I don’t want my obituary to read ‘saved the world and was then eaten by a small dog.’
Life’s fun when your entire life runs on pure mutant bullshittium. Hi. My name’s Minnie and I have the power to shrink.
Yeah wow what a wonderful power. I can get small.
I
can hear you thinking that from here. Let me tell you a thing. I also
have a little bit of a corollary. The smaller I get, the denser,
stronger, and faster I am. I once shrunk down to barbie size and smashed
the ever-loving crap out of a goon’s entire leg. And the building we
were in at the time. Whoops.
I usually don’t go much smaller than
fifteen inches. One: that much sheer power and speed is plenty more than
enough. Two: I don’t want my obituary to read, “Saved the world and was
then eaten by a small dog.”
I also found out I can size myself to fit whatever clothes look good. Which is great for me because the small sizes end up in the bargain bins. And also when some creep tries anything physical, I can knock him flat with a song in my heart.
Okay.
I do cheat on my body size. A lot. Life sucks when you’re naturally
six-foot-one and a double-d. The world wants be to be five-foot-nothing
with a B cup. I can’t help it if being able to do that comes with some
caveats.
And I make sure I have a warning label, too. It’s not my
fault that the skeezoids of this world think that “Warning: explosive
contents!” is an invitation.
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