You sit there, watching Shyanne pace back and forth. It sounds like she's muttering formulas over and over - probably trying to sort out the problem in her head.
Whatever, you think, silently wishing her luck. You just hope that the next batch does away with that funky metallic aftertaste. Bleck.
Shyanne stops, turning on her heel. She picks up the half empty glass, looking at the contents with a perplexed expression.
"I don't get it - it SHOULD have worked."
Tentatively, she takes a deep sniff of the soda. Perking one eyebrow, she hesitates - and then finishes off the glass. Smacking her lips, she sets the glass down.
"H3N and CO2, Iriduium, Dalakanium - artificial cherry flavor. Yup, it should have worked."
She slumps into the chair across from you, dejected.
"Oh, cheer up. I'm sure your next project will work out - "
You lose your train of thought when the world explodes in light. When the blinding white light fades, you find yourself - well, tiny! You gasp, as the horizon of the chair stretches out in all directions. You can't be more than an inch tall or so!
"Yippie!" Shyanne shouts as she bounds to her knees just in front of your chair. Her billboard face fills the sky.
"I was right after all! It *DID* work!"
Suddenly your world becomes lips, as Shyanne leans to kiss you. You throw your arms out to ward off the wall of flesh - to no avail. Moist, wrinkled skin presses in on you from all sides. The temperature increases by what feels like a thousand degrees. The "MMMMM" sound fills your ears and reverberates throughout your bones. As suddenly as they appeared, her lips withdraw.
"Yeah, congratulations," you mutter.
"The problem was..." she begins "... that you are the first human sized life form I used the potion on. I simply forgot to take the weight / mass ratio into account - giving the formula a slightly delayed . . . oh dear."
You look up.
"Oh dear . . . what?"
She doesn't answer you. Instead, her right hand comes flying out of nowhere - seemingly to crush you. You scream like a baby at the onrushing wall of death - only to be snapped up in her grip. You struggle against the palm of her hand, trying to see what Shyanne is doing or where she is going. All you feel is a rapid up/down movement. You feel as if you are going to throw up.
Shyanne bolts out the back door, slamming it wide open. She sprints as fast as she can move down the alley and onto the moderately busy residential street. The warm springtime sun is just about hitting the apex of its arc. A middle aged woman pushes a lawnmower down the embankment in front of her house. A trio of girls play jacks on one corner. A couple of industrious young lads have set up a lemonade stand - doing brisk business. A teenager sunbathes on her lawn.
Into this reasonably picturesque setting bursts Shyanne. She runs down the half block to her house, realizing that the clock on her potion is now ticking - and makes it about half way. Suddenly, she drops off the face of the earth - almost quite literally. Nobody even notices her departure from the world of normal sized people. . .