Harold let out a deep sigh, rubbing his temples. "Okay, okay… Stay calm. This is fine. Just a minor inconvenience," he muttered to himself. "I’ll just… uh… find some leaves or something. Yeah! Nature’s underwear!"
He hopped off his gigantic pants and waded through the towering grass, feeling like a squirrel lost in a jungle. Every step tickled his bare legs, and every tiny breeze reminded him just how exposed he was.
Then, a rustling noise. A deep, ominous rustling.
Harold froze.
From between the grass blades, two beady eyes locked onto him. A chipmunk. A really, really big chipmunk.
"Uh… hey there, little—uh, big fella," Harold said, raising his hands in surrender. The chipmunk sniffed the air, then scurried closer, tilting its head.
"Oh no, no, no, no. I know that look," Harold stammered, taking a step back. "I am not a peanut. Do I look like a peanut?"
The chipmunk twitched its whiskers. Then, to Harold’s horror, it opened its mouth and lunged.
Harold let out a high-pitched shriek and bolted in the opposite direction, dodging between grass blades, his bare feet slapping the dirt. The chipmunk gave chase, its little paws thundering behind him like a stampede.
"WHY DO I ALWAYS FEED YOU GUYS? THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY ME?!"
Just as Harold was about to accept his fate as a protein-packed snack, he tripped over a rock and tumbled forward—right into an empty soda can lying on its side.
The chipmunk skidded to a stop, sniffed the can, and after a moment of disappointment, lost interest and scampered away.
Harold lay inside the can, catching his breath. "I nearly got eaten by Alvin on steroids," he wheezed.
Then, another realization hit him. He wasn’t just tiny. He was tiny and had no shelter, no food, and absolutely zero pants.
"This… might be a problem."
Harold sat inside the soda can, catching his breath and trying to process his new, very breezy existence. "Okay," he muttered, peeking out. "Step one: find some clothes. Step two: don’t get eaten. Step three… I dunno, maybe scream into the void for a bit?"
He crawled out of the can, his tiny feet crunching on the dirt. A gentle gust of wind sent a shiver down his spine. "Yup. Definitely need clothes first."
He scanned his surroundings. There were plenty of natural materials—leaves, twigs, a discarded gum wrapper—but fashioning a proper outfit seemed like a lot of work. "I should’ve watched more survival shows," he groaned.
Then, something in the distance caught his eye. A giant, crumpled piece of fabric—no, paper! He ran toward it and, to his absolute delight, saw it was an abandoned fast-food napkin.
"Jackpot!" He draped it around himself like a makeshift toga. "Harold the Tiny, Emperor of the Backyard!"
Feeling slightly less exposed (but still completely ridiculous), Harold ventured forward. He needed to figure out what had caused this shrinking disaster. Was it magic? Science? A cruel prank by the universe?
As he trudged through the grass, his eyes landed on a familiar sight: another water bowl.
Harold stopped dead in his tracks. "Wait a minute..." He crept closer, squinting at the shimmering liquid inside.
"Could it be?" He looked back at the first bowl, then at his current state—ten inches tall, wearing a napkin, with dirt-covered feet. "Alright, what’s the worst that could happen?"
He dipped his hands into the water, then took a deep breath and drank.
Instantly, the world around him shifted. His head spun, his body tingled, and within moments—
POOF!
Harold was back to normal size!
...Still completely naked.
The wind blew. A bird chirped. Somewhere in the distance, a neighbor’s dog barked.
Harold sighed. "Well, I was Emperor of the Backyard for about ten minutes."
With as much dignity as he could muster, he picked up his giant pants from the lawn and put them back on. As he did, he cast one last glance at the water bowl. "I knew there was something weird about that thing."
Then, without another word, he marched back inside, determined to never, ever drink mystery water again.