Writing, when you boil it down to its essential juices, is making immature premises appear intelligent.
A story about the world going boom can, for instance, be prettied up as an apocolyptic tale of the pessimism of mankind, the reliance on religion as a 'get out of jail free' card, or how technology has been furthering industrial progress. But hampering the world's wellbeing, but once you boil it down, it's just about blowing the world up for shits and giggles.
This story, likewise, was inspired by the sheer basics of a child's toy.

Being the possession of an entity many times larger than you, unable to do anything but heed the commands of whatever the child demands, whether it be reenacting a shining moment from the franchise's television show, or seeing how Action Man would appear in Barbie's tutu; it's almost a sick and twisted fate when you add a little unnecessary humanity to it. On the contrary, the few figurines littering my desk are doomed to little more than repositioning and remaining in immobile stances of implied action. A worse fate?
And I'm afraid it expanded from there.
The thought of a little living individual scarpering around my desk surface was an enticing and intriguing image. Simple physical activity while holding an object would become exciting, fast-paced action for the little creature being held, and the thought of making ways for it to access every area of the house through use of block staircases and pulleys was just too childishly stimulating to just remain as a mere idea.
But, as to be expected, I made it into a story of female growth. Me and my foul mind!

I did, however, want to make it a little more stand-on-its-own like, and thus it is quite different from my previous works, presumably to the chagrin of anyone seeking cheap underpants-tightening thrills. In reality, to have a friend five inches tall would be an interesting curiosity, but also become more than a little cumbersome. How would you tell visitors that you have a friend they could potentially crush with a coffee cup? Would the little fellow be able to take care of him or herself without your assistance? How would pets react? A most troubling string of queries indeed.
On the inverse: What if this little person was the only social life you had? This intrigued me moreso. The dangers of being small has been chronicled in every Saturday morning cartoon show in existence, but I was not aware of one that made the shrunken individual the only companion to a gentle giant. Then I remembered The BFG by Roald Dahl, which I can barely remember the contents of now, so I fear my brilliant idea is no longer as unique as I thought it was. Wouldn't be the first time!
Saval, in a nutshell, lacks a social life, but has it all in terms of fanciful possessions. Lynn is comfortable with how things are, minus for the fact she lives in an unkempt mousehole and barely gathers enough scraps to last to the end of the day. The two become friends, Lynn to have company, protection, and a supplier of goods, while for Saval it is for the sheer embrace of having a close relationship. However, having a small friend has its charm, but she desires a friend more to her size, and does not know how she would rectify this situation.
Cue the weight gain!

Despite the feelings between the two, I had no happy ending planned. Saval would have gone on to force feed Lynn the fruit, but, as was to be expected, the little girl's body would no longer take it and rupture under the pressure, but not before Lynn acknowledging that her friend had innocent and well-meaning intentions. Needless to say, Saval would be more than a little upset, having only the memories of her friend now, and the story would end on quite a downer.
I fear that's why it remains unfinished. I lost the inspiration to go on. I built a few thousand words of warm relationship between the two, and then offed one with unintentional bursting. I may have written it as an erotic piece, dear reader, but it still hurt to think of separating the fictional duo!
Which is a shame, in my eyes, as it would have allowed me to finally make a bursting piece after writing three that went about criticizing works that avoided the topic.
Life goes on.