At first, you were rather proud. Your speed, reflexes, and cunning all got you safely out of the door, without being turned into paste by the man of the house. A rather impressive feat, if you do say so yourself.
But, as you sat on the little concrete stoop, shivering in the cold and already soaked from the morning dew, you couldn't help but wonder some things. Why did you come out of the nice warm house? What was your plan to get back to full size? How were you going to get help from out here? You could only conclude that you'd made a terrible mistake.
Your personal gloom-bubble was burst as the door swung open. The teenage girl from before, standing tall as a reasonably sized mountain, stomped out, shouting over her shoulder, "Don't call me that, Jerkwad." Her step swung up, giving a frightening view of her flat's filthy sole. You flinch instinctively, but her foot lands some distance away, and she walks out of sight.
She's followed by her brother, wearing a rather beat up pair of skater shoes, and the door is closed, leaving you alone once more. But, on the bright side, you've come up with a plan. There were two more people you saw, a middle aged women and a young girl. They'd be heading this way, and likely soon. They were your tickets to salvation.
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