Angry at the argument with his sister, Juble kneels upon his bed and prays. Hands clasped tightly to the bridge of his nose, he thinks as hard as he can: “Please, make me one foot high, that I may escape.”
With supernatural glow the process begins. Painlessly, Juble’s extremities are drawn inwards. Proportions are kept, and clothes and pockets’ contents shrink with him. Within a few minutes a smaller Juble kneels amongst the folds of his blanket.
For a short while he enjoys simply standing up and flopping down onto the soft material around him. Then he climbs and pushes his way over to the window sill. A cheek pressed against the cool glass, a gasp at the new adventures and dangers that await in the garden. Climbing over to the desk, and hour later the small knife in his pocket has transformed a pencil and length of string into a grappling hook.
An improvised pulley system and levers made from writing implements open the window. The grappling hook brings him to the edge, holding tight against an unfamiliarly powerful wind. The smell is more real, the light brighter, the textures scream through his fingers.
Wedging his grappling hook against the window jamb, Juble starts to climb down into the garden. Freedom beckons. He will return, scarred and wiser.