The Macro/Micro Christmas Carol

By Xatencio

Based on A Christmas Carol by Charles Dicens

(That sound you hear is Dicens roling in his grave)

Preface

I H A V E endeavored in this Ghostly little book, to raise the Ghost of a Macro, which shall make my readers horny with themselves, with each other, with the season, or with me. May it step on their houses pleasantly, and everyone wish to lay it. -X. Atencio

Chapter 1

Jacob Marley was dead. There was no doubt about that. The lizard had become a red stain on the sole of a giant shoe. This was a common fate for a micro, but what made his demise so unique was that the shoe in question belonged to his longtime business partner, Zander. Zander and Marley were more than just business partners, however. As a matter of fact, Zander was the only friend Marley had in the world. Conversely, Marley was the only micro that Zander had any respect for. The giant raccoon really should have watched his step on that faithful Christmas Eve, seven years ago. Whatever remains of Marley they could scrape from between Zander’s treads were buried with the utmost pomp and circumstance. Zander paid for all of it, but he was not charged in any way for the death of his friend. In the world of macros and micros, it was just taken for granted that these things happened. No one goes to court for accidentally squishing a bug.
Over the years, Zander and Marley had worked their way up in the construction industry until they finally went into business for themselves. On this cold, bleak Christmas Eve, the sign still stood outside their office in the small town of Big Beaver, Pennsylvania, although the word “Marley” had been crudely crossed out. Zander’s was the only business on the street that didn’t decorate for the holidays. Inside the chilly office, Zander sat at his desk. The chubby raccoon sipped his coffee and looked down at his blueprints through his skinny rectangular glasses. After decades of hard work, Zander was middle-aged, and had both his company and his dadbod to show for it. Literally beneath Zander’s feet was Bob Cratchit, his micro mouse clerk, toiling away at an appropriately-sized desk. As a micro, Cratchit had other duties that were not in the official job description. Zander had a tendency to use him as a stress toy, and today was no exception. In fact, Cratchit rarely got to see his family, as Zander would usually take him home and make him worship his big, hairy, smelly body all night. This was common treatment for micros, but that

didn’t make it any less degrading. Cratchit could hardly pay attention to his work today because Zander was absent-mindedly kneading him under his paws, clad in slightly damp black dress socks.
“Please sir,” Cratchit meekly protested. “When you do that, there’s no way I can get all this paperwork done in time. Also, when was the last time you changed your socks?”
For that, Zander squashed him under his paw and refused to let him get up. Zander was unmoved by his muffled screams. In fact, he was amused by Cratchit’s pitiful squeaks. Just then, the doorbell rang outside Zander’s office door. Cratchit was saved by the bell. Zander lifted his paws, and Cratchit took in as much fresh air as he could. Despite his relatively sedentary office job, Cratchit always came home reeking of sweat, perplexing his wife. This was why.

“Come in,” Zander said.

It was none other than Zander’s son, Jackson, back from college for Christmas vacation. “Merry Christmas, Dad!” Jackson said, smiling. He had the same body type as his dad. “What’s so merry about it?” Zander said. “I got all this work to do, but all these commercials
are telling me to spend my hard-earned money on crap for my relatives, crap that they don’t even need. Christmas is a holiday for suckers!”
“How can you say that?” Jackson said. “Christmas is a time for selflessness and giving to the less fortunate.”
“That’s right!” Cratchit said.

“Quiet, Cratchit” Zander spat. “You only like Christmas because your brain is too tiny to know any better.”
“Mom and I were thinking of going to our cabin in the mountains to celebrate,” Jackson said. “Wanna join us?”
“No way! I love you and your mother, but the day I celebrate Christmas… that’ll be the day!”
“I understand, dad. Well, we’ll miss you. Merry Christmas!”

“Stop saying that!”

The door shut and Zander went back to his work. Cratchit couldn’t believe that Zander wouldn’t want to celebrate Christmas with his family. For weeks, the little mouse had been building up the courage to ask Zander for the day off on Christmas.
“E-excuse me, Mr. Zander, sir?”

“What do you want?”

“Well, since it is Christmas and all, I was wondering if you could maybe please… in the kindness and goodness of your heart… maybe give me the day off tomorrow?”
“You’ve got to be kidding. You’re expecting me to pay you for not working? You tinies are so lazy. Give them an inch, and they take a mile. Considering you’re only a few inches tall, you sure have big balls.”
“Please sir, it’s Christmas!”

“Fine! But you better be here early on the 26th. And we’re gonna have a lot of fun together.”
Cratchit shuddered. The only thing more infamous than Zander’s greed was his penchant for torturing tinies.
“As a matter of fact,” Zander said, “you can show your gratitude by giving me a paw massage.”
Zander removed his shoes and sheer socks, revealing the meaty black paws in all their glory. The deep rivers of wrinkles were a palm reader’s dream, any psychic would’ve been repulsed by the thick, musty odor.
“Don’t keep me waiting, Cratchit!”

Being a mean raccoon’s personal foot masseuse wasn’t what Cratchit had in mind for a career, but he had to provide for his family however he could. He soiled his mousy little hands on the sweaty pads, and massaged them the best he could. Zander sighed in relaxation, and

went into another one of his speeches about how micros are pathetic and servile - except, of course, for Marley.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Zander sighed. “Be sure to get between the toes, too. Come on, double time!”
Cratchit’s nose twitched at the gross smell, but he had seen what happens when Zander gets angry, and it was something he was not interested in seeing ever again. Once again, the bell rang and Cratchit was saved from his smelly fate.
“Who the hell could that be?” Zander said.

The door opened to reveal a skinny macro fox and a portly micro rabbit. The fox carried the rabbit in his handpaw.
“Good evening, sir!” The fox said. “We have been collecting charitable donations for the holiday season. We were hoping that we could appeal to your sense of charity, generosity and liberality.”
“Liberality?” Zander said. “Wasn’t he that gay guy who played piano real good?” Cratchit silently facepalmed.
“Well, Mr. Zander sir,” the rabbit said. “We are collecting money for the poor micros who don’t have homes, presents or family this Christmas. We want to make sure there is a place for them.”
As soon as he heard the word “Christmas,” Zander rolled his eyes and grunted.

“Micros do have a place,” he said, smirking. “In my maw, in my stomach, and under my ass and paws! Their home is in my shoes as my personal insoles, or in my underwear.”
The fox and rabbit were shocked.

“Surely you don’t mean that!” The rabbit said. “How can you be so heartless?”

“It’s fun to play with little micro bugs like you,” Zander said. “I mean, it’s not like you can fight back. I’m bigger than you, and that means I’m better, too. It’s the law of the jungle.”

The outraged rabbit jumped from the fox’s hand onto Zander’s desk, and shook his fist at the monstrous raccoon who towered over him.
“You’re the lousiest son of a gun I’ve ever met!” The rabbit said. “You’re despicable. You have no respect for anyone who’s smaller than you, huh? Well you can kiss my tiny white fluffy cottontailed ass!”
Zander smirked and raised his eyebrow. He found the rabbit's threats adorable. “You wanna know what I think of you dumb bugs?”
Zander leaned down until he was face-to-face with the little rabbit, and opened his massive maw.
BBBBBBBBBBBRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPP!

The belch sent the rabbit flying to the other side of the room. Luckily, his fox friend managed to catch him. Zander, meanwhile, laughed a deep, mean laugh at how his smelly burp was powerful enough to make a rabbit fly.
“Good day to you sir!” The fox said before slamming the door.

The clock struck six. The work day was over.

“I thought those jackasses would never leave,” Zander said. “Well, Cratchit, enjoy your day off. You probably won’t enjoy the day after, heh heh.”
Cratchit thought of wishing his boss a merry Christmas, but he knew better.

The two men went their separate ways. Cratchit went home to his family, but not before stopping at a laundromat to rid his clothes of the stench of sweaty raccoon socks. Zander went to the dive bar to hang out with his friends. They drank and talked and carried on for hours, but one by one they all had to leave. They were all going to spend Christmas with their families. All, except for Zander.
“Christmas is a load of crap,” Zander would say, but his friends wouldn’t listen. When the bar finally closed, he took an Uber back to his suburban McMansion (Zander is an asshole, but not even he condones drunk driving) When he approached the door, he was startled to see

what looked like Marley’s tiny body hanging from the door knocker! He jumped, but when he rubbed his eyes and looked at the door once more, there was nothing there.
“Must be seeing things,” he said to himself. “I need a new prescription for these glasses.” The mansion felt eerily quiet and empty without Zander’s wife and son inside. He ordered Chinese delivery (the only place open on Christmas Eve night) and greedily scarfed down his
noodles while watching his gigantic flatscreen TV. The raccoon rapscallion didn’t even tip the delivery boy.
“Cratchit!” Zander roared. “Get over here and massage my paws.” He then remembered that he gave his mousy masseuse the day off. “Never making that mistake again!”
As he ate (and burped. And farted), Zander flipped through the channels. Of course, the only thing on was Christmas crap. The only part of any Christmas show that Zander liked, was the scene in It’s a Wonderful Life where Jimmy Stewart says he’s gonna shake the dust of the crummy little town off his feet. Zander fantasized about being a giant and stomping the town of Bedford Falls, and all of its irritating monochromatic residents, into oblivion. Sometimes, Zander’s sensitive raccoon ears would pick up strange banging and rattling noises, but he would drown them out by turning up the volume on the TV.
Zander soon gave up on finding anything good on TV and went to bed. He would be alone in bed for the first time in a very long time. It was lonely without his beautiful wife to snuggle with, but for one night, he could manage. As he buried himself under the covers and tried to get a good night’s rest, he heard a huge BOOM come from outside the door. He bolted awake and grabbed the nearest heavy object he could find - his alarm clock.
“Come out, asshole!” Zander said. “You trying to rob me? I’ll beat you silly!”

A small blue glow emerged from the door. Despite there being no lights on, the bedroom was suddenly awash in blue light. As Zander’s eyes adjusted, the ethereal blue slowly

transformed to a recognizable sight: it was Marley! His body was pale and translucent, but it was him, clear as day.
“Marley! You’re alive!”

He ran to embrace his old friend, but once he did, he felt a chill surge through his body. “What is this?”
“Zander….” Marley moaned. “I am not the Jacob Marley you knew. I am only his ghost.”

“Ghost?” Zander said. “Oh, come on. I must’ve ate some bad Chinese food. I knew that place wasn't clean. My friend ate there and he got diarrhea for-”
“SILENCE!”

Despite his small size, Marley produced a blood-curdling scream that echoed through the room and sent shivers down Zander’s spine. Marley’s full form materialized through the door, revealing that he was on a leash with a chain. The chain was attached to a large, disembodied paw.
“I… I don’t understand,” Zander said. “Why are you wearing chains?”

“These are the chains I forged in life,” Marley said. He did not sound like his usual self. He sounded sickly, raspy, like a dying man. “With every act of cruelty and indifference that I committed, I added a single link to these chains. Now, in the afterlife I am forced to wear these chains for all eternity as punishment.”
“Punishment?” Zander said. “But you were a good man! A man much larger than your stature, for sure, especially when it came to your business!”
“BUSINESS?!” Marley shrieked, further terrifying his former friend. “Anthrokind was my business. My business was to treat others with respect. That is all of our business. But I neglected that business. Especially when it came to my fellow micros. I allowed you to bully and mistreat them, and said nothing. All we cared about was being big. The biggest buildings, the biggest company, the biggest bank account balance. There’s more to life than that. What good is being a giant if your heart is small?”

The ghostly paw yanked on Marley’s chain, forcing him up against the sole. The paw then crushed Marley beneath it, causing the lizard to scream in agony.
“I am stomped endlessly, but I can never die, for I am already dead. I am forced to endure the same cruelty that I visited on my fellow micros.”
“Why are you here?” Zander asked. The room had become freezing cold, he could see his breath.
“So you don’t make the same mistake that I made,” Marley replied. “I don’t have a chance, but you do. Tonight, you will be visited by three spirits.”
“Oh give me a break,” Zander said. “Ain’t one of you enough?”

“SILENCE! The first spirit will appear at 1 a.m., the second at 2, and the third at 3. If you do not heed their warnings, then you will end up like me. Goodbye, friend, and Merry Christmas.”

Marley slowly faded into nothingness, and his blue glow grew darker and darker. “No, please! Marley no! Come back! Please come back! I need you! I’m… scared.” Zander had never said those words to another person in his entire adult life. In the pitch-black bedroom, he tossed and turned in his bed, pondering what he had just witnessed. Was it truly his old friend’s ghost giving him one last chance? Or was it a vision brought on by
overwork and undercooked Kung Pao chicken?

Chapter 2

“‘What place is this?’ asked Scrooge.

‘A place where Miners live, who labour in the bowels of the earth,’ returned the Spirit. ‘But they know me. See!’

-Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol

BONG!

Zander was awoken when the clock struck one. Aha! He thought to himself. That business with Marley was just a dream after all.
That was when he saw a floating white light gently land on his bed.

“Oh brother,” he said, “not again.”

Like Marley’s did, the light slowly shaped itself into a recognizable form. It was a young micro deer, with such beautiful and delicate features that it was hard to tell whether they were male or female. The deer wore white robes and had a crown of flowers around their head.

“Oh no you don’t!”

Zander lunged at the deer with his big handpaw, but just when it looked like the deer was in his grasp, the spirit vanished as he clenched his fist. The deer appeared on the other side of the bed. Zander jumped at them again, but once again they disappeared. Rinse and repeat.
“When will you realize that’s not going to work?” The deer asked. Their voice was somehow soft and loud, masculine and feminine, childlike and mature all at the same time.

“What are you?” Zander asked.

“I am the ghost of macros and micros past.”

“Huh?”

“Follow me.”

The deer reached their hand out for Zander. Begrudgingly, he took the spirit’s hand. The deer floated towards the bedroom window. Somehow, so did Zander. This spirit, no more than a few inches high, was able to suspend the weight of a full-sized raccoon (Okay, let’s be honest. He was more than full-sized)
“Stay away from the window!” Zander cried. “I’ll crash right into it!”

The spirit did not listen. They flew right into the window, and Zander braced for impact. However, instead of being lacerated by broken glass, he found himself outside of his home, looking at the cookie-cutter suburban houses from above. He gasped.
“H-how is this possible?”

“We are spirits,” the deer said. “For us, anything is possible. Even showing a sinner like yourself the error of his ways.”
The deer flew through the sky at rapid speed, taking Zander along for the ride. His cheeks were jiggling in the gale force wind, and he was pretty sure he felt a few bugs splatter on his teeth. It was a freezing cold December night, but he felt warm and cozy, wrapped in nostalgic memories. The spirit was making Zander think of his past, and even in the midnight-blue blur of speeding through the night, Zander could make out sites familiar to his childhood. The tall, bare trees which covered the mountains. The monstrous breakers rising overhead, their broken windows like gaping maws. The town, with its row homes and their pointy roofs, faded siding and electric candles in the window. It was Christmas in the coal mining country of his youth.

“This… this is where I grew up!”

“Yes indeed. I knew you would recognize it.”

The mismatched pair landed in the snowy street in front of one very important house.

Zander, in only his pajamas, bathrobe and slippers, shivered in the cold.

“Hmm,” the spirit said. “Normally you’d have a tiny lackey to keep you warm.” “Yeah,” Zander said, “but I gave the little twerp the day off.”

“What makes you think that micros are yours to use and abuse as you please?” “They’re so damn tiny and weak… no offense.” “Look. Do you recognize this place?”
“Are you kidding? It’s my childhood home!”

“Come inside, get a closer look.”

The small spirit led Zander up the rickety steps to the porch, then to the big, gleaming, frosted window that showed right into the living room. Tears welled up in Zander’s eyes as he recognized his younger self, a chubby raccoon boy, staring forlornly out the window.
“Hey, kid!” Zander said, banging on the window. “It’s me! It’s you! I’m you from the future!” “Don’t waste your breath,” the deer spirit said. “He can’t hear or see you. This is merely a

vision of the past. But we can hear and see them. Try and listen, if you can. It is important to listen to the past.”
The living room was modest, especially for such a large family. But it was the best a coal miner’s salary could afford. There was a respectable Christmas tree in the corner, a real one. The fire was crackling in the fireplace. Portraits of family, Jesus and the Virgin Mary were on the wood-paneled walls. Zander’s brothers and sisters were playing with their toys. He was looking out the window.
“Mommy,” he said, “when is Daddy gonna come home?”

Zander’s mother was in the kitchen, preparing the Christmas Eve dinner. The roast turkey was in the oven and she was sweating over the stove preparing all the trimmings. When she heard her son, she went into the living room and sat beside him.
“Alexander,” she said, bringing him in close to her apron-clad bosom. “You know your father doesn’t come home until late.”
“But it’s Christmas Eve!” Zander said. “We won’t even be able to eat and say grace with

him.”

“I know, dear, but your father works very hard in that mine so that we can have such a nice Christmas.”
“I know, I just miss him.”

They hugged.

“That was Mom,” Zander said, looking into the window. “She always knew what to say.” “You loved your father, didn’t you?” The spirit said.
“Of course I did! He was the man who taught me the value of an honest day’s work. He taught me how to be a man. Slaving away in those mines, and did he ever once complain? Never! In my estimation, he was twenty feet tall and as strong as ten men. He was a giant among anthros.”
“Kids!” Mom called. “Dinner time!”

Zander and his family, minus one, gathered around the simple meal and joined hands. “Dear Heavenly Father,” Zander’s mother said. “We thank you for the meal that we are

about to receive and we thank you for the many blessings we have in our lives. We have food to eat, a roof over our heads and each other on Christmas. And bless my husband who works so hard to provide for us.”
Zander’s mother sniffled a little bit, prompting her son to comfort her.

“Mommy,” he said, “I don’t want to eat until Daddy gets home.”

“That won’t be for a while yet,” Mom said. “I don’t want you to go hungry.” They ate in silence.
Mom made sure to leave a hearty portion aside for her husband, and wrapped it in tin foil so it would stay warm.
“Now kids,” she said, “it’s bedtime. Santa Claus won’t come unless you’re asleep.”

The little raccoons ran up to bed. All except Zander, who kept watch at the top of the stairs for hours. His mother kept her own watch in the living room. Finally, Zander’s father came through the door, his shoulders dusted with snow, soot still on his face. He was carrying a

wrapped-up blanket in his hand. His arrival brought a bigger smile to young Zander’s face than Santa Claus ever could.
“Darling!” His mom cried, running to her husband and embracing him without caring if she got her own clothes dirty. “Where were you? What took you so long?”
“This.”

He opened the blanket to reveal a couple of micro cats, a mother and a father, and their litter of kittens.
“I saw them shivering in an alley on my way home from work,” he said. “I couldn’t leave them behind. Nobody deserves to be without a home on Christmas.”
“God, I love you.”

She kissed his sooty cheek and gave him his plate of Christmas dinner, which he dutifully shared with his micro houseguests. As Zander’s father ate, he hacked and coughed.
“That was the best Christmas I ever had,” the old Zander remembered as he stared through the windows. “They were the nicest family you could ever meet. Dad helped them back on their paws, and he asked for nothing from them in return.”
“He treated everyone with kindness, whether they were big or small,” the spirit said. “Don’t you admire that about him?”
“Yes I do, but-”

“But what? Why don’t you treat micros the same way your father did?”

Zander could not come up with an answer. Before he knew it, he was sailing through the sky with the little deer, hurtling towards another Christmas. This one was a much sadder memory for Zander. He found himself, in all black, crying with the rest of his family.
“That’s when I was 18 years old,” Zander remembered, looking down at himself.

A small crowd of micros and macros had gathered outside of the church, and watched solemnly as the coffin was brought out and placed in the hearse. A bouquet of roses and Zander’s father’s picture were on top. In the throng he saw the old neighborhood kids, his

extended family, his dad’s friends and the folks he used to know. He even saw the cat family, their kittens a few years older.
“See how many anthros whose lives your dad had an impact on?” The spirit said.

“I do,” Zander said. “They had his funeral on Christmas Eve, because it was his favorite day of the year. He said it was a magical time where anthros paid attention to each other for once. Another victim of black lung, and the mining company didn’t do shit for him. So much for Merry Christmas. They didn’t pay any attention to him!”
Zander’s fists curled with rage at the memory he was forced to bear witness to. His eyes were bloodshot.
“Please, don’t make me watch any more of this.”

“This is not the end,” the deer said. Suspended in midair, the two returned to Zander’s home. After the funeral, young Zander bolted upstairs into his room and locked the door.his mother raced up after him, but was too late and had the door slammed in her face. He threw off his black mourning clothes until he was just in his underwear. He got on his hands and knees and removed a cardboard box from under his bed. There were holes poked in the top of the box. Zander opened the box and revealed a small group of terrified micros who had some scraps of food and a small bowl of water to share between them. One was a horse, one was a pig and one was a squirrel.
“Please, let us out of here!” The squirrel said. “What do you want from us?” “I miss my wife and kids!” The horse cried. “They don’t know where I am!”
“Shut up!” Zander said through his teeth. He picked up the squirrel and squeezed him tightly in his hand. He could tell that he was close to breaking the squirrel’s little ribcage but didn’t go all the way. He wanted to scare his toys a little, not totally break them. He carelessly dropped the squirrel on the bedroom floor, and he landed with a sickening thud. The squirrel tried to crawl away, but he was in too much pain. He looked up to see Zander’s huge paw looming over him.

“OH GOD NO!”

Zander lowered his paw over the insect-sized squirrel but just before he made impact, he stopped.
“Lick it clean,” Zander ordered, “or I squish you.”

The squirrel rose himself to the giant paw and licked the salty, hard sole best he could. It was so big, and he was so small, he could never lick the entire appendage clean. After just a few minutes, he was panting with exhaustion and his tongue felt raw and ragged.
“Please, man!” The squirrel begged. “I can’t do it, I just can’t.” “Then you’ve outlived your usefulness.”
Zander pressed his paw down on the squirrel, relishing the feeling of his bones cracking and popping and his insides exploding to a gooey mess. The horse and pig looked on in horror as Zander rubbed his paw onto the floor, smearing the remains of an entire existence on the unforgiving floor of a teenager’s bedroom.
“Now who’s next?” Zander bellowed. When they saw the bloodstain on Zander’s sole, the two surviving micros felt sick to their stomachs. Zander picked up the pig.
“You’re a pencil-pusher in the mining company, right?”

“Y-yes, that’s true, but I had nothing to do with your father’s death!”

“You poisoned him, you son of a bitch! You chewed him up and spit him out in that mine of yours, and now I’m gonna do the same to you.”
“Come on kid, show some mercy! You want money, is that it? I’ll give you money! I’ll give you anything, anything if you spare my life!”
“Not good enough!”

Zander dropped the pig into his hot, slimy raccoon maw, right onto the fleshy tongue that he sunk into like quicksand. He tried to escape the dripping cave of saliva, and the hot winds coming from the depths of this monstrous creature, but he couldn’t even get a good grip on the huge tongue. The ghost-white teeth clamped down, piercing all the way through the pig’s body

and filling Zander’s mouth with the taste of his blood. His bones snapped under the pressure and his limbs were mangled. Zander ignored his shrieks of agony and chewed and chewed, disintegrating the pig’s body to unrecognizable mush and savoring the meaty flavor. Keeping his word, he spit the pig’s blood and guts on the floor, wet and mushy like a wad of chewing gum. The horse, too traumatized to speak or even move, stared at the remains of his fellow captive.

“Look man,” the horse finally spat out. “I don’t even work for the damn mining company. I’m a farmer. Why did you kidnap me?”
“Because I could,” Zander said. Zander had quickly noticed that the feeling of having absolute power over micros, and destroying their bodies, not only allowed him to get revenge in his father’s name but was also extremely arousing. He felt a huge, tight bulge in his underwear, and that was when he knew what the horse’s duty would be. He grabbed the tiny equine, lay on the bed and removed the flap of his underwear. Zander started to grind the horse against his erect cock.
“Dude, stop it!” The horse said, gagging on the raccoon’s musk. “Let me go! This is disgusting!”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Zander roared. “You do what I say, bug. You belong to me now.” He lewdly moaned and grunted as he jerked off with the tiny horse. He squeezed the horse

so tightly against his cock that the horse felt his own bones start to splinter. His increasingly battered body was stained in cock grease and precum. After an agonizing few minutes, Zander climaxed, drowning the horse in thick, sticky, smelly cum. Bruised and broken, the pathetic micro twitched and writhed in the cum puddle. He could no longer speak, only moan in pain as his giant master basked in the afterglow.
“Fuck, that felt so good,” Zander sighed. “Oh, looks like I broke you. Too bad, you were a fun toy.”
Zander picked up the cum-covered horse, walked into his bathroom, dropped him in the toilet and flushed him down. Just like that, it was over.

“Looks like I’m gonna have to go find some more.”

The deer spirit looked at the old Zander with a hideous look of disgust.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” The spirit said. “What would your father say? Would he be proud that you killed and tortured micros in his name?”
Zander turned away. Once again, he could not answer the spirit.

“There is one more scene from the past that I must show you.”

Another trip through the sky, past the stars and through the years. Now Zander, younger and noticeably thinner, was with a female fox that the deer spirit did not recognize.
“Who is this?” The spirit asked.

“My first wife, Michelle,” Zander said. “Boy, was she a piece of work.”

After a long day at the construction site, Zander was chilling on the recliner and drinking beer. He had taken off his jeans, work boots and socks, and had one micro rubbing each of his paws. Another was trapped under his balls, and a few more were polishing his boots. Michelle was reading a book with a sullen expression.
“Zander,” she finally said, “you have to make a decision. Is it gonna be the micros, or me?” “What do you mean?” He said. “You know I love you, baby!”
“I know you do but, what gives you the right to make the micros do all this gross stuff for you? They’re not your slaves. I have micros who are my friends. They don’t deserve to be treated that way.
“Come on,” Zander said. “They’re just tinies. God made some anthros big and some small for a reason.”
“They are not just tinies! They are anthros with thoughts and feelings, just like you and me. All day, every day, you’re either working, or you’re bullying micros! You don’t even want to spend time with me anymore. You wanted to work on Christmas Day, for God’s sake. If this marriage is going to work, we’re gonna have to actually spend some quality time together.”
“Just what are you implying?”

“I’m implying that if you keep ignoring me, I don’t know if we should be together. Especially if you’re ignoring me for the sake of treating people like they’re small, like they’re worth nothing!”

Zander stood up, burying his tiny worshippers under his bare feet.

“I KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE TO BE TREATED LIKE NOTHING! Like I’m small, but I’m not small. I’m HUGE! I built this business from the ground up, so you can have a good life. Where do you think your clothes and shoes come from, huh? They don’t just show up out of thin air! My father was small. He worked his whole damn life underground, crawling around like an ant, and what does he have to show for it? NOTHING! He was a nice guy, and where did that get him? NOWHERE! Everyone, EVERYONE walked all over him. Not me! I’m gonna be the one who does the walking. I’m gonna be the big man, and if that means stepping on some folks, then so be it. And if you don’t like that, then… then the door’s right there.”
Michelle silently got up, put on her coat, walked through the door and slammed it shut.

Zander was alone, alone except for his micros.

The present-day Zander buried his face in his handpaws. He couldn’t bear to witness such humiliation.
“You know,” the deer spirit said. “For all the times you’re trying to put your paws in micros’ mouths, you seem to put your paw in your own mouth a lot.”
Darkness.

Chapter 3

“In easy state upon this couch, there sat a jolly Giant, glorious to see.”

BONG! BONG!

Zander was once again rudely awoken in his bed. He grumbled and rubbed his furry temple, and pondered what he had just witnessed. Was the deer spirit real? Or just another fantasy? His racing mind was interrupted by the sound of jolly laughter coming from downstairs. Zander jumped out of bed and ran down the stairs, only to find a gigantic brown bear, clad in green robes, sitting on his sofa. And by “sitting on his sofa,” I mean sitting on his sofa. The sofa was crushed, and could barely support the weight of the ponderous bear booty. The big bear seemed to have done some redecorating while Zander was asleep. A Christmas tree as tall as the bear stood in the corner. It was a bright, healthy shade of green, and was completely covered in lights, tinsel and shimmering ornaments of every size, shape and color. It was topped with a shining star. The walls were festooned with wreaths and garland, and candles were aglow everywhere Zander looked. The smells of cinnamon, sage, pine needles and bear paw musk mingled in the air. When Zander looked up at that laughing bear, he never felt smaller.

“What’s so funny, big guy?” Zander said, his arms on his hips.

“Come now,” the bear said. His voice was powerful, redolent with warmth and kindness. “Is that any way to talk on Christmas? I’d be careful if I were you, little guy.”
“Who you callin’ little guy?”

“I am the ghost of macros and micros present! I am the thrill and ecstasy of being giant, and I am the worshipful intimacy of being tiny.”
“You’re huge! Where did you come from?”

“I appear in the heat of the moment. I am the lust for power, the sensuality of a giant maw or paw. And speaking of which…”

The enormous bear spirit stood up, his head scraping against the roof of Zander’s living room. The corpulent bear grabbed his fuzzy belly and laughed a deep, sonorous laugh. He raised his car-sized paw and lowered it on Zander.
“Hey!” Zander said, banging on the paw. “Get off of me, you big lug! I’m no micro.” “That’s not what it looks like from down here!” The bear said, wiggling his toes and

chuckling as each of them pressed down on the raccoon’s head. “You’re the tiny now!” “Listen here, palooka, if you think you can keep me under your smelly paws, you got

another think coming.”

“What’s wrong, Zander? Don’t like it when the shoe is on the other paw? Or when the paw is on the other micro? Ho ho ho!”
“Ugh, I don’t know what stinks more, your paws or your jokes.”

The bear finally lifted his paw and squatted in front of Zander, who was still sputtering from the earthy, woodsy smell of the great paws.
“Grab onto my underwear,” the spirit commanded. He revealed his white boxers, which were so big that they reminded Zander of the parachute game in elementary school gym class.

“Hell no!” Zander said. “There ain’t no way I’m touching your gross undies.” “Then we’ll have to do this the hard way, ho ho ho!”
The bear grabbed Zander in his thick, sweaty handpaw, nearly suffocating the raccoon. He slightly released his grip and dangled Zander over his crotch. He pulled the waistband of his underwear forward, revealing exactly where he was intending to put Zander.
“Oh, you gotta be kidding!” Zander cried “Come on, man, don’t do this!”

The bear didn’t listen. He dropped Zander and listened to his screams as he tumbled into his newfound transport. He would be taken through the spirit world in a damp, smelly pair of XXXXXXXL bear boxers. Zander moaned in disgust as he rubbed up against the spirit’s spicy, furry balls and slick, slightly cheesy sheath. Zander’s squirms awakened the spirit’s bearhood, which had an even more intense odor and pressed him in between itself and the front of the

underwear. The bear laughed as he played with himself and further sullied Zander’s fur with the grease from his unwashed shaft.
“Come with me, little one,” the spirit said. He dug into his underwear and pulled Zander so that his head was poking out. The rest of his body was still being pummeled by bear boner. The giant walked through the streets of the town, but miraculously, his titanic footfalls did not destroy any buildings or cars.
“How do you do that?” Zander asked. “Where’s the fun in being giant if you don’t even get to stomp stuff?”
“The feeling you get when you look down on a cute little micro… that is what I am made of. I am made of passion and desire. The electric tension between the large and the little, that is what fuels me. The fear in a micro’s heart as he realizes that he has become prey. The look in a macro’s eyes as he spies his latest victim.”
From his vantage point in a bear’s boxers, Zander could see the glorious sunrise on the snow-capped hills, and the clear blue skies of Christmas morning. The streets were filled with the people of Big Beaver, macro and micro, greeting one another and heading to celebrate Christmas with their loved ones. There was no eating, stomping or farting on unfortunate micros. For this one day, peace and love flourished between all sizes.
“Isn’t it glorious?” The spirit said. “This is my favorite time of year.”

The spirit stomped away from the town center until he reached the micro part of town, a makeshift village made primarily of objects that the macros had thrown away. It was a neighborhood of cardboard boxes, tin cans and other junk that resourceful micros had turned into homes. It wasn’t much, but it was what they had. One such home was a little toy dollhouse that a macro child had clearly outgrown. Thus, it was thrown out and left for the tinies to make into a dwelling place.

The spirit positioned himself so that his bulging underwear, stained with musk and pre, was level with the window of the dollhouse. It was times like these that the rule of mortals not being able to see or hear (or smell) spirits was a godsend.
“Look inside,” the bear spirit told Zander.

Zander listened, and he saw none other than Bob Cratchit in the house, seated around the dinner table with his wife and several children. Their home was meager, and so was their Christmas dinner, which was unsatisfying even for a family of micros.
“Why do you still work for that mean old Zander?” Bob’s wife scolded. “He pays you peanuts and treats you like dirt. And why? All because you’re a micro?”
“Now now,” Bob said in his soft, self-effacing voice. “It’s Christmas, dear. We shouldn’t talk badly about anyone on Christmas. I believe there is good in that raccoon, somewhere deep down.”
“Yeah,” one of the children said, “somewhere under all that blubber.” “Hey!” Zander said. “Shut up, kid!”
Even the spirit got a chuckle out of that one.

“Don’t you laugh,” Zander admonished the bear. “You’re not exactly slim.”

It was then that Zander noticed someone in the same position as him and the spirit. A young macro male mouse, perched over the dollhouse and craning his neck to look inside.

“Who’s that?” Zander asked.

“That’s Big Tim,” the spirit replied. “Cratchit’s large adult son. You’d know that if you ever bothered to care about your employees’ lives. His was one of the rare instances of two micro parents conceiving a macro child.”
“How the hell did that ever come out of that?” Zander said, pointing to Mrs. Cratchit. “They start out micro, but grow rapidly. They usually eat their families out of house and

home - literally! Just watch.”

“We’re so glad you could join us for Christmas, Tim!” Bob said.

“Merry Christmas, dad!” Big Tim said. His macro-sized voice caused the Cratchit’s furniture to shake and Bob to be drizzled by his son’s saliva.
Mrs. Cratchit gave a portion of Christmas dinner to Big Tim. If the plate was meager for a micro, for a man of Big Tim’s size it was ludicrously small. He gulped it down in one swallow, and shortly afterwards his stomach growled, causing a miniature earthquake in the Cratchit household. Big Tim eyed his pleasantly plump sister Alice licked his lips and drooled. She looked so juicy, so succulent.
“May I be excused to freshen up?” She asked her father.

“Of course!” Bob said.

This was Big Tim’s chance. As she walked up the stairs, he shoved his fingers through the tiny window and grabbed her. She shrieked as Big Tim dangled her by the tail over his steamy, hungry maw.
“You look delicious, sis!” Big Tim teased.

He licked her a few times, soiling her holiday dress with his warm spit.

“And taste like it, too! Sure beats fruitcake!”

“Mom, dad!” Alice yelled. “Tim is trying to eat me again!”

“Tim!” Mrs. Cratchit said. She sounded bored, as if this was commonplace in the Cratchit household. “Put your sister down.”
“Tim,” Bob said, “I am very disappointed in you. I just might have to refuse to give you your present.”
“Present?” Big Tim said with excitement.

“This is for you, son,” Bob said. “Merry Christmas.”

He held up a pathetically puny wedge of Swiss cheese. Big Tim could’ve found more cheese between his toes, but he graciously accepted the gift.
“Merry Christmas!” Tim said. “And God bless us, uwu!”

“God bless us, uwu!” The family repeated, toasting with their little cups of cider.

“What will happen to that huge child?” Zander asked. “Or should I say, that huge adult with the intelligence of a small child?”
“That is not my place to say,” the bear spirit said. His voice sounded much more tired, lacking the joviality it had earlier in the night. When Zander turned to look at him, he gasped. This was not the same bear who greeted him in the living room. His snout was long and gaunt. His fur was coarser and thinner. His eyes were sunken. The musk of a bear in the prime of his life had been replaced with the smell of Vicks VapoRub and Werther’s Original candies. Zander looked down to find that the boxer shorts had been replaced with Depends.
“How have you grown old in just a single night?” He asked.

“My time is short,” the spirit said, “as is every moment that we call the present. Soon I will be nothing more than a memory. But there is something I must show you before I go.”
The spirit pulled Zander out of his underwear and put him on the roof of the Cratchit’s dollhouse. He opened his robes to reveal two anthros, one male and one female. The two were hideous sights to behold. They were crudely composed, angular and unnatural, a cacophony of rude outlines and childish technique. Their fur and hair was a rainbow of garish, clashing colors.

“The female is Ignorance and the male is Cumbrain,” the spirit said weakly.

“*sucks your big toes* owo,” Cumbrain said in a robotic voice. “*licks your big smelly pawbs*”
“I want a drawing of my OC getting vored,” Ignorance said. “I don’t have any money but you’ll get paid in exposure.”
Zander recoiled in horror.

“My God,” he said. “They are contributing absolutely nothing! They have no respect for boundaries and are wasting everyone’s time! Whose poor bastard children are these?”
“They are present everywhere that macros and micros are,” the spirit said. He was growing frailer with every word he said. “They are everyone’s responsibility.”

The spirit stepped backwards into the night, fading into darkness. Meanwhile, Ignorance and Cumbrain crawled towards Zander.
“Mmm I love your feet and bulge daddy,” Cumbrain said.

“What do you mean you only draw things for money?” Ignorance hissed. “Your art isn’t worth that price anyway, you’re so selfish.”
“Stay back, you pitiful wastrels!” Zander screamed. “Stay back! Spirit? Spirit? How can you leave me with these creatures? Come back! Please, come back!”
Ignorance and Cumbrain grabbed Zander with their cold, dead paws, and eyed him with even colder looks of hunger.
“*glomps u* owo did daddy make a sticky?” Cumbrain said.

“No! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

Chapter 4

“‘Spirit!’ he cried, tight clutching at its robe, ‘hear me! I am not the man I was. I will not be the man I must have been but for this intercourse.’”

Zander’s bed was cold and wet. His latest encounter with the spirit world had caused him to break out into a terrible sweat. Maybe Zander could wring his sheets over Cratchit and soak the little mouse in his boss’s sweat. That would be funny.
BONG! BONG! BONG!

It was 3 a.m. The witching hour. By now, Zander knew the drill. He decided to get a head start by going downstairs and meeting the third and final spirit on his own terms. But when he got out of bed, something strange happened. It was a long fall to the floor, and he landed with a thud. Dazed, he got up and saw his bed soaring above his head. The wooden floorboards of the bedroom stretched out like aircraft carriers into the distance. The bedroom wall was a horizon that he could barely see. The dust bunnies were the size of actual bunnies, and the ceiling had become high as the sky.
“Ah dammit!” Zander said. “I shrank!”

Due to his newfound size, his voice was laughably high-pitched. It sounded like he sucked on helium.
“Oh, come on!”

BOOM. BOOM.

The force of the explosive noises sent Zander flying off of the ground. He frantically looked around in search of the source of the noise. In the pitch blackness of his bedroom, he thought he saw a colossal shadow in the corner, lurking like a sleep paralysis demon. A guttural growl echoed through the room.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

Out of the darkness emerged a pair of digitigrade paws, covered in matted, filthy black fur. Zander gagged on the smell, a combination of wet dog and stale Doritos. He looked up to see what these demonic paws belonged to. He saw the bestial yellow eyes of a hellhound staring down at him. There was nothing kind, caring or empathetic in those eyes. They belonged to a cold-blooded killer, a ruthless predator with no concept of mercy. The hellhound growled and snapped its maw, revealing its rows of razor-sharp teeth. It raised its fetid dirt-caked paw over Zander’s head, and delivered another harsh bark. Zander didn’t speak feral, but he was pretty sure that the beast was commanding him to lick. Chalk it up to a gut feeling.
Zander licked the paw and wretched at the foul taste. It tasted like the air at a dog show catered by Taco Bell. Zander’s eyes were closed, but that made little difference. Drops of salty sweat intermittently dripped from the paw like Chinese water torture, only diluted by Zander’s tears. From the gritty texture in his mouth, Zander could tell that he was lapping up the vilest, most repugnant dirt imaginable. It was the residue of Hell on his tongue. The beast made barbaric, lewd grunts, clearly turned on by the raccoon’s display of submission. Zander heard a slick slapping sound, and opened his eyes to see the hellhound jerking his enormous red rocket, throbbing veiny. The hellhound must have gotten sick of paw worship, because he bent over, picked Zander up and stuffed him in the hot gap between his shaft and the edge of his sheath. There was a lot of muck in there, enough to encase Zander’s little body in the malodorous mold. The sheath cheese was forced down Zander’s throat, and he gagged on the gooey, chewy substance. The taste sent his gag reflex into overdrive, but he was too stuffed to be able to expel any vomit. (There’s something about the true meaning of Christmas in here somewhere, trust me).
The hellhound dug into his sheath with his clawed finger, pulled Zander out and rubbed the raccoon on his shaft. The searing smell and taste of dried piss and musk further tortured Zander. Was this his fate? To be the living sex toy of a demonic spirit? Zander’s skin was practically melting against the heat and radioactive stink of the doggy dick. The hellhound

decided to torture the raccoon even further by stuffing his face into his wet cockslit. Zander was now being forced to fellate the demon dog, his cheeks spreading to the absolute limit (and not the cheeks you would expect). When the hellhound’s breaths grew shallow, Zander knew he was going to climax. The thick, scalding ropes of salty cum were blasted right down Zander’s throat. His muffled screams only seemed to make the beast further buck and cum in ecstasy. Gallons and gallons of seed shot into Zander like a fire hose, making his belly swell even more than his steady diet of fried foods, pizza and micros had. Finally, the onslaught ended, and Zander’s cum-soaked mouth was removed from the hellhound’s tip with a sickening pop. His mouth was dripping like a fertilized pussy. It was so sticky with cum that he couldn’t even speak. He had been violated in the lowest, dirtiest way imaginable by this brute out of Hell.
The monster’s crude, cruel handpaw grabbed Zander again and lifted him up to his maw. Rather than the soggy abyss Zander was expecting to find, he saw a sort of vision appearing within the maw. It was like a reflection in water, rippling, but clearly visible, even in the torrent of nasty dog breath. Zander recognized the Cratchit dollhouse, but in a state of disrepair. Big Tim was salivating and drooling all over his huddled, terrified family. Bob Cratchit had his arms wrapped tightly around his wife and children, who were praying for salvation from this monster they once knew as a son and brother.
“Please don’t eat us, Big Tim!” Bob begged. “We feed you as much as we can! We’re family, not food!”
Big Tim had a monstrous, predatory look in his eyes. In his primitive state, driven by deep, gnawing hunger, Big Tim had lost all reason. It was as though he didn’t even recognize his family. To him, they were just tasty morsels. He began with Alice, the plump daughter he had always fantasized about. He played with her in his maw, savoring the taste of her on his tongue and her desperate cries for help. She was drenched in her sweat and his spit, before he finally flicked his tongue back and sent her screaming, alive, down his pitch-black throat. A squirming bulge in his throat rose and fell. That was the last the Cratchits would ever see of their daughter.

Next Big Tim grabbed his other, smaller brothers and sisters and used his tongue to smack them around the squishy, wet walls of his mouth. The tongue was like a bucking bronco that flung them throughout the humid cavern, and eventually into their beastly brother’s steaming gullet, never to be seen again. Mrs. Cratchit was torn from her husband’s tearful embrace and slowly dragged to her son’s terrible maw, the cheese-smelling chamber that no micros escaped from.
“Mmm,” he said, licking his lips. “You’ll make a nice snack!” “No! Tim, honey, I’m not a snack, I am your mother.”

He tossed his mother into his maw like she was a potato chip, and slurped her tail down like a piece of spaghetti. Bob Cratchit had just watched the voring of his wife and children, and he was powerless to stop it. He fell on his knees and screamed up to the sky, up to his son, who had become a cruel god that had taken everything from him. His cries fell on deaf ears. Large and adorable ears, but deaf ones all the same.
“You micros are yummy!” Big Tim bellowed.

“Noooooo!” Cratchit tried to escape the clutches of his son’s fuzzy white paw, but his efforts were in vain. He saw the jaws open, revealing his son’s cute little teeth, his tongue painting in anticipation of the finale to the best meal he had in years.
“Have fun being my dessert, micro!”

Cratchit closed his eyes. He saw his life flash before his eyes. All the good times he shared with his wife and children - including Big Tim. All of the times he had suffered under Zander’s various body parts, and all the bullying he had endured from his boss. He felt a hot breath blow on his fur. He refused to look at the deep reds and pinks of the inside of the maw. He wanted to remember his son as he was.
Zander watched agog as Bob Cratchit was swallowed whole, joining the rest of his family in his son’s digestive tract.
“Mmmm, that hit the spot!” Big Tim said as he patted his stomach and let out a little burp.

It was a horrific sight. The young man had grown so hungry that he resorted to eating his entire family, and didn’t even seem to understand what he was doing.
“Spirit?” Zander asked the humongous hellhound. “Are these visions of things that will be true, or only might be?”
The spirit only growled and closed his maw. When he opened it again, the shimmering grotto of dog spit revealed a freshly dug grave in a foggy cemetery. The dog parted to reveal the name carved on the stone: ZANDER PROCYOWSKI.
“What?” Zander sputtered in disbelief. “Spirit, this cannot be! I can’t die! I still got a few good years left? Maybe I do need to cut back on the donuts and exercise more, sure! I’ll make a New Year's resolution for it.”
The hellhound opened its mouth even wider, wider than any normal canine could. Zander thought he could hear the jawbones dislocating. The hole of the grave filled up the maw, and soon the black hole was filled with flames that licked the inside of the demon’s cheeks. The fire rose, blazing red, yellow and orange. Zander felt the heat on his face and fur and smelled brimstone and ash as the hellhound lowered him into his fiery maw. The flames were like a million fingers reaching out to grab Zander’s paws and drag him into the inferno.
“Spirit? SPIRIT? What are you doing, spirit? No, this can’t be how it ends, it can’t be! I… I promise I will change my ways, I promise I will love Christmas for the rest of my life, and I promise that I will never lay a hand, paw or buttcheek on a micro ever again! Have mercy on me, spirit!”
The hellhound didn’t make a sound. All Zander heard was the roaring fire and his own ugly, gasping cries. He looked down to see the flames consuming him, discoloring and disfiguring his pajamas.
“Aaaaaaaaaah!”

Chapter 5

“He had no further intercourse with Spirits.”

BONG! BONG! BONG! BONG! BONG! BONG! BONG!

Zander woke up on the floor, screaming, trying to escape from his bedsheets. When he opened his eyes, he was expecting a lake of fire to turn him into a raccoon flambé. Instead, he woke up to find that he was in his own bedroom. He counted the number of bongs he heard from his clock. There were more bongs in that last hour than a Cheech and Chong movie - or in his son’s friend Jason’s house, his kid really shouldn’t be hanging out with that pot-smoking hippie - but what the hell, that meant he had survived the night! The spirits had given him a second chance, and for the first time since he was a cub, he woke up happy on Christmas Day! He threw on a nice set of clothes, laughing and singing to himself. He practically glided down the grand staircase of his mansion and leapt out the door into the street. A group of micros were going door-to-door singing Christmas carols. When they spotted Zander, they dove into a snowbank to avoid being noticed, but were shocked when the raccoon joined their song with a smile on his face, and shook their paws when they were done!
“Merry Christmas!” He said to them, and he meant it more than he had ever meant it in his entire life. He gave them a generous tip as well.
After that, Zander knew what he had to do. He got in his car and drove all the way to the mountains to celebrate Christmas where it was meant to be celebrated - with his family. He had something very special planned for the next morning as well.
Zander made sure to be in his office very early on the 26th, to catch Cratchit when he got there. He practiced making a grumpy face to greet Cratchit with - and he had a lot of practice over the years, so it was easy to convince the little mouse that he really was in a foul mood.

“Cratchit!” Zander boomed when the mouse came through the micro-sized door that was carved into the macro-sized door.
“Yes, Mister Zander?” He said wanly.

“Do you have any idea what I do to employees who show up late, especially micros?”

Cratchit’s eyes went wide with fear.

“N-n-no sir!”

“I…”

Cratchit cringed.

“I… give them a promotion!”

Cratchit was so shocked by what he heard that he needed to sit down. He saw Zander with a massive grin. Had the raccoon finally gone mad? Did he stop taking his meds? Zander ran to Cratchit and gave him a crushing bear hug - the only way he would crush any micro from then on.
“Cratchit, it’s about time I’ve rewarded you for your loyalty. How about you and I go into business together? It’ll be your name out there. ‘Zander and Cratchit’ - has a good ring to it, doesn’t it? You’ll have all the same benefits and privileges that Marley did - you deserve it. And how’s this - you have the day off today as well! In fact, how about you take off ‘till New Years? You should really spend this time with your family, take a load off!”
“Uh, gee, sir, thanks!”

While Cratchit raced home to tell his family that his boss had lost his mind (not that he was complaining) Zander went to the supermarket, bought the biggest turkey he could find and personally delivered it to the Cratchit household. The bird was the size of their house.
“This will be enough to feed us until Easter!” Mrs. Cratchit said. “And finally, Big Tim will have enough to eat.”
Zander happily sat outside the Cratchit home and enjoyed a turkey dinner with the family. It was the first time he ever even met them, and he had the feeling it would be the beginning of a

beautiful friendship. From then on, Zander had Christmas cheer all year round, and never treated micros with cruelty ever again. That is, unless they were into it, and surprisingly he found a lot of micros who were into it. Perhaps one of them may even be you, the reader of this little tale.
As snow fell on the quaint, unlikely family scene, Big Tim exclaimed “God bless us, uwu!” “God bless us,” Zander said, “uwu!”

The End

Merry Christmas!