April 2007, that’s when I started working on this collage. I finished it a couple of months later, and after all this time and slight modifications, I keep thinking of the same story behind it.
It’s a story about a man, nothing blatantly special about him to the naked eye, but that’s not the case. The main characters in the tales my head tells me tend to seem initially common as many of us are in finding themselves appreciated by very few people, befriended by less, and truly known by no one.
In my stories, my characters have the immense fortune of being seen for what they really are, and the person doing the seeing is a giantess, or a shrunken man.
Alright, sometimes my characters just have hot multisize carnal knowledge, but that’s not what’s happening in my collage.
She sees him, because none of her giant lovers will do. She picks him because she prefers his tiny size, and when she looks into his widened eyes, she knows he prefers her above all the women in his world.
Or maybe his pants are telling her that, because articles of clothing can be quite outspoken.
She emerges from behind that building bent low at the waist because she was hiding behind it, playing some giant version of peekaboo, and she fixes her gaze on him all the way down there as he steps out for a walk, and can anyone blame her if she gets overly excited and squeezes the side of the building into crumbs when she first speaks to him?
He wishes he could squeeze something too.
Like a stress ball or a teddy bear. What else could I possibly mean?
“I see you,” she says, and as her voice sends a shiver across that building’s facade, glass ripples and cement lifts off in a small cloud much slower that the larger pieces that fall to the ground, hitting the sidewalk and smashing parked car windows.
And they live happily ever after.
Except for the times the city sends him repair bills.
But he never pays a single penny.
You try collecting money from someone married to a giantess.
Good luck. I hope your affairs are in order.