This choice: It flashes, beeps, and then smokes for a moment • Go Back...Chapter #4Shrink Potion No.9? by: Sage   Its doesn't take long for the little bit of smoke to clear, and touching the device you find that its not even hot, yet was that really what it was supposed to do? Would you now be taken back to this point in time when you died? The answers to these questions are really playing at your mind when you suddenly jump back, tossing the Tag onto a chair as the bell rings. Tiffany has arrived at your home, and that means its time to see if any of this is real.
You're still not completely sure that this isn't one of those damned able hidden camera programs where the person is fooled into thinking all this stuff is going to happen to them, and then at the last instant you find out that you've been completely humiliated on national if not international Television, yet are unable to sue for the emotional duress due to some little bit of the show's contract that allows it to do this to people because they signed another contract on the show, like the one you signed at the MA office. You'd read it throughly, but lawyers are sneaky, and the thing, while only a page long, might have had some fine print you missed.
Shaking your head to clear your thoughts you run to the door and open it slowly. The girl behind it is the exact same one you saw walking up the drive, and you're relived that you can't see any obvious cameras or vans. The woman, for the most part, looks to be enjoying herself. As you look her up and down she does the same to you, and after a moment nods in satisfaction. Whatever she had been visually testing you for you had obviously passed.
"Hello Mr. Marshall. I think you know that my name is Tiffany, and I'm one of the companions at Macrophiles Anonymous. I hear you signed up for our service," she says, and you stand stark still staring at her for a moment before opening the door wide and motioning your hand for her to come in.
"That I did Tiffany. And you can call me Steve if I can call you Tiffany," you say as you lead her into your living room. The two of you take a seat side by side on your sofa and you stare at her some more as she pulls off a hip pack you had failed to notice before that contains several objects, including what looks like clothes to fit a very small person, and some black dots that might be clothes too, but are so small you can't really tell.
"Ok Steve, here's how this works. I have with me a bottle of the miniaturization agent and the antidote. When you're ready I'll give you the agent, which has been marked with a yellow stripe. If you want to be about half an inch tall, drink it only to the yellow stripe, and if you want to be about a 16th of an inch, then just chug the whole thing. Now let's see here," she mumbles to herself as she continues to rummage through he bag.
"Here we go," she says triumphantly as she brings out what looks like an old fashioned walkie talkie, handing it to you a moment later.
"What is this?" you ask, poking the thing.
"That is the communicator. I use it to stay in touch with you. See it has two littler walkie talkies on the side, one for the half inch high, the other for the 16th of an inch. You'll carry one with you so that you can tell me of any problems that occur," she told you, continuing to go through the pack.
"Have any problems ever occurred for you doing this?" you ask her a little uneasily as you put the communications device on the coffee table with the rest of the stuff.
"Out of thirty eight times I've done this, only once have I had a problem," she told you, pulling out a beaker of some brownish liquid and handing it to you. You don't have to be told that this is the shrinking agent, it has a yellow stripe about halfway down the beaker.
"What happened?" you ask as you stare at the shrinking potion. It doesn't look particularly appetizing, but then again you're not sure what you expected it to look like.
"I sort of digested him. He was my first you know," she said in an offhand kind of way. So off hand in fact that you find yourself nodding and saying, "Isn't that always the way?" before your mind registered what she said. When it does hit you, it comes like a ton of bricks, maybe two.
"What!?" you shout in both disgust and alarm.
"Well he didn't take his Tag,, which meant that he was the only one I can remember, so even though he was like the tenth time I'd been called to do it, he's the only one I remember. That's kind of how they came up with the name. If everything goes right then only the receptionist at the office knows who you are, and she sees so many people a day she probably wouldn't remember if you were black, white, or purple after an hour," she tells you, in a serious tone.
"Now then, are you going to drink the potion or do you want me to leave?" she asks, and you both stare at the beaker in your hand. Looking at it, your doubts thanks to that little revelation about her one accident with this fade into the background. This is a once in a life time chance, and so you grasp it. Opening the beaker you find the agent smells like terpentine and looks like Indian ink, still you hold your nose and close your eyes, and take a drink, but how big a drink. | Members who added to this interactive story also contributed to these: |
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