TINY TINY TINY L A R G E

Not

John turned on the shower and basked in the hot water that drenched his skin. He wet his hair and began to lather it with shampoo. Then, letting it sit, he washed himself with the hotel hand soap. Frustratingly, nobody ever seemed to remember bringing body soap.

While washing his feet, John started to feel light headed. Frazzled, he turned down the heat of the water, thinking that was the problem.

He then lifted his arms to wash off the soap from his head. Mid-motion, John felt an unsettling pinch in his chest. His body began to tremble and his skin grew cold. John stumbled back, swearing. 

"Ooh God..." He fell against the shower wall. The temples on his head pounded as if they had been punctured, and his teeth and bones ached.

John wept.

And the pain only worsened. John's shoulders felt like they were collapsing in on themselves and his feet and knees were numbing. John slapped the floor and bit his lip. It tasted cold. He was so cold. His vision went blurry before fading into black.

~~

George grunted as he woke. He stretched in the bed and turned over to check the clock. It read 4:37 AM. Too early,  he should probably have went back to sleep. And he would have drifted off if he hadn't heard the shower still running.  

George rolled to face the bathroom and scrunched his face. Why is John still in the shower? He thought, annoyed, turning around to check if John was in the bed next to him.

He was not.

George got up and knocked on the bathroom door.

"John you in there...?" There was no reply. George knocked again. "John? You alright?" Still, no one answered. Maybe he had slipped and fell? Hit his head on something? There was no lock on the door, and George made haste to check on his friend.

No one was in the shower, and better yet, no one was dead on the floor. George slid back the curtains and shut off the water with a huff.

"Wasteful," he muttered. He tripped over a mound of fabric, grimacing to find that John didn't even put away his dirty clothes—George wasn't going to do that for him. As he looked around he spotted the bathroom mirror, and at that moment remembered his wish at the fair. He gave himself a good look over. 

Nothing. 

Nothing had changed. 

That was no surprise; it shouldn't have been. He was just as much regular old 177cm George as he was before, and, if anything, was satisfied. George managed a smile to his reflection. I'm just fine, aren't I? Ain't no midget anymore.

George went back to the bedroom, flicking off the lights and snuggling back into bed. He was too tired search the hotel—or even just the room—for John. He was in all probability going at it in some girl's bedroom.

The alarm blared beside George's bed, arousing him. George was one to sleep in, but he knew it'd be wise to get up.

9:00 AM. John still wasn't in bed, but that didn't bother George. He got up, made the bed, dressed and left to meet with the others.

No one was on the main room, which is strange as George was almost always the last to get up. The four of them would wait until everyone was ready to go grab breakfast.

"Did they ditch me?" George puffed. He made his way to the other bedroom to see if there was anyone there; the room was empty.

"The blokes have left me!" Being left out was no new occurrence to George, but it frustrated him. He sighed, closed the door, going down to the breakfast cafe on his own...