Scheherazaded

Flash_and_Moon-Curtain.jpg

I don’t usually reuse collages for different posts, but I don’t see the blog police anywhere around here. This came to me while I was thinking of something completely different, and is soon to become a major motion story. As in, my fingers will be moving in a major way. During NaNoWriMo.

* * *

The man stood his ground, despite the fear tattooing his heart. His target stood dozens of feet above him, and there was no way he could reach it as she demanded. He wanted to be angry, to tell her exactly what he thought of her, but to do so would only seal his fate, not that it didn’t look sealed already. His fate was tightly packed, vacuum-wrapped in her whims, stamped and delivered into the future, but anger would probably make it worse.

“What are you waiting for? Touch it, or I’ll eat you.”

“Why do you do this?”

“Because it’s time, and I’m hungry.”

“So you are going to eat me anyway. Why do you ask me to do something impossible? You know there’s no way I’ll touch you there. I’m a gentleman.”

He couldn’t see her face from his disadvantage point, but she had cracked a smile.

“So it has nothing to do with your height?”

“Certainly not! I could have climbed your legs in an instant. I’m an amazing climber. I won climbing medals when I was big, before you did this to me.”

“So show me. You don’t have to touch it. Just show me how you can go up my leg, which from here looks like a tree trunk when compared to you.”

“I’d love to show you.”

“OK.”

“But I’m afraid I can’t.”

“And why is that?”

“Well, you shrank me as I was delivering your pizza, and then proceeded to fatten me up for a period of… I’m not sure how many weeks-”

“Ten weeks.”

“You see this belly here? This was not here before. This blubber makes it impossible for me to climb as I did before. I was a bundle of manly muscles before. Now look at this cellulite.”

“I don’t see any-”

“Is that why you gave me all that delicious food? To ready me for some sort of banquet?”

“Yes. Obviously. Well, since you can’t do what I’m asking you to do, I’m going to slash your throat now, and make sausage with your blood.”

“Ah, blood sausage. The breakfast of champions. That’s great, but I never said I can’t climb your leg. I only said I can’t climb it in an instant, the way I might have before you turned me into a butterball.”

“Then climb it already!” She had forgotten that brief smile and had replaced it with impatience. She was hungry, and it would take some time to hang his carcass properly so as to bleed it in a bucket and not spill a single drop. To waste one molecule of his delicious body would be a sin.

“Very well. It’s a shame about the spiders, really.”

“The spid- what? Did you see a spider? Wait, you said ‘spiders’. Where? Oh, you know I hate those things!”

“Yes, I saw a bunch of spiders, you know, the really venomous ones that can kill you with one bite, the widow ones.”

Her expression changed immediately to one of suspicion.

“Oh, did you. A bunch. A bunch of black widow spiders?”

He thought faster than he’d ever thought in his life.

“Oh. Black? You say they are black? No. I didn’t see a bunch of black ones.”

“Of course you didn’t. They are solitary.”

“Yeah, I just saw one in your bedroom, and the other one was way back, behind the washer in the laundry room.”

“What?!”

“Yeah, so just two. I’d get them for you, but I’ll be busy roasting in the oven.”

“Oh, you are lying. You’re only trying to extend your little life. It will do you no good. I’m going to kill you, and cook you up, and eat you!”

“Yes, I know. Good luck with the spiders. I hope you’re not allergic to the antivenom. Goodnight.”

“Shit.”

“I’m ready.”

“Shut up. I’m thinking.”

“I’ll shut up now.”

“Look, uh… ok. Show me the webs.”

“Gladly! Do you have a sledgehammer? Go get it.”

“What? Why do I need a sledgehammer?”

“Because the black widow spider’s web is inside the wall, silly. They don’t build them out in the open. You know that crack on the wall under your bed? That’s where it lives. I can fit my head through there… if you squeeze your phone through the crack, then maybe you can take a picture. But then you’ll have to get out from under your bed very quickly because you know how aggressive they can be, and when your phone’s flash enrages it, it will come after you, and what if you’re stuck under there-”

“Shut up! Shut up, I get it. Fine. Show me the other web. The one in the laundry room. And you better not come up with a clever little story for that one, because if you do I’ll gut you right here, and make kidney with your pies.”

“You mean-”

“Shut up and show me.”

“Yes, of course.”

And tiny as he was, he led the way past the kitchen to the laundry room, where he hoped there was a spider web somewhere.

* * *

 

Advertisements

8 thoughts on “Scheherazaded

  1. “The fear tattooing his heart.” Very evocative, on multiple levels. Brava.

    The duty that our little guy has seized for himself is ironic to me, as one of the chief obstacles to my enjoyment of a shrunken life is the prospect of dealing with arthropods, spiders in particular. I realize he’s in a tight spot, but I think I’d first volunteer for less revolting chores, such as cleaning out her plumbing (ahem) or doing her taxes.

    If you’re looking for more variations on the vore theme, can I tempt you with an ortolan?

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Thank you.

    Spiders. There are three in my bathroom now because I refuse to kill them, and I let them breed in peace. I like spiders, and I infuse my character with that feeling while giving my female protagonist the view I’ve heard in the size community for the duration I’ve been in it. As it turns out, the man in my story is a spider whisperer. But more on that later.

    There’s also the fact that he hardly knows her. She shrank him and kept him free-range in her house while she overfed him snails and mushrooms stuffed with delicious herbs, and wine and buttered rum. He’s operating from the standpoint of what he knows, and he knows she hates spiders. To offer any other service would be too risky a gamble.

    Jesus Christ, Olo. That was revolting. I endured it from beginning to end because as horrifying as it was, it was also interesting. I read many (translated) versions of French fairy tales when I was a child, and in them, someone or other was invariably eating ortolan and getting ready to do mischief.

    Like

    • It is the wily tiny who attends to their giant captor’s anxieties and predilections. I look forward to hearing the Song of the Spider People.

      If you’re going to threaten to eat tinies, you best be prepared to go through with it, in all its offal glory.

      Like

      • I’m not sure I can write about a character that actually eats tiny people. Hard vore in fiction has caused hilarity if the context is absurd, but to actually depict it would be a challenge.

        Maybe I’ll try it sometime. The thought is incredibly unappealing to me, but I’m always looking to expand my writing horizons. That would certainly be a test.

        Like

        • So, I’ve heard the term “hard vore” used in a couple of different ways. The more common meaning is vore that involves chewing or dismembering, as opposed to soft vore where the prey is swallowed whole (and typically alive and conscious). The other usage is that hard vore means any vore which is ultimately fatal to the prey, and soft vore means the prey somehow survives and typically emerges (mostly) unharmed. I’m curious in which sense you’re using the term, and if any of these distinctions are less unappealing to you than others.

          Liked by 1 person

          • I’m familiar with the former usage, and I don’t think I’d even heard of the latter for soft vore (even though I only wrote about it a few days ago). In writing, I would have great difficulty implementing the former unless I figure out how to make it funny, the way I’ve seen some authors do. As to “soft vore”, years ago I saw it used to tag stories that involved mouthplay, so I thought they were both the same. Now I have no idea if the terms are interchangeable, despite the fact that it’s one of my favorite writing themes. I’ll have to figure it out if I want to tag my stories correctly.

            Like

  3. Fun, love the wordplay and quick thinking of the spider hunter. In these parts, we’ve been invaded by the Wester Conifer Seed Bug, the ugliest critter you ever saw. I would never hunt one, but I do vacuum them up.

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s