Hes in so much pain. He finds it incredible he hasn’t passed out yet.

A week or so ago, Simon was taken off his place on the shelf- see, he’s two inches tall, and therefore a pet. He was kept in a little plastic cup, but due to how he looks, nobody bought him. So now he’s where tinies go to die- the bargain bin. Despite every tiny in the bin being weak, ugly, pathetic, somehow they all overpowered him, and he was shoved to the bottom. They’re in a little pile- all thrown on top of one another, because the tank is way too small.

Hes at the bottom, with barely any air. All the food gets eaten at the top. And it’s sweltering hot down here, constantly being crushed by the dozens of tinies on top of him. Nobody will notice him down here. And even if they did, nobody would buy that face, that ugly scrunched up body, not even for thirty cents from the bargain bin. He doesn’t know if it’s for the best that he’ll probably die down here. He knows nobody really researches how to take care of tinies, so they end up starving, shaking, dying alone underneath someone’s bed because they tried to escape.

He supposes he was doomed from the start. He lies there, staring up. In a few days, he’ll end up in the dumpster. It’ll be the end of Simon. Suddenly, he glances out of the glass walls of the tank, and sees you walking to the bargain bin.