If I could hold them in my hand
I’d make them understand
I’m not a haunted mind
I’m not a thoughtless kind
If I could put them in a jar
I know they wouldn’t scar
I’d do it if I could
I hope you know I would
“Late At Night” – Buffalo Tom
I’ve been told my gentle posts are boring. I’m not sure what’s wrong with some tiny brains, but there is nothing boring about stories of shrinking a person down to a couple of inches in height and loving that person to death. No, not literally. I’m going to keep writing about the things I like, and if a few people find them boring, that’s perfectly fine. I hold no grudge against those wonderful and mentally balanced people, and to demonstrate my gentleness, I promise that upon my tremendous growth I will pay those people a visit, and give them exactly what they want in a prolonged, exquisite, thorough manner. See? I’m sweetness incarnate.
I’ll continue to write about that common man you see every day, and that uncommon woman you ignore every day, and the way she sees him and doesn’t think he’s common at all, and there is something about the way he walks or pays for his coffee or fills out his pants that propels her to get up from her seat and follow him, and when he turns to face her she stretches out her arms as though she’s an old friend from college, hiding the hypodermic needle that finds his neck and shrinks him permanently.
I’ll continue to write about what happens when he wakes up, and days and weeks and months and years go by, and he continues to wake up tiny, and the anger has diminished the same way he did, and he finally understands that she is his life now. He sees love in everything she does
to for him. She fills his life with purpose, dreams, children, and peace.
There are universes filled with people that experience importance in being a temporary entertainment, their flash in the pan nothing but a sticky glob under the foot of a woman that already forgot she crushed their insignificant bodies. I see meaning in that… but I was born with an understanding of the value of tiny people. When I was a toddler and learning to read, “dwarves” in fairy tales only measured a few inches in height and their whole purpose in life was to entertain me. I had dreams about them that seemed real. I still remember their weight on my torso when they climbed from the floor to my bed and then onto me, speaking a chittering language I struggled to understand, and dancing and telling me stories. My impulse wasn’t to crush or devour them, but to preserve and befriend them.
I wanted what they gave me to continue for all eternity, the same way I want those little people in some of my stories to live forever. In my stories I want the giantess to live forever, and she often does. She captures the moon for the man she chooses, and it doesn’t matter what havoc that wreaks on the planet’s surface… I don’t ever think about that. One of my favorite WIPs is a story about a giantess that likes to gift planets. That’s a scale in which I feel quite comfortable, and why I bought that moon lamp in the picture. That’s also why when I found that galaxy egg-decorating kit for Easter, I had to buy it and use it. I own the stars, and when I look at the Milky Way it feels mine too. When I stand in place and look up at the heavens and watch them turn, I don’t feel small like so many people do. I feel that’s my backyard. I feel I can stretch out and touch it and make it my toy.
And I’d play with it gently.
Most of the time.