Ah, the open Pacific. Scraps of flotsam and jetsam, that once belonged to Air Force Forty-Nine, are scattered all over this part of it.
The currents come. One by one, they're separated. They're all on a long journey to nowhere. As for most else, it's already sunken to bottom...a VERY long way down.
In the midst of it all, a small glass bottle floats, top-up. It's partly full of water. It's far from the rest of the flotsam. The rest of the flotsam is far from itself by now.
A closer look inside the bottle reveals life inside it. The plane crash has yielded one survivor; none other than the plane's only occupant.
Delia, still clad in a rebel bikini, is now under a thousandth her normal size. Despite how many hazards she's been exposed to, she's alive...and floating on her back, on the surface of this bottle water...and still knocked out, after all this time.
In her youth, she ate ptarmigans...because a lot of bad girls she knew did so too. But then she found out that in Alaska, it's considered an act of anti-patriotism to kill and eat a ptarmigan as if it were a quail. (Ptarmigan's the state bird.) Since then, Delia's under-indulged.
If she sleeps this well, though, it's not likely because of what she eats. Clearly, chicks with bodies like that aren't gluttons...unless they're hungry. Delia's always hungry...but only because she works so hard to get that body. Now, though, she's been forced into a medium she's not used to.
She'd have better luck if the bottle didn't have any water in it... But then, it's too late for that. And the nearest boat is nowhere to be seen. Good thing, though; Delia probably wouldn't want to get picked up as she is.
She wakes. She takes a long time to realize that she's surrounded by one of her nightmares. She's stranded in the middle of an open ocean. Even worse, she's like an alewife to an alewife.
She's still no wife, naturally... Even so, she's still an alewife to an alewife. A menhaden to a menhaden. A herring to a herring. A shad to a shad... You get the idea.
Frantic, she tries to wave her bare arm to any passing ship...and nearly sinks, to the bottom of the bottle, while doing so. She struggles to surface.
While submerged, she gawks into the infinity of the ocean's depths. It's like staring into outer space, while far from Earth. This is going to kill her. Delia just knows it...
Petrified, she sinks farther. She thrashes, trying to push her nightmare away from her. Alas, no matter how much she thrashes, her nightmare still lingers. It couldn't be worse...
She becomes more aware of her new size...as a school of shad swims past. For this, Delia stops swimming, and rests, with her knees against the transparent bottom of the bottle, as a pod of whale-sized fish swim past her.
They're all big enough to eat her. And to think that once, she watched her mother, the premier of Alaska, eat them on a pizza.
With her hands, Delia caresses her own waistline. Like this, she feels sexier. She's always hated herself for being too fat. Now she doesn't know if she wants to be big again. But at least if she was, she wouldn't die because one of these monstrous fish mistook her for a zooplankton shrimp. Or because a zooplankton shrimp mistook her for a diatom...or whatever the dominant micro-botany is out here...
This is hardly the swimsuit Delia wanted to get stranded in...or shrunk in. But at least a lot of her mother's rightist kin in the Deep South of the NAU would consider it part of a once-patriotic flag. If only it wasn't seen as a racist symbol today... Alaska's pretty racist, but Delia tries to stay out of that shit, when she has a choice... Alas, she must confess that the choice is getting harder and harder to make, by the year...
Even so, she may never get to be racist again. She's surrounded by the ocean, and...
She can't breathe. Without trying to, she breaches the surface of the water she's trapped in, and waves her arm around again.
There's nobody, for clicks. Alas, it'd be easier for Delia to know so if some of these waves weren't so freaking big. They're blocking her view.
Some of them terrify her, as they move straight towards her. To her, it's like watching the rogue wave through a telescope, in the movie Poseidon... Or Jaws's dorsal fin approaching, up close...
Delia hasn't attracted any sharks yet. Alas, at her size, she doubts that even a drop of her blood would attract the smallest... OTOH, sharks can detect billionths of electric volts in the water. With that said, maybe they can detect the same amounts of blood, too...
Delia sure hopes not. Then again, part of her kind of hopes so...
Lucky for her, most of these waves aren't the capsizing kind. They just temporarily raise the altitude of her bottle, before lowering it again. Even so, it makes Delia sick. Needless to say, she's not used to being out here...or wet...or swimming.
Alaska's got a lot of coast. Inland, it's got indoor swimming pools, too. Most of them have to be. Even in the south, the pools are hardly immune to winter freezing. Even so, Delia's always been a bit of a bimbo. As much as she's always admired her body in a bikini, a bikini has only ever been a fashion item to her. The truth is, she has nightmares about drowning...and just as many about getting trapped in deep space. This is going to be hard for her.
She leaps up and down, while treading water, waving her bare, yet tiny, arms. She can't see a ship...but she waves anyway. No one's going to see her. Hell, this bottle's probably going to be adrift for months, before it so much as glimpses the shallows that foretell land's arrival.
Once on land, she'll have new problems. Even so, it'd be unwise for her to worry about her shore problems, when her pelagic problems have just begun.
Night falls. The ocean keeps flowing.
Once again, Delia lies on her back, on the surface. The ocean hasn't capsized her bottle yet...but she's almost certain it will. Beneath her, a sea turtle swims right past her. It's huge; bigger than a whale shark is to most normal-sized people. She wouldn't be sorry she missed it. She doesn't even miss normal-sized sea turtles...or turtles in general. Turtles, after all, are native to an element, and not to mention a panties size, that she once hoped never to share with them.
The moon rises. It's full. All over the world, tides rise.
Delia's ass cheeks inflate. Delia gasps, as she starts sinking, once again.
She panics, and urinates in her own water, when she sees the infinity of the sea depths, once again. But then she bumps against the glass, and remembers that she's safe, for now.
The moon distorts her emotions. It makes things scarier than they are. And Delia's circumstances couldn't be more precarious...to her, if not in general. At least the moon isn't full every night. But then, the tides do rise every night, which is hardly an encouraging thought, for a girl in Delia's...bikini.
And it's a VERY sexy bikini. Too bad it's going to get her in trouble, on down the line...