SIZE MATTERS

Liam slid three quarters into the vending machine and weighed his options. He didn’t even curse. He simply grunted—a caveman noise conveying his primal dissatisfaction with the immediate turn of events. Or at least that’s how it registered to his ears. However, having shrunk to a fraction of his normal size, the sound he emitted was more like a gruff squeak. If he’d had any other way to evade his pursuer, he would’ve taken it. But desperate times called for tiny measures.

When he’d skidded around the corner on the slick tile floor, he’d spotted the vending machine halfway down the barren hall and knew it would be his best chance of getting out of this mess with his skin intact. Sprinting toward the metal and glass box of salvation, Liam lifted the small, plastic door that allowed people to extract their purchased treats and shoved his arm in up to the shoulder.

Calling on his ability to shrink to a four-inch version of himself, he condensed his size in record time. Unfortunately, the laws of physics followed and the formerly lightweight plastic became a heavy vise, holding his dangling body in place by his pinched upper arm. He swung a leg up on the lip of the opening and use the weight of his diminutive body to slide his torso into the snack dispensing area. But, with the bulk of his weight through, the plastic clamped down on his remaining thigh and arm, leaving two thrashing appendages hanging conspicuously out of the machine.

Slightly hysterical, Liam giggled to himself as the potential headline for the morning news flashed through his mind: Man Found Crushed to Death in Vending Machine. His mind strayed further to consider what would kill him first—his pursuer, a giant candy bar, the machine (once his body returned to its normal six-foot frame), or simply the embarrassment of it all. Regrettably, Liam had to maintain a small amount of concentration to retain his tiny stature—a sort of mental multitasking that occurred in the background. Needless to say, his fragmented, morbid thoughts were not helping.

Refocusing himself, Liam considered his alternatives. He had only moments before the vending machine changed from the perfect hiding place to a death trap. At least the idiot gunning for him didn’t know about his ability. Gritting his teeth and keeping his focus, he put his inside palm and foot against the metal and pulled with all his strength. It hurt like hell and took precious seconds, but he slowly extracted his arm and leg from the grip of the plastic door and sharp metal lip.

With no time to spare, he dove into the recesses of the dispensing area. The now cacophonous dog bark rattled his bones. A snout and very sharp canines deftly pushed up the vending door and reached much further back into the space than he would have thought possible. Fortunately, it wasn’t far enough, though the intense growling and slavering was a little unnerving. Keep it together, buddy. The next few minutes are everything.

Liam jumped, grabbed hold of the first shelf of snacks, and levered himself up. Fortunately, the shelf was full while still offering some vacant spaces to hide. Donuts...candy...candy bars…microwave popcorn! Perfect! Just calm down, do your best impression of a bag of potato chips, and it will all be over soon.

Liam positioned himself behind a plastic-wrapped envelope of microwave popcorn and held perfectly still. The almost-rabid dog was still trying to chew her way into the vending machine when her owner finally caught up. Breathing heavily, the douche-crease who went by Bobby the Butcher leaned against the vending machine and took several gasping breaths. He looked down the long hallway in both directions, frantically searching for any sign of his prey. Realizing the trail was cold, he lashed out at his fanged and furry friend/weapon.

“You stupid mutt! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

Bobby grabbed the dog by her collar and jerked her head out of the vending machine.

“Sit!”

The dog obediently sat. She stared with laser-focus at the vending machine while Bobby paced back and forth, rage pouring off him in waves.

Liam silently offered thanks to the metal sky above him that Bobby wasn’t smart enough to question why his trained hound would behave in such a manner. Far too strong for his limited intelligence, Bobby turned and rocked the vending machine with all 250 pounds of his angry Irish frame. The machine tipped forward onto two feet, seeming to Liam to hover for an eternity, though it was only a fraction of a second. The canine deftly maneuvered out of the way. But Bobby, poor Bobby, was a step too slow to avoid impending doom. Liam, holding on for dear life, could only watch as his tall, protective building of goodies crashed forward with a loud boom and a sickening crunch.

Delicious snacks, now covered with not-so-delicious bits of Bobby, tumbled haphazardly to the ground in an oversized rain of sugar and salt. Once the deluge trickled to a stop, Liam carefully let go of the metal spiral he had desperately clung to so he wouldn’t get crushed under the avalanche of munchies. The snacks were piled so high he simply stepped down onto the peak and skidded down the plastic and foil wrappers until he was safely on the tile floor.

He peeked out from under the vending machine just in time to witness the thoroughly rattled dog bolt for freedom. Evidently, seeing your owner pulverized by 700 pounds of vending machine, a lifetime of unchecked anger issues, and at least 20,000 calories was enough to scare off the most hardened pursuer.

Liam slowly extricated himself from the wreckage, dodging waist high blobs of fleshy bits and pooling blood. Once he was in the open, he returned to his full height and weight.

“And they say size doesn’t matter,” he muttered to himself, brushing off the last clinging shards of glass and debris.

He leaned down, picked up a candy bar that was covered only in glass and not any gooey matter, and brushed off the wrapper. Taking a long look at what was left of Bobby, Liam released a heavy sigh, ran his fingers through his hair to tame the disheveled mane, rolled his shoulders back, and schooled his face into a bored expression.

Always needing to have the last word, Liam tipped his candy bar toward Bobby, and sarcastically advised his deceased pursuer, “Waste not, want not.”

He peeled the wrapper back and took a chocolate and nougat-filled bite as he headed for the nearest exit. Time to figure out who Bobby was working for and who had ratted him out. It was going to be a busy day.