Fred had finally broken, and slapped his girlfriend when she had been trying to explain why she was late coming home from work. She had promptly left him, in Fred's estimation absolutely the right decision. He remembered how his dad had treated his mom, and had tried, tried so hard, not to treat women that way. But apparently the darkness in his blood had triumphed over all his efforts, and he knew that when the darkness had triumphed once, its subsequent victories would only get easier. Until he was like his father.
Suicide was one option. But Fred didn't want to die, and there was another solution he had heard of. . .
"Please" Fred begged the goddess "make me small, and weak. Make it so I can't hurt anyone ever again." He laid the $9017--the entire contents of his savings account--on the altar of the goddess.
Fred collapsed. Whe he was able to take stock of what had happened, she realized she was not just a small, weak woman, but a small weak woman in a wheelchair as well. She was far more likely to be hurt than to hurt others. The goddess had shown mercy, though, and provided an up to date motorized model.
Tears running down her face, Fred thanked the goddess and departed, slowly, into a new and somehow less terrifying life.