Sitting around waiting to see if the shrinking will reverse itself seems like a good way to eventually starve to death or be picked off by a curious, hungry insect. Besides, you've been standing on the shore of this stream for several minutes now and--much to your extreme disappointment--you haven't noticed any change in height.
Well, for YOU anyway. Is it just your imagination, but does everything around you seem just a little bit bigger than it was a minute ago?
You don't stick around to find out. You bolt for the forest of grass. ANYWHERE to get away from that poisonous, yet innocent-looking stream whose waters have reduced you to this size.
"I'm not still shrinking, am I?" you think to yourself as you run through the trees--er--blades of grass.
Going is slow. Much slower than you thought it would be. At your normal size, the ground was fairly even. You crushed hundreds of these blades of grass under your foot without a thought. Now, each blade of grass is much wider than you are. You dart between the blades, pushing yourself off them, climbing up and down clods of dirt.
You run for about half an hour. You feel as if you're making good progress through the grass, but then, you're in pretty good shape.
No frightening encounters with insects so far has made you a bit less frightened and a little more bold. Maybe the forest floor isn't the zoo of terror you thought it was going to be! You scramble over a twig the size of a toppled redwood tree. You pass a mushroom and, for a moment, looking at its trunk-like stalk, you wonder if you haven't returned to your original size. You find yourself looking up in awe at the world around you. The forest ceiling is miles and miles above you, branches and leaves up where clouds ought to be.
However, your wonder at seeing the world from 2 millimeters high, stops abruptly as you realize...