Miniature

Chapter One

"Hannah, where are you? Rick and I need to go!"

I sighed, looking at the Miniature in my cupped hands. He belongs to my best friend, Sophie McDonald. Coincidentally, her father owns a large chain of McDonald's restaurants, which is how he was able to afford her pet Miniature.

I should probably explain that. You see, about forty years ago, in 2017, a scientist created a race of five-inch-tall humanoids, which he dubbed Miniatures. At first, there were only a few. But they multiplied rapidly, and soon there were many. So the government created the Center for Miniature Control and Management - the CMCM, or CM squared.

I want a Miniature, but my father is against it. So I have to resort to playing with Sophie's. Sophie's Miniature was originally labeled 77098, but when she showed him to me, the first thing I said was, "He looks like a Rick."

I've taken it upon myself to teach Rick to speak. He's a Miniature Advanced, which means he has vocal cords. So far he can count to ten, tell shapes and colors apart, do basic addition and spelling, and recite the alphabet. The first thing I taught him to say was, "My name is Rick McDonald. My Normal is Sophie McDonald, 4450 Ashtree Lane, 443-227-1099."

All this info is written on the back of his shirts, but I thought it would be a good thing to know. And now he actually knows what it means.

"Hannah! It's gonna start raining, I really have to go!"

I grin at Rick, rubbing his head with my thumb. "Ready to go back to Sophie?"

"Want to s-stay with you," Rick squeaks. I just laugh and continue to run his head. Sophie comes in, her clear, plastic, hooded rain poncho already on. She's holding a small cage with the door open.

"Rick. Come," she commands.

"It's alright, I got him," I say, gently tipping my hands so that Rick slides into his Porta-Cage. Sophie latches the door and Rick settles himself calmly and obediently in a small circular depression in the middle, meant for the Miniatures to sit in.

I pull on my dad's too-big yellow rain jacket, sliding the hood up. I wave to Rick, and he waves back, a smile lighting up his tiny face.

It's raining hard by the time I exit the school, clouds hanging heavy and low in the leaden sky. I shrug my jacket up higher on my head, glad that it's so big. It keeps the rain out of my eyes.

I walk along the sidewalk. Most kids take a bus, or catch a car ride. Luckily for me, I live a mere three and a half blocks from Finnwater High School. So my father, who's a huge environmentalist, makes me walk to school. I'd bike, but my mother is a safety freak.

Nothing really happens here in Finnwater, Pennsylvania. It's ringed by mountains, securely landlocked and just a safe place overall.

I splash through the water collecting along the side of the road, noticing the reflections of the headlights of the cars on the slick pavement.

I look down at the flood of water, and gasp. A Miniature is wading through the water, which is waist high on him. As I watch, he trips and falls, the current sucking him towards a storm drain.

I fish him out before he slips through the grate. He stands in my palm and glares defiantly at me.

"How am I supposed to run away from Normals if all it takes is a little rain to drown me?" he mutters. I'm surprised by his voice. It isn't high and squeaky, like most male Miniatures' voices are - like Rick's is. It's an even tone. It's a...Normal tone.

I check his wet shirt, pausing to wipe the rain off my blue-rimmed glasses.

Name: Justin Evans
Gender: Male
Code: 74560
Status: UnNormal

I gasp, studying the Miniature in my cupped hands. Some of the Miniatures were given human brains, a human capacity to reason and understand, to learn and to think. They were identified by having 745 as the first three digits of their five-digit identification code.

"Well, I'm NOT leavin' you out here in the rain," I say defiantly.

My parents moved here from Scotland when I was seven. I'm fourteen now, but my Scottish accent is still clear in my speech.

"Well, my name is Justin Evans." He holds out a tiny hand for me to shake.

"Hannah Peterson," I say, pointing the tip of my finger at him. He shakes it, and I'm surprised at the firmness of his grip.
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Next update: Thursday or sooner!
Peace out. See y'all on the other side of Crazytown.

~Mollie xxxx