You pace about the tabletop, hand attached to chin, contemplating your options. At least, that's what you try to do. However, your thoughts are centered on the greater problems of your predicament. This hotel room is scary enough; how frightening will the outside world be at three inches tall? Not to mention the difficulty involved in contacting other people, let alone conning them to switch fates with you. Your problems are just too big (both literally and metaphorically) for you to deal with alone. But maybe you won't have to!
"A phone call", you blurt your sudden thought aloud, "I'd like a phone call, please".
Jeannie's face turns sour, "A phone call? Now that doesn't sound fair. I can't let you call your victim; that would be way too easy".
"Not my victim", you correct, "Just someone to help me out a little. You have to realize that there's no way I can last out there by myself".
"I don't know", Jeannie sounds reluctant, "That still goes against the spirit of the game...".
You decide to take a chance and 'cop an attitude', "So you're changing the rules now?! Your promises don't mean anything?! I don't think I can play with a cheater and a liar".
"Alright, alright!", Jeannie's tone seems to indicate that your gamble had paid off, "Stop with the melodramatics already. You can have your call".
Jeannie's right hand snatches you with frustration. Your face is buried in the breast of her palm, its suffocating effects serving as more than a minor discomfort. The tight squeezing from her fingers, threatening to crush your body like soft aluminum isn't exactly a nice feeling either. The lone benefit to your unenviable position is that you are hardly aware of the violent swing of Jeannie's arm as she stomps angrily toward the drawer holding the room phone, a feeling that would no doubt upset your notoriously weak stomach otherwise.
As your air supply reaches its end, you are tossed underhanded onto a surface of brown lighter than the table. You roll in front of a pale white hut which you recognize as a telephone. Jeannie removes the receiver from its port, appearing as a enormous hand plucking a quarter moon from the earth and placing it in the sky while she raises it to her ear.
"What number?", Jeannie asks in a spoiled voice.
You already know who to call, "588-7523".
A grand finger lowers from the heavens, depressing square buttons as large as your head with relative ease. Once the correct sequence is dialed, Jeannie sets the overgrown banana in front of you with the speakers conveniently facing your direction. The phone rings, and Jeannie sits looming on the nearby bed, elbows on knees while she stares at you with a spark of interest. It seems her curiosity has helped her to get over not having her way.
"Hello", a somewhat muffled, yet familiar voice sounds from the top speaker.
Her voice always sounds weird on the phone, but the effect is amplified by your minuscule size. Still, you know you've reached your target. After all, you'd never forget the voice of...
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