, then shrink him. Dispose of his clothes, throw his phone away, when the cops come say he left at this and that hour, be consistent in your testimonies and keep a low profile. And when he’s no longer fun and it’s time to dispose of him as well, just shrink him smaller. So small he vanishes out of existence.

    Please be more careful, I don’t want you to be thrown into jail. : (

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Yours is a very good plan. It would work very well, except maybe it was discovered that alcohol interacts poorly with the shrinking compound, and changes its potency.

      Sometimes the target shrinks partially, other instances it becomes far too small to find. There was that one occasion the recipient grew twice their size. That could have been a very bad day.

      Thank you for your concern! Unfortunately for any law enforcement agency currently in existence, shrinking is not a crime yet, and not one that can be proven anyway.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. It’s an interesting exercise, to see how many ways the kidnapping can be accomplish, as well as all the little details surrounding it. The vision narrowing down in one story; the wink at the cameras in another. A world of men all at the wrong size, a world of women waiting and working to collect them, and all the novel accouterments surrounding them. It’s almost as though this itself is a quest: not just to steal the little man, but to happen upon the right combination of setting, props, and reactions that suddenly feels absolutely right and correct. Who knows, maybe this is also the path to the spell that will make this premise a reality, as though another dimension is nudging you to explore and identify the necessary components.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. My view has expanded a little in that I see a world of people of any gender at the wrong size, and a world of people of any gender wanting and working to collect them. That’s the storyteller in me. The shrinker just wants one little guy for herself, and only he will do.

      I was thinking about spells last night, and made a note of my thought for a future story. I don’t get tired of hoping one of them will work one day.

      Liked by 2 people

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