“Hello, everyone. Lincoln Loud here,” greeted the white-haired boy, beginning the morning by breaking the fourth wall as he walked down a hall inside a dollhouse.
“You’re probably wondering why I'm so small. Well, that's because I was born a minizora. That means that at a mere three inches tall, I don’t have much chance of getting any bigger, but that’s life. About half of all guys and maybe a tenth of girls are born as minizoras. My dad was lucky enough to be born regular-sized, though. No one’s really sure why this is or how it started, but historical records show there’ve been tiny people for the last three thousand years. So, it’s not like my being born small enough to fit in my mom’s hand was much of a surprise."
“I don't have a regular room, but I live in a unit that resembles a dollhouse specialized for minizoras, complete with all the amenities of a traditional house. While minizoras are considered handicapped by the government, we don’t get any aid because we’re just so common that the house was already pretty minizora-friendly when my parents moved in. That means elevators so I can reach shelves, this nifty lift that lets me use the stairs on my own, and many more cool contraptions all over the house. My life is pretty great, all things considered."
“I’ve got loving parents, ten awesome sisters, and pets that actually don’t want to chew on me. Then there are my clothes, a private TV, a game station, comics, and pretty much all the essentials of life at a miniature size. I even have a private bathroom, though it’s more like a tiny porta-potty that needs to be emptied once a week. Honestly, I’m pretty lucky. Granted, even with all the devices helping me out being so small, I’m pretty dependent on my sisters for a lot of stuff. I’m basically not allowed to go anywhere outside the house unless one of them is carrying me. Worse, because I’m so tiny and cute, most of the time, they insist on carrying me inside their clothes. That can get pretty nasty when one of them has a gas attack. Blegh!. But usually, it’s okay."
“My mom and sisters have really soft, warm bodies, so except for a bad gas attack, I don’t mind being carried around in someone’s bra or even panties. And being a minizora, I’m durable enough that I can take pretty much whatever life throws at me. Whether that’s being accidentally stepped on, falling into acid (which is more than just a Lisa issue), and even my family playing a little rough, if you know what I mean,” Lincoln suggestively explained as if to warn the audience.
“However, I don’t really mind, and it’s not usually a problem. My family does so much for me, and it’s nice that I can give something back. It’s like my household chore. Certainly beats taking out the trash, I can tell you that. I’ve heard stories, and I’m treated a lot nicer by my family than minizoras sometimes are, so I’m not complaining.”
There came a knock at the dollhouse door as a shadow loomed in the windows.
“And it looks like my day is about to get started.” Lincoln casually headed over to the red door, ready to greet the world with a smile on his face, but who was there to greet him?
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