This choice: Dhara Acharya, a 19 year old Indian-Canadian Woman • Go Back...Chapter #4Dhara Acharya, a 19 year old Indian-Canadian Woman by: SWLatina   This is Canada. This type of thing is not supposed to happen.
Stories of shrunken women have circulated through South Asia since before written history.
Except it isn't a myth, as you can personally attest. At twenty years old, you're only six inches tall, and you're never going to get any bigger
The number of women who were born over the centuries who would never grow to larger than six inches was never more than 1 percent, and in modern times, it was estimated to effect less than.0001% of the female population of South Asia.
Again, the fact that less than five hundred women in the whole world are destined to be only six inches tall is no comfort when you're one of those five hundred women.
What happens to miniaturized women in South Asia is also depressing. Normally, the best you could hope for is to be sold/married to a wealthy gentleman who will treat you as a treasured pet/sex toy.
Which is why when you were born, your parents immigrated to Western Canada. Canada has a statute of rights that dealt specifically with shrunken women. You grew up protected, educated and expecting to live as normal a life as a shrunken woman could expect.
You were attending your first year at the University of British Columbia, majoring in Art History, when it happened.
Back in the city where you were born, your Uncle Adarsh has decided it was time you were married, and has arranged a marriage that is financially beneficial to him. He then used pressure on your parents, with the end result being you sitting in a self contained, pressurized pet container being shipped to India.
You look at the mirror in the container, because it's only slightly lessing depressing doing so then looking at the man you're destined to marry. He's an older man, bald, and looks to be five foot six in any direction you care mention. Seriously, he looks if you knocked him down a hill, he'd picked up speed as he rolled.
You shuddered to think what he was going to do to you as soon as you arrived at his residence.
The image looking back at you in the mirror wasn't any better. Okay, admittedly the image looking back at you was hot. You're a beautiful young woman, fit, trim, maybe a little narrow in the hips, but it's not like you're going to be having a children. And the way your long, dark, thick straight hair hangs over your impressive breasts is enough to get more than one look over.
The fancy sari you're wearing, cream with a red embroidered "stripe" running around it, would make you look eloquent if it weren't for the fact that it was semi-translucent, and you weren't allowed to wear the proper attire underneath it. Just flesh colored (the color of your flesh, light olive) bikini panties and a strapless bra.
You're expecting to be in transit for eighteen hours before arriving to the hell the rest of your life is going to be, when the box you're in starts bouncing around violently. Despite your tiny size, you're unusually tough and resilient. But that doesn't mean you can take a beating all day.
Suddenly, the bouncing stopped. As you got onto your feet, trying to get oriented, the box you're in suddenly opens. Looking in on you is  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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