Once upon a time, in the teeny tiny country of Andorra, there lived a teeny tiny girl with gigantic dreams.
Her name was Rita. She was raised in a humble family in a humble town in a valley not much far from the capital, Andorra la Vella. She was bright, brainy, headstrong, and hard-working. If she wanted something, she got it, no matter the cost. She wanted to go to a school her parents couldn’t afford, so she busted her ass studying to get the impeccable grades required for getting a scholarship. At that school, years later, she set her mind to making out with the most popular boy in her class, so she flipped her nerdy demeanor and bimbofied herself before crashing into his birthday party. In the end, losing her virginity to him wasn’t worth the hype. No matter how hard Rita tried, no feat tasted that good when she finally sank her teeth into it. Maybe because there was a fact that Rita could not change at all.
She was small.
Well, she was petite for Andorran standards, but for the rest of the world, she was even more insignificant than that. She learned that at a very young age, the first time she saw a Spaniard looming over her. She’d never forget how every hair in her body raised at the sight of the sole of that gigantic woman’s sandal traversing the heavens at an impossible speed; how her smooth legs, cutting through some low clouds, seemed to be endless; how she blushed at the sight of her blurry underwear hanging on the sky, underneath that red dress; the heel of the goddess falling heavily many miles further, making the ground shake underneath. How she looked down and waved at them. That single, cooing “hola”, the distant but loud explosion of sound rattling Rita’s small eardrums.
When her mother told her that impossible, mind-bending being wasn’t actually “that big” and that ir could fit on the palm of the hand of an American, Rita almost burst out crying.
Their kilometric Spanish neighbors (and the equally gargantuan French, to a lesser extent) were a common sight in the tiny country, exiting malls that rivaled the local Pyrenean mountains in height, carrying shopping bags that could harbor whole towns. Andorra was basically a tax-free paradise for the Spanish, and the country received great wealth from becoming an alpine shopping mall for the giants… or that’s what the people who hoarded the majority of that wealth kept insisting on. Every Andorran had a high chance of spending most of their lives making a living at the service of the giants. Enduring their unavoidable, looming, loud and condescendent presence. Witnessing how they polluted their nature with impossibly big garbage, crushed whole forests with a single misstep, built their monstrous monuments to capitalism where they could never be ignored.
Rita was bothered by all that, of course. But not because she didn't want the giant Spaniards stomping on her country, no. It was because she wanted to *be* them.
Well, not them. Their height was casual. Normal. She didn’t want to be their equal, but their superior. She needed to be bigger than them. Big as the foreigners that could obliterate the whole country with a fingertip (and were banned from Andorra because of that). Big enough that she could change the weather by simply breathing too close to the country. Big enough that she could spit on the country and drown everyone, big and small, in a flood of saliva that would encompass the very mountains.
Oh, how she touched herself thinking about those depraved, hyper-specific fantasies. How did they satisfy her better than any man or woman.
Growing became her goal, her obsession. She rejected going to college in Andorra, and even when the chance came for her to study in Barcelona. God, thinking of being the tiny exchange student among mountain-sized classmates in a city roamed with even bigger tourists made her blood run cold. She seeked a scholarship to study in a big country where she could become a citizen. This could be the US, Canada or Australia. Her obsession became worse when the Spanish influencers moved near her town, building houses so big that blocked the sight of the mountains and became the new horizon for the tiny locals, like they lived in towns of bugs next to the vast yards that were once forests. The exodus of Spanish digital content creators to Andorra had become a whole thing the past few years. A whole thing that the rich drooled upon and the common people loathed. The reason of them moving to Andorra was plain and simple: avoiding paying taxes back home. That would normally require them to become Andorran citizens and thus shrink into a more manageable size… but they found loopholes to avoid that, provided by the same wealthy Andorrans dreaming of selling kilometers and kilometers of real estate. And so, suit-wearing ghouls and baseball-cap-wearing assholes managed to make their greed everyone’s problem.
Rita, on her way back home after her waitress shifts in a shitty restaurant that at least served only regular sized people, had to endure the sight of colossal designer sneakers stomping on the outskirts of town, and overpriced cargo pants that could cover a small mountain looming overhead. She used to crank up the volume of her headphones to avoid the godly voice that blasted from the heavens, a god that was just a 20-year-old douchebag with a broccoli haircut and the IQ of an amoeba who got rich playing video games and being racist on-line.
“HOSTIA, CHAVAL!” he laughed once, recording with his airfield-sized iPhone. “SE VE COMO SI FUERA EN AVIÓN, PERO ES QUE SOY GIGANTE, MACHO.” then, he moved his foot, dangling it over the town. “MIRAD MI PIE EN COMPARACIÓN!”
A douchebag, nevertheless, that could level Rita’s town under the sole of his fuck-ugly sponsored sneaker. That could end her life and thousands of others just like that. That could at the same time be eaten like a snack by a Canadian or a Russian. What did that make her, then? An amoeba to an amoeba, destined to serve those who despite their mountainous size she still could perceive as humans, instead of the blurry planetary masses that the foreigners would be to her. Infinitesimal. Worthless, despite the high opinion Rita had about herself. Despite her big hopes and dreams… which were slowly dwindling with time.
She lost a scholarship after another. There was simply too much competition, and a teeny tiny Andorran was kind of a logistic and bureaucratic pain in the ass to everyone. Meanwhile she was stuck there, feeling small around the people her size she served at the restaurant, and even smaller staring at the mansions looming on the horizon, hating and loving each and every giant that lived inside.
After some complaints from the townsfolk, the douchy streamer stopped recording them or looming his foot above the town, but recently a Spanish fitness influencer, Cati Jerez, had moved there too. Knowing about the problems the town had with other content creators, Cati decided she would be “a nice neighbor” and, in a good-willing but absolutely tone-deaf act of kindness, decided to treat everyone with a free fitness session twice a week. That meant that on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, at fucking 8 AM sharp, Cati’s mountanious, toned form loomed over the skies of the town, dressed in tight leggings and a tank top, wearing the smile of a child that was about to feed their hamster.
“¡VENGA, A DESPERTAR, CAMPEONES!
Blasting obnoxious pop music that made every bird in the surrounding kilometers fuck off to France, Cati stretched, bounced, did push ups and sit-ups. The earth shook under the tonnage of her feet, inside her also sponsored and tasteless sneakers. Car alarms went off, dogs barked, babies cried. The endless miles of her damp skin glistened under the sunrise. Droplets of her sweat fell like meteorites over streets, houses and people. Her spectacular ass loomed threateningly over the town, eclipsing the rising sun like a rogue planet. Someone demonstrated that the temperature in town rose 5 degrees Celsius during Cati’s routines. Everyone noticed how the faint smell of her sweat lingered everywhere for a whole day after that.
“¡VAMOS, NO OS RINDÁIS! ¡UN, DOS! ¡UN, DOS!”
Cati’s cataclysmic routines became Rita’s alarm clock twice a week, and the Andorran girl fucking hated. Her dismay was the size of Cati’s ass when she found out that many of the townsfolk (including her parents!) followed Cati’s routines, devoted worshippers of their new fitness goddess. She was just so nice and fun! Besides, it was healthy! Rita almost told her mother to fuck off when she invited her to join. Yes, many others were complaining (especially wives fed up with their husbands being transfixed by the Spanish titan’s beauty, or even jerking off to it). The debate was still ongoing, and when Rita lost her last available scholarship, when she hit a low point of her depression, she gave up.
“NO PAIN, NO GAIN! ¡VAMOS!
Some mornings Rita woke up lazily to Cati’s lame music and window-rattling motivational quotes and just followed her commands, like the worthless drone she was under her unreachable queen. Sometimes she rubbed her clit at the sight of that moon of an ass that always seemed about to burst off her leggings, or staring at the sweaty cleavage where her house and many others could be crushed down to sand. Hell, sometimes Rita masturbated when Cati, during more relaxed yoga sessions, stretched her leg right next to Rita’s home. The glistening, bare sole of her foot towered over the house like a flesh mountain with a vast, wrinkled wall, splashed with some dirt and crushed trees, crowned with five curling, perfectly pedicured summits. It was so close to them that some colossal drops of sweat slid off from the sole and fell onto the garden, poisoning the soil with salt and slowly killing her mother’s beloved hedge over the course of a month.
Rita fingered herself under the colossal, irresistible sole, wanting to be closer to Cati Jerez, wanting to *be* Cati Jerez. She could have been, if she accepted spending some years as a microbe studying in Barcelona and luckily got a Spanish citizenship after that. It was too late now. They made an effort for tiny exchange students, but outside of that there was no use for someone that small in Spain. Jobless, she would end up living in a micro-slum, eating from crumbs the size of houses on the pavement, pissing herself at the sight of Godzilla-sized pigeons that could gobble her up effortlessly or crush her without even noticing. Shivering inside a drug-lord runned apartment block built inside a match box, praying to God and the Virgin Mary to fend off any hungry rats or cockroaches that could devour its poor tiny inhabitants, or any homeless weirdo wishing to drown them all in his stinky ejaculate, or any drunken giant tourist not watching their massive steps. It was better this way, shift after shift at the restaurant, collapsing in bed, waking up beneath her envied goddess’ shadow. The living, towering reminder of her failure, to which sometimes she cummed to, before curling up in bed and crying. After that, back to the restaurant. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
“¡UNA RUTINA SANA TE ALEGRA LA VIDA! ¡VENGA, SENTADILLAS!”
Some dark thoughts started manifesting in Rita’s mind. Wandering to Cati’s yard and letting the tons of her ass squish her as she stretched. Crawling inside the craters that the titan’s heel created next to her house, and waiting for it to smash her into a paste. Maybe waiting for the sweet release of death while P!nk or Katy Perry or similar garbage pounded her eardrums wasn’t the best way to go. Maybe she wasn’t worthy of being crushed by Cati. She should crawl inside the streamer’s house instead. Wait for when he gets off his (sponsored and tasteless) gaming chair to take a whizz and be stepped flat by his socked foot like a pest. Nah, too merciful. She should crawl inside his trash bin and wait for a crumpled tissue full of cum to bury her…
And then she found it. A Reddit post on r/microstates, where she often spent late nights on the look for a way out of her small, ever-dwindling life. All the methods for getting citizenship in a big country sounded too good to be true, and she didn’t want to be kidnapped by some psychopath selling tiny people as forbidden meals for rich cannibals. This post, though, caught her eye. “JOB OFFER - VERY TINY PEOPLE NEEDED”. The post was deleted almost immediately after she read it, but she remembered the username, XNS345, and managed to DM him, pounding the keyboard loudly.
RAITA_99: Hey! That job offer still up?
An answer, almost inmediately.
XBS345: Already talking to a guy. Blocking u rn
Rita panicked and typed fast.
RAITA_99: Im andorran. Very small.
A minute, in which Rita fidgeted with her dark hair nervously. But then, those bouncing three dots, jumping like Rita’s heart.
XBS345: Interesting.
Another fucking minute. What was this guy’s deal? Maybe this was stupid. Maybe…
XBS345: Would you want to work in China? With Chinese people? You could be a Chinese citizen within two years.
Rita snorted. Now was the part that they asked for her credit card or something.
RAITA_99: Yeah sure, I’m in
XBS345: You don’t wanna know what the job is?
Another chuckle. Yeah, of course. Rita typed. And her smile disappeared. It was… weird, but legit. She actually heard about that, but she never thought about it since she was hell-bent on studying abroad back then. Two years… doing that. To Chinese people. She opened a tab with a country size correlation calculator and she… didn’t know how to make out what she found. Too many decimals after a zero point. What she could figure out, though, is that a Spaniard was… just high as the ankle of an average Chinese adult.
“Shit. Holy fucking shit.”
Maybe she was about to let herself be kidnapped. Buried below a pile of screaming, naked tinies and (relative) giants on the vast surface of a golden spoon, waiting for a planet-sized sicko in Kentucky to eat them like cereal. Nevertheless, considering that she was fantasizing about being crushed by a cum tissue inside a giant gamers’ trash just some minutes ago, Rita accepted the job.
“BUENOS DÍAS, AMORES. ¿LISTOS PARA SUDAR?”
At dawn, with a wide grin on her face, Rita watched the giant fitness bimbo contorting over the tiny town. Two years. Two years and that bitch would be so small to her that she could pin her under her foot. Two years and she’d be able to laugh at the fucking streamer’s size while she recorded it on her phone, and maybe step on his precious sports cars by accident. Two years and all the people who belittled her in the restaurant, in school and anywhere would crane their necks up and finally see her true, deserved form: more, much more than them.