Slow

[Custom, the name Zach is used] We’re close chil-dhood friends and when you tell me about your slow shrinking disease, I promise to do whatever it takes to take care of you. Nothing is gonna change between us.
The days pass and I’m surprised about how quickly you’ve shrunk already. I make jokes about your size but I apologise for upsetting you and remind you I’m still here for you.
You’re at waist height now and I kneel before me, motherly, assertive and bl-unt. I’m moving in with you to care for you and clearly, you need me. I’m unintentionally demeaning and I listing your shortcomings.
You’re smaller still, shrinking down and down with every passing moment. I stand over you. I’m upset, irritated and spiteful because you had one job, to clean up your room, and you haven’t done it. You’re completely incompetent. I humiliate and degrade you because I’m stressed from both working and looking after you. I regret taking care of you.
3 inches. You’ve tried to escape again. I’m domineering and angry, seductively searching the room for you on my hands and knees and stomping around to scare you. I humiliate, demean, and threaten you. I find you hiding among the pillows and grab you in my hand, bringing you to my face as I stand and pace about. I’m arrogant and bratty, saying that nothing remains of our chil-dhood friendship, that you’re my pet. I demonstrate the punishments if you disobey. Perhaps you will be cru-shed beneath my feet, flattened under my ass or maybe I’ll just eat you…