Giantess Stories: JUST BIG ENOUGH TO CARE by Poco     Chapter 1   In the late 1990

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JUST BIG ENOUGH TO CARE

by Poco

Chapter 1

In the late 1990's, certain technologies advanced at a rate that would have made

a graphic depiction zoom almost straight up, off the scale. And no one really

wanted to see the scale. Depending on your perspective, computers were quite

workable for most purposes in the late 1970's. Then they doubled in power and

speed 4 years later, then again 2 years later, and today the "double a penny

every day and be a millionaire in a month" game applies to the little box on the

desktop, or the palm of one's hand.

How much computer? Well, the one that overloaded on the Lunar Module, causing

Neil Armstrong to have to hand-fly the beast the last few hundred feet down to

the Sea of Tranquility, had less power than today's pocket organizer. And that

was cutting-edge science in 1969, using components that wouldn't even be

mainstreamed for most of a decade after that. Don't even look at the graph.

You'd only be confused...

Daria Morris was never confused, at least not by simple science. Although

relatively unknown, in her own way she outshone the "Ellie Arroway" character

portrayed by Jodie Foster in "Contact," a screenplay adapted from the novel by

the late Carl Sagan and his wife. Daria loved that movie, had it on DVD, and

wished she could accomplish something so dramatic. She had the education, she

had the knowledge, she had the talent for things few men could even comprehend.

Daria Morris was a brilliant person, a wonderful person, a charming person, a

person you would be proud to call a friend. A person you would brag about

knowing.

Something always stood in the way.

She was a "little person."

They used to be called "dwarfs" or "midgets" or other things even less

complimentary. Last century, any adult less than 4 feet tall could be a "Barnum-esque"

side-show attraction, but, like General Tom Thumb, could aspire to little else.

Daria measured exactly 31 inches.

Ironically, at twice her height, she'd have been considered a "babe." Daria was

perfectly proportioned, even her head, which bore a captivating face complete

with deep brown eyes. She was living proof that brain mass has little to do with

brain capacity.

She hated her life.

It didn't matter how intelligent you were, or how captivating you were. You were

the size of a baby just learning to walk, and that's how full-grown people

treated you.

"Aren't you just the cutest little thing?"

"Climb up into my lap, little lady!"

"Whoops! I almost stepped on you! "

"Want something big to fill you up? Got it right here!"

The huge insults from huge idiots swirled in Daria's thoughts constantly, even

when she wasn't subjected to them. More than once her ribs hurt from being

grabbed and tossed into the air. The "bigs" weren't deliberately trying to be

cruel, but if they only knew.......

One gorgon-male named Dick (how appropriate) fancied himself a chess-player.

"I'll take you on any time, little lady. You can be the White Queen."

On the Internet, where no one can see your laughable size, Daria had acquired

the rank of International Grand Master three years before. She politely declined

his offer, and, even more politely, said nothing about his lack of deoderant.

Daria did use the Internet, though, in her ongoing search to find her

intellectual equal. That search was an ongoing frustration, as the chat rooms

and newsgroups were filled with people who, while they might have been mature

enough in person, became adolescent jerks when their faces and names were

removed.

In the meantime, she wrote cheesy romance novels. This she did mostly for money

-- it was hardly an intellectual challenge. It paid her bills and slowly filled

her savings account. (What was she going to spend money on? Nights on the town?

Dancing? Yeah, right.)

Daria had a car, heavily modified to allow her to drive it. It wasn't driven

much. Her groceries were delivered, ordered and billed online. It was probable

even her literary agent and publisher didn't know that this writer of tall,

strong heroines needed a step-ladder to get into bed.

All of Daria's fictional heroines were tall and strong. Living vicariously

through the likes of Allison Camden in "Last Train From Paris," or Tamara

Mitchell in "The Princess Pretender" tended to ease the boredom and lonliness a

little, and make the fact that she was getting paid to write this stuff a little

less, well, silly.

"Lonliness" was an operative word, impossible to ignore in quiet, private

moments. Daria was beautiful, and knew it. She was a Mensa-category genius, and

knew it. But she had been betrayed by some Higher Power. Again and again, the

thought of her lot came crashing through, usually in Faulkner

stream-of-consciousness.

"Why me? I'm a good person; I have so much to offer the world, but I'm a joke!

Never taken seriously...never appreciated for who I am...no one to love me...no

one to care...I could love...no one will let me...it's not fair...isn't there

someone for me...somewhere...?" Right about then, the tears would start to flow.

Daria had a fair amount of self-esteem, so it was all the more frustrating when

her mind suddenly threw these little "pity-parties" for herself. Intellectually,

she knew she was above this sort of thing. Physically, she was below just about

everything. Emotionally, she still had the need of a child her size to be held

and told that everything would be all right.

"Shake it off, Daria. Write something. Become 'Katherine, Mistress of

International Intrigue,' or some such tripe."

"Oh, the hell with it. Have a drink."

A shot glass was the size of an old-fashioned when Daria's tiny, perfect hand

held it. Stoli rocks was her drink; two shots was enough to send her flying.

Today, she had three.

Nobody knows, da trubble I seen...

Nobody knows my sorrow...

Daria laughed at herself, at the incongruity of trying to sing a spiritual in a

voice more reminiscent of "Alvin and the Chipmunks."

"You're a drunk little lady, you know that Daria! Ha ha ha ha! Where's the great

big pillow on the great big living room floor? Ker-plunk! Ha ha ha ha ha! Now

what was that song Grandpa used to sing?"

Mairzy doats

And dozey doats

And little lamsey-divey!

A kiddley-divey too,

Wouldn't you?

The big, soft cushion on the floor was home for the night.

Phrases that describe Daria now include: terrifyingly intelligent, stunningly

beautiful, fascinatingly tiny, painfully lonely, and TOTALLY SWACKO.

chapter 2

Little Daria had a big girl's headache when she awoke 9 hours later. The sun had

risen, but she was still struggling to follow its example. Luckily, the

coffee-maker was also on "automatic."

A cup and a shower later, her head was almost clear. The e-mail indicator was

flashing on her computer. Probably something from the publisher.

Hardly that.

03:47 gmt

TO: [email protected] wishingwell.com

FROM: [email protected]

RE: Please, let's talk

MESSAGE: Daria, we share much common ground. Will you write me back? Please?

Jerry

Daria read the message in 2 seconds, but stared at it for several minutes. She

knew no Jerry or Jatwell. What could he want? What was he selling? Probably a

variation on the pop-up ads that were now more numerous than ants at a picnic.

14:01 gmt

TO: [email protected]

FROM: [email protected]

RE: Response

MESSAGE: Who are you, and why are you contacting me? I'm busy. Do you want to

buy some books? The stores are full of them. I do not attend book-signings.

Don't waste my time again.

Jerry wouldn't give up that easily. Further e-mails were more insistent. An

abbreviated sample:

Jatwell: I'm shrinking!

Dmorris: This is getting ridiculous

Jatwell: Not kidding! Was 6'2" a month ago, now 5'4" and diminishing!

Dmorris: Even if true, why are you telling me this?

Jatwell: Because we don't live very far apart. A friend of a friend told me

about you, your situation and how smart you are. I thought you might understand.

Daria, I'm scared!

Dmorris: Be easy, Jerry. I'll talk to you, but I have no idea what to do for

you.

Jatwell: Please, Daria, may I visit you? Please?

Dmorris: I'll have to think about this.

Daria did think about it. Possibilities turned over in her mind, including: He's

a kook, he's a huckster, he's a tabloid writer/photographer looking for a scoop,

he's trying to saisfy a bizarre sexual fantasy, he's a criminal looking for an Como hacer Gelatina en Thermomix

easy mark, he's telling the truth.

The last possibility moved from the rear to the forefront over the next 72

hours. In the same 72 hours, her computer's mailbox was bulging with messages

she had not responded to.

Jatwell: Daria, what can I say to convince you? PLEASE ANSWER!

Jatwell: Had to buy smaller clothes, plus boys' clothes that I'll probably be

wearing very soon. Please talk to me!

Jatwell: Had to put a phone-book on the chair to reach the keyboard. Daria, I'm

not lying to you!

Jatwell: The shrinking process is accelerating. I won't be able to drive a car

much longer. I'm scared to be alone! Daria? Oh, please answer, Daria! I've

nowhere else to turn...

Jatwell: I'll give you anything I have! All my money, all my possessions,

anything! Talk to me, Daria. I'm begging. I'm begging.

Jerry was either a talented con-artist or was truly in a desperate state of

panic. But which? Daria was not insensitive to his supposed suffering, but she

was also human enough to have a petty thought or two.

"Well, well! One of the bigs isn't so big anymore. How does it feel to have a

level of human dignity based on something as shallow as physical size, then have

it stripped from you, a little at a time? Some of us NEVER had what you had, and

maybe we're a trifle bitter about it. Can you blame us? We're people too, you

know. There's as much joy, and sadness, and fear and frustration in us as there

is in you. They laugh at us. We don't deserve it! We just want to be accepted!

Stop laughing at me! Damn it! Damn all of you!!"

Daria took measures to calm herself, then re-examined the situation. An hour

later, she had made a decision.

0115 gmt

TO: [email protected]

FROM: [email protected]

RE: Your request

MESSAGE: I'm still not sure about this, but if you must visit me, I live at 3725

Wallingford. You should know that I have a gun, and will use it at the slightest

provocation.

The "gun" was real. An antique 2-shot .22 Derringer, capable of ruining a

Chihuhua's day, but little else. It was the only pistol Daria didn't need both

hands to lift.

It's hard to glean emotions from an e-mail, but the one Daria received minutes

later seemed to have an air of relief about it. "Thank you, Daria!" it said. "As

fast as I can make it there!"

There were few knocks at Daria's door, but there were enough for her to know

that this one originated a full foot lower than most of the rest. She took a

deep breath, double-checked the tiny firearm in her right hip pocket, then threw

the bolt and turned the knob.

Maybe she hadn't been lied to. Jerry was standing there on the stoop, and Daria

was pleased to see she finally reached a man's chest, instead of his crotch.

Jerry was well-dressed, except that his clothes were far too loose on him, even

for a little man. Daria could see that he was also well-built, muscular, no

perceptible fat, with a pleasant face topped by sandy-blond hair. The face

maintained a smile, but his blue eyes (blue in this lighting, at least) were

showing a combination of hopefulness and anxiety.

"Miss Morris?"

"It's Daria. Jerry?"

"Yes ma....I mean yes, Daria. May I come in?"

The small "big" seemed so apprehensive that Daria relaxed a little. "Yes, come

in. How about a drink?"

"Whatever you're having will be fine."

Daria decided that a little more Stoli would not be out of place, given the

moment. She served them both, in the appropriate glassware. Then she climbed

into a special chair that let her see eye-to-eye with her rare, full-size

visitors. She found herself actually looking down at Jerry. He was anxious, as

if he feared she would throw him out at any moment.

"Have a gulp, Jerry. There's more where that came from." She waited a moment.

"Feeling better?"

Jerry was at least feeling calmer. He wasn't much of a drinker, but these days

he was willing to learn. "Daria, please believe me. I'm not lying to you. I AM

shrinking!"

Daria's doubts were fading. "Do you know how, or why?"

"No, I don't! Six weeks ago, I was in a nightclub, having a great time. I like

to dance. I felt strange on the way home, and the process, this, started the

next day, slowly at first, but much faster now. Daria, they say you're very

smart, like a genius or something. Is there anything you can tell me, anything

you can do?

Daria the genius was at a loss. "Have you seen a doctor?"

"Hell, no! Ever see that "shrinking man" movie from the '50's on TV? He was

poked and prodded, and treated as a sideshow attraction until they thought the

cat ate him. This is bad enough, without all that. Daria, I just thought that,

even if you couldn't help me, you'd be the one person who'd understand."

"Because I'm smart, or because I'm tiny?"

Jerry was embarrassed, but at least he was honest. "Both, I suppose. Oh Jeez,

it's happening again!"

Jerry had shrunk a full inch during their short conversation. It was visible,

even to Daria. His voice had that desperate quality again. "Daria? May I stay

here, please? I'll sleep on the couch. I've got some smaller clothes in the car.

Please, Daria, don't send me away now!"

There were no more doubts left in Daria's mind. Her earlier angry thoughts

changed to sympathetic ones. She did understand.

"I won't send you away. Get your things. You can bed down here. "

Daria slept late that morning. So did Jerry. Curled in a fetal position on the

couch, he looked even smaller than he really was. The real shock came when she

awakened him and he stood up. He was barely a head taller than Daria, making him

roughly 3 foot 6.

Jerry panicked, and started sobbing. "Stop it!! Stop it!! Oh, God oh God, why is

this happening?" He cluched Daria, holding her tightly, afraid to let go.

Once she was disentangled, Daria managed to make some coffee and microwave a few

waffles. Jerry wasn't hungry, but Daria's orders had taken on new meaning.

"EAT!"

She kept him supplied with water, assuming that dehydration on top of all of

this couldn't be a good thing. He sipped, and they talked, for most of the day.

By 3 pm, the smallest clothes Jerry had brought no longer fit.

By 7 pm, he and Daria were the same size.

Jerry broke down again, crying his much smaller eyes out for a full 15 minutes.

Regaining some of his composure, he said "Daria, thank goodness I'm here with

you. It won't stop! Please don't leave me!

"I won't leave you, Jerry. Never. Come down here with me."

"Huh?"

"Don't talk. C'mon."

His loose clothing literally fell off. She took him by a hand that now swallowed

his, and led him to the comfy cushion on the floor. Again, and again, and again.

Fantastic.

Daria found some Ken clothes from her Barbie collection for Jerry to wear the

next morning. By the afternoon, those, too, were ridiculous.

Daria could now hold her new friend in one hand. "There's nothing left for you

to wear, Jerry, unless you'd like a handkerchief or something."

By now, Jerry had resigned himself to it all. "It doesn't matter, Daria. Please,

just hold me, keep me warm and safe. It won't be much longer now."

Daria knew that, too. She closed her fingers gently around her now palm-sized

boyfriend. "If I had known what was coming, I'd have gotten a better manicure!"

Her fingernails were fine. Jerry's voice and face told her so while they were

still big enough to hear and see. He lay in the hollow of her hand now, unclad,

but still smiling. Daria brought the inch-tall figure to her ear to listen to

his last.

"Daria, I'm not frightened anymore. Honest I'm not. It doesn't hurt, and I've

made a new friend, and I think I made her happy, at least once. You're

wonderful, Daria. Keep writing those stories, and don't let anyone get you down!

He shouted the last words, to be heard. When Daria lowered her hand to her eyes,

all she could see was something barely recognizable as a human form, about the

size of a grain of rice. She reached the nail of her left index finger into her

right palm, scooping up the little dot. She brought it as close to her eye as

she could focus, watching it shrink to the size of a grain of sand, then

disappear altogether.

Daria sat in silence for a long time. Then she got up and put on some water for

a cup of tea. She thought about writing another story, this time one about a

small woman who overcame obstacles. She'd have to e-mail her agent about this.

Poco

Giantess Stories: JUST BIG ENOUGH TO CARE by Poco     Chapter 1   In the late 1990

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