Giant

The giant stomps forward on bare feet, relentlessly. His steps leave deep imprints in the marshland, accompanied by sucking sounds wherever his four-toed feet lift off the moist ground. On he stomps without any hurry, without any remorse.

The tiny beings at his feet, huddled together, he ignores; has no incentive to care, nor is he hungry for manflesh. He’s up to greater things than the all-too-easy hunt for humans, and none of them will hold him up. None of them would even dare try. They are all afraid of him, some secretly worship him, and the smell of their fear is like an overly sweet perfume to his senses, as are the cries of those that get crushed by his bare feet as he walks on. A living god.

Then an annoyed voice cuts into the scene, ruining everything: “Lorna! Didn’t I tell you not to play with your food? Now, give your sister her fork back and stop squeezing the peas into your mashed potatoes.”

28.02.2005