dontrunmicro

[dontrunmicro]

Minific: Tiny Purchase

It’s all I’ve been thinking about since I placed my order a couple of days ago. It’s all I’ve been thinking about since this morning too, from the moment I received the delivery notification on my phone. In truth, I haven’t been allowed to forget.

After clicking buy, I’ve been bombarded with relevant content: “How to Enjoy Your Tiny to the Fullest” videos, targeted ads on every site I visit. Cages, kinky dollhouses, tiny tools, and the like. I’m sure I’ll be tempted to purchase a thing or two eventually, but for now, I’ll make do with household items. All I need is a vivid imagination and a bit of resourcefulness.

I step off the bus and into the hub. My parcel is waiting in one of the larger smart lockers. The moment I type in the four-digit code, the door pops open, revealing the carton box inside, plastered with FRAGILE stickers. At least none of them cover the ventilation holes punctured along the sides.

He was thirty percent off, but still top-notch. Two hundred bucks for a six-inch male tiny. Blue eyes, purple hair and my initials tattooed inside his little arm free of charge. The latest genetic modification trend makes for some truly eye-catching combos. I resist the urge to shake the box, to feel the weight shift inside, to listen for the reaction. Instead, I flip the parcel’s handles open. Hey, nice packaging too. As I step away, motion-sensitive ads flash across the hub’s surfaces, adjusting in real-time to what I’m holding and get fresh ads for hot, sexy, vulnerable little things. So, there we have it. I’ve bought into the craze.

And now, straight home with my new property in hand.

I don’t open the package right away. Instead, I heat some noodles, letting the scent curl lazily through the room as I eye my purchase sitting on the desk. The lights outside flicker like a million fireflies, indifferent to me. My window is just one of many in this endless hive of living spaces, but I feel no need to shut the blinds. We’re alone, him and me, in this private little world, even with my window wide open. 

I’ve been told I can do whatever I want with him. He’s mine.

Also that he’s a thing. ‘It’.  

The thought lingers as I finally reach for the box, pressing my fingers against the cardboard’s edges. A pause. Then, with a deliberate motion, I peel back the seal.

The lid lifts an inch before something inside shifts quickly, nervously. A soft sound, almost imperceptible, like a caught breath. He’s tiny, afraid. Hungry.

I smile.

“Welcome home.”

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