Edith Sherwood stands with arms crossed, watching her husband, Sam Sherwood, defiantly light another cigarette. The kitchen is filled with the stale smell of tobacco, and the silence between them is brittle, punctuated only by the scraping of a chair.
"Sam, do you have any idea what you’re doing to yourself? Four packs a day! The patches didn’t work, the gum didn’t work, and you just laughed at the hypnotist,"
"I’m not quitting, Edith. Not for you, not for anyone. These things are mine,"
Edith shakes her head, her frustration clear in the tightness of her jaw.
Edith sits nervously across from Alberto Chartrand, an older man with silver hair and piercing eyes. A framed certificate on the wall proclaims him as the “Best Hypnotherapist in the Business.”
"You say nothing else has worked," he muses, fingers steepled. Edith nods, desperation in her eyes.
"I have one last suggestion—extreme, but effective. I can plant a thought that cigarettes will stunt his growth. Retroactively,"
"If it works, I’ll try anything," she whispers, hope and anxiety battling in her voice.
Sam[/@ch_2] reclines in a leather armchair, skeptical but silent, as Alberto prepares him for hypnosis.]
Alberto waves a small silver pendant, his voice a low, rhythmic murmur. Edith sits nearby, hands clenched in her lap, watching every twitch on Sam’s face.
"From this moment, each cigarette will make you smaller, your body growing backward with every puff,"
Sam’s brow furrows, his jaw set stubbornly, but his eyelids flutter as the suggestion takes root.
Sam[/@ch_2] grows visibly smaller each day. Rain lashes the windows, adding to the sense of chaos.]
Edith scrambles to keep up, watching Sam struggle to light cigarettes with hands that shrink daily. He refuses to give in, but the battle is etched on his face—fear, confusion, and defiance all at once.
"Sam, just stop," she pleads as she helps him into a child’s sweatshirt, the only thing that fits.
"I won’t let this beat me, Edith. I’m not giving up," he snaps, though his voice is higher, his words slurred by the shrinking of his mouth.
Sam[/@ch_2] is barely the size of a toddler, his legs dangling, unable to reach the table.]
Edith gently removes a box of cigarettes from his reach, replacing it with a baby bottle. Sam kicks in frustration, tears brimming in his now-chubby cheeks.
"There, see? You can’t smoke anymore, Sam. Maybe this will be better for you," she says softly, a note of sympathy in her voice.
"Not fair, Edith. Not… fair," he mumbles, but the fight is gone, replaced by resignation as he latches onto the bottle.
Edith[/@ch_1] sits beside a baby-sized Sam in a romper, facing a wide-eyed Alberto.]
Alberto looks horrified at the outcome, his hands shaking as he reviews his notes.
"I… I never imagined the suggestion would be this powerful," he stammers.
"It’s fine, Alberto. Just one more thing—can you plant a suggestion so he’s instantly toilet trained? I’m not changing diapers for the next two years," Edith says with a tired smile, cradling the tiny, now smoke-free Sam in her lap.
