Huh... that was dissapointing. Jim tried to fire again, and again, but still Mr. Jensen stayed
stubbornly in his forties. Then he
felt a tap on his shoulder and as he turned around he saw something he couldn't believe.
There was a dark skinned young satyr with long tusk like things growing just under his cheekbones. He sat cooly on his haunches and sipped contentedly at a little cup which gave off the heavy smell of bergemot.
"You didn't really think you'd be getting away with abusing magic that much, did you?"
"M-m-muh..." Jim stammered in shock, "M-magic? No, i-it's this device."
"Of course it's magic you dosy twat!" he said, "Or can you explain your sisters new clothing? In case you hadn't noticed, physics doesn't work that way! "
Jim stared dumbfounded. He had to argue, that's how it works, and yet what he said made total sense. The device he had made was clearly magic.
"There." he continued, "Now that's passed, we can talk about the important stuff, for instance: why did you reduce an intelligent young girl into a baby and leave her confused, helpless, and terrified?"
"I needed to test the drvice, that's why!"
"And when were you planning on changing her back?"
"When I was done with this guy!"
"Don't trouble yourself." he said, "I've already done it. Besides, it might be too much work for a kid as small as you."
Jim felt a sensation like falling and wobbled where he stood. Taking a step back he fell out of his shoes and landed flat on his back. But soon those shoes slipped right back on his feet and shrank before his eyes into little Spiderman light-ups. His socks turned red and a little bit softer, while his jeans pulled themselves up into shorts. His t-shirt also shrank, but when it finished it still seemed a little baggy.
"What the hell have you done to me?" he said
"A little credit!" the satyr said, "I was a lot nicer than you were to your sister. Your what? Seven? Eight? You made her two and your gonna whine about being seven?"
"What about mr.Jensen? What about my revenge?"
"Easy there, Monte Cristo, he'll get his in the end. That is my job, after all." he finished his tea, and let the cup turn into a whisp of smoke as he got up off his little patch of air he'd been hovering on, his hooves clip- clopping on the pavement as he walked over to Jim. "I really must be going, now." he said, leaning down to pluck the ray gun from where it lay, "I'll take that. Now if you'll excuse me, some kid in Narbonne just made something exactly like this. Oh, le pouvre garçon, just wait till he get's a load of me." and with that he followed his cup and turned to smoke.
Jim coughed and waved his little arms around until it cleared away. He looked around. Over on the side walk where Mr. Jensen once stood was a woman pushing a crying baby in a little stroller. A smile appeared on his face, justice after all. Yes, he had just been put back in the second grade, but he could handle that. His only real twinge was the thought that his priceless boon to mankind was gone. He thought about making another one, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't remember how he made it in the first place. It was almost like some sort of a block in his head. His smile faded. Now that was just no fair.
And so he went sulking back inside, a little red and blue flash announcing every step, and, this being one of the last days of summer vacation, went back to bed.
He took off his flashing strap-on shoes, shorts, and t-shirt, replacing them with a pair of almost skin-tight pajamas decorated with t-rexes all over. On the one hand he would have just as soon gone to bed in his boxers, but on the other, his boxers were batman briefs, and also it seemed like something he'd have to get used to anyway. There was an enjoyable element of nostalgia to it as well, but he never would have admitted that even to himself. He got under the Toy Story covers and nodded off, trying not to think about being a little boy.
When Jim woke up, he felt warm and damp, and when he lifted his covers, he was met by a horrible smell. That was when he noticed the goodnights stuffed between the dresser and his bed. Nice and out of sight with a note on them:
"Okay, so maybe I'm not that nice.
-Sander, the Satyr"
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