Gt one shots

Circus pet (pt1)

My name is Asher, but around here, they call me Boo Boo. I guess it's supposed to be cute, like a pet name or something, but it just adds insult to injury. You see, I'm about three inches tall, which apparently makes me a prime attraction in this world of giants.

I've spent my entire life in this circus, paraded around like some kind of freak show. People come from all over just to gawk at me, to see the little guy do his tricks. But let me tell you, I'm absolutely sick of it.

The first time they discovered me, I was just a kid, wandering too far from my family. Next thing I know, I'm in the clutches of these towering behemoths, being paraded around like some exotic animal. And for what? Because I'm different? Because I'm small?

Sure, at first it was fascinating. The attention, the novelty of it all. But now? Now I'm sick of it. Sick of being their little plaything, sick of being told what to do, sick of being called Boo Boo like it's some endearing nickname. It's degrading.

It's not easy being this small in a world where everything and everyone towers over you. The constant attention, the constant scrutiny it's suffocating. And all because of my size.

Sure, the humans are rare, and I'm even rarer because I'm willing to talk and interact with the giants. But what choice do I have? Leave? Ha! Where would I go? How would I survive?

I'm tired of being forced to perform, to entertain these giants who see me as nothing more than a novelty. I'm tired of being called Boo Boo, like I'm some kind of pet. I have dreams, desires, just like anyone else. But here I am, trapped in this never ending cycle of captivity.

Sometimes I wonder what life would be like outside these walls, outside the confines of the circus. Would I be free? Would I finally be able to live on my own terms? Or would I just be trading one form of captivity for another?

Every day, I muster up all the hostility I can, hoping it'll be enough to make those big freaks finally sick of me. I throw tantrums, I refuse to perform, I even go as far as to insult them, hoping they'll see me as something more than just a novelty. I'd do anything to just show them I'm not just some cute little thing for their amusement. But it always backfires.

Instead of seeing me as a rebel, they just coo and chuckle, finding it adorable that I'm having a hissy fit. It's infuriating. No matter how hard I try to assert myself, they just see it as part of the act, as if my frustration is just another endearing little quirk.

And then comes the inevitable consequence. I get "dealt with" later, as they say. Punishments range from being locked in a tiny cage for hours on end to being deprived of food or water. They always find a way to remind me who's in control, and it definitely wasn't me.

As another day dawned, the bustle of people flooded the carnival grounds, each person eager to catch a glimpse of the many attractions, including myself.

Last night, Mr. Crawford, the ringmaster, was particularly harsh on me. His words and actions left me feeling worse than ever before. I barely had the strength to sit up, let alone muster any kind of interaction with the passersby, whether it be good or bad.

So, I lay curled up in the corner of my enclosure, trying to block out the noise and the stares. But it seemed like nothing could deter the relentless crowd. Children, in particular, had a knack for tapping and banging on the walls of my enclosure, creating an insufferable reverberating sound. Today, with me not entertaining them as usual, they seemed even more determined to get my attention or "wake me up," as if I couldn't already notice their annoying presence.

The noise continued unabated, accompanied by the incessant complaints from the crowd. I tried my best to ignore it all, counting down the minutes until the end of the day when I could finally have some peace. But then something changed.