In moments the tidy room was a whirlwind of clothes, like the slide-open closet decided to vomit its contents everywhere in front of it. Why the fuck was I fixated on clothes, you might ask? Simple: it's productive. It's something to do that somewhat takes my mind off the fact that I'm probably a motherfucking Sailor Scout now. I'm not just searching for something to wear, though, I'm searching for any kind of hint on where the hell I am and why I'm a tiny little girl. This fucking [i]suuuuuuuucked[/i]. I wasn't that coordinated before, but this was a whole new level. I'm not used to having such a short reach. Or hair that gets in the way. Or not having a dick, that's a big one. Yes, yes that's good. Stop panicking, get fucking [i]pissed[/i]. I can use anger, I can focus on that, fear gets me fucking nowhere. Welcome to the shit show, front row seats. Outside of more shoes than I thought I'd ever need to deal with and lots of frill lacy things, I don't find a lot. Clothes mostly, some luggage, a hot plate. There's a schoolgirl outfit in there, a couple actually, what the hell else were striped skirts and long-sleeve button-ups for? But it looked a size too small even for this little girl. Was it supposed to be like that? No way in hell I'm wearing a skirt, fuck that noise. That limited my options, though, and they were already pretty goddamn limited. Short skirts, slightly longer short skirts, short shorts... Fuck yeah! Track suit, I can work with this! I don't know who makes a fucking tracksuit white outside of a music video, but I don't really care. I'm about to set it aside when I hear yelling. It's like barracks yelling. And that's not fucking good, not here it's not.

I freeze at first, and then I hear more coming from down the hallway. So my heart starts going turbo on me. I slink up toward the side of the door and lean in, trying to listen. There's conversation, mostly worried. Fuck, do they know I'm here? I need to be quiet, [i]real[/i] quiet. Time seems to slow down as I hear movement. My breathing has slowed too, and I'm not moving. Still as a statue. If I shift my weight any someone might hear scuffs on the carpet. What then? They'd try to get in, could they get in? Do I lock the door fuck is the door even locked...!? Too late to check, don't move. The blood rushing into my ears makes it hard to hear and I can't stop trembling. If it's not locked, they'll get in. Weigh your options. If they slowly open the door and peer in, they'll see you so slam the door on their head then out the window if you have to. If they rush in and turn left toward you, step forward leg behind one hand on the throat and sweep. [sub]Shit I'm fucking tiny that might not work[/sub] Alright, alright, if they barge straight in stomp on their calf, figure four variation. Fuck man, shoulda grabbed some glass or fucking [i]something[/i]. Okay, if they come more than... thre-four! Four steps in you run for it. Doesn't matter if you're barefoot, doesn't matter where you're going, if they catch you you're fucking [i]hosed[/i] because you're a tiny little girl. This is Hell, isn't it? Oh shit this better not be what I think it's gonna be. Seconds turn into minutes, and I swear it feels like half an hour's gone by but I haven't been standing here long. Shaking, I can't quit shaking. Fuck fuck fuck what do I dooo? Quiet, just keep quiet. They probably won't hear you, then you can slip by later.