Queen Mualla

Sean King

Benjamin Chandler

Emily J

Sam Becker

English

You wake up to find yourself shrunken down to one inch tall. You look up and see your mother towering above you. She bends over and picks you up, holding you in her motherly palm. You are like a bug in her hand but she loves you.

“There you are, ladybug! My sweet little aphid! Now climb into Mama’s pocket where you will be safe.”, she says, too sweetly. “OK, ma, take it down a notch!”, you reply as you nestle into her apron pocket. “I’m not a kid, you know.”

As Mama goes about her daily business, you, riding in her apron pocket, start to see the world through a new lens. Not only do you watch Mama as she toils to clean the house & make dinner for the family, you also learn just how good of a singing voice she has. All day she sings

made up jingles to imaginary products and services. “Come on down to Pumpkin Town, pick your own right off the ground, tall or short, fat and round, get ‘em down at pumpkin town!” Mama sang. Sitting in her apron pocket all morning, you have become famished watching Mama prepare

her famous Western-style scrambled eggs. They were like a Western omelette but Mama had never mastered the art of omelette making. You peer over the edge of her apron pocket and wonder if you could jump over to the table. And what would Mama think if she saw you?

Mama—with her huge arms—sprinkles Old Bay on the anchovies and caramelized onions. The smells are glorious but overwhelm your nostrils. You wait til breakfast’s served then hop out the apron and into a diner’s breast pocket—the closest you’ve gotten to freedom and you savor it.

M’omelette for One

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Rietje Becker

Lisa Veras

You wake up in your room to find that you have been shrunken down to one inch tall. You jump up and run to the edge of your bed. Booming footsteps can be heard approaching, and you look up to see your mother enter the room looking for you. She towers high above your tiny body.

She’s carrying a sweater, the one she cleaned for your special date. As you scream “mom!” she throws it on the bed, covering you. You reappear to hear a click. She has left and closed the door. How will I get to my date, you wonder. And how will I find clothes for my teeny body?

Even Barbie clothes would be too big for you. So, you hire a spider to weave you an outfit made of gossamer. It's hard to catch 3 flies for payment, but worth it—you look amazing! As you pay the spider, it says, "You need a lift? I know 2 guys," & hands you a card: KATYDID & DOES

EXPRESS COURIERS. ANY CARGO UNDER 10 oz. TREATED WITH UTMOST CARE. Where the phone number should be was a list of morse-like buzzes and clicks. "Could you... um... contact them for me, sir?", you say, "I need a lift as soon as they can come."

The man pulls out a device that was like a phone, but not. You hear a series of beeps. “Hey. We got another small one,” he mumbles into the device. A few minutes later a van pulls up. The door slides open and you see rows of tiny compartments. He leans to pick you up.

You bite his thumb. He recoils. As he curses, tiny faces appear at the cage doors of the compartments. It’s dozens of creatures like you. They all cheer for your attack on the man now squeezing his wounded thumb. “Freedom!” you shout unintelligibly to anyone taller than the you.

Queen Mualla
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