You are currently skimming the crowded shelves of a miniature bookstore when you notice a seemingly ordinary novel with the intriguing title, [xxxtra small]. The brown cover, featuring no illustrations whatsoever, and the hesitantly printed title, hints at the peculiar premise that it has to offer.

It is difficult not to be drawn into the world where each character is minimally portrayed. At first, the protagonist appears ordinary enough; just another victim of societal conventions. Yet, as the plot weaves through their inner turmoil, their thoughts are ridiculed as utterly nonsensical. “Why,” their teachers often implore, “must you delve so deep into your own subconciousness?”

As the journey unfolds, it intertwines itself with existential dread. Reduced to minute settings and abbreviated characters, the melancholy at hand is sure to raise awareness as to just how tiny we truly are amidst life’s colossal steps. Avoiding languid blasphemy and disagreeable laments, the author ensures that by revealing fragments of insight all the while cloaking insights with the negativity often attached to an xxtra small space.

Through this hypnotic terror you can’t help but ponder, what lies beyond the furthest extremities of our processed existence, in [xxxtra small] one checks into these genres in their simplest encapsulations leaving that lingering doubt to ward itself into greening ethereal skins of its encompassing hollow world so stripped bare like void theatres with wind incessantly going home.