You, down there, sprawled on the floor, probably know that clearly delineated line that separates pain from pleasure, as advertised by that Friday night feeling of Now You Get To Drink, and you know exactly how much you can drink before you get sick. Is it eight shots? Nine? Fourteen? Once I did four shots of rum and three of Everclear and I resurfaced relatively unscathed. There was that one night I only downed five shots of vodka and hurled everything but my soul down the toilet.
Still… there’s that feeling. That measuring cup in your brain that begins to reach the brim and tells you, “That’s enough drinking. One more shot and all that numb pleasure will become pain, and toilet rim, and empty promises to never drink again.” Did you ever listen? I always did. I’m walking the line right now; that line as clear as the chalk my teachers used as a tool to explain algebra or chemical compounds. I loved Chemistry. I aced every test, the way they failed every test, even though they were a perfect match.
I thought so, anyway. You, down there, also know that giantesses like to play with crowds, but not this one giantess. She only liked to play with a crowd of one. Why didn’t you warn her? You should have. Someone should have told her to play it safe, to scatter her attention unlike so many huge eggs in one tiny basket. I blame you, and you should blame yourself now that the end is here, because she grows taller now; she keeps growing and we’re her punching bag.
Once upon a time she was just like you, a woman of normal size and a normal life of little effect upon the world. Had she died at any point before everything changed, her friends and family would have noticed and grieved, but no one else. That would have been okay, but then she grew. That day her heart was pounding hard, and her joints hurt as though she was riddled with arthritis–which she did not have–and her skin felt as though it was on fire. She took some ibuprofen, but it didn’t help.
At 12:25 that night she began to grow, the same as the others. She felt it in her bra first. She always had to wear one like armor, because her breasts were quite large… yet she looked away from her computer screen and down at her chest, and watched it swell. She might have thought she was imagining it, and as she did every month, she said, “Fuck these things, and fuck their size! How they hurt! That’s it! I’m having a breast reduction!”
No, I have no idea if she really said that, but that’s what large-breasted people say sometimes. She said something of the kind in one of those early interviews. Breasts of any size can hurt, no matter what all that porn made anyone think. That moment, her back hurt but so did her front, her top, and her bottom. Her eyebrows joined as one and she looked down at her thighs. They were pressing up at the underside of her computer desk (Mac desk, if you believe the press), and that’s when she finally realized something was very wrong. Her heart grew a few inches, lacerating itself against her normal-sized ribs and healing instantly as every bone in her body cracked and healed again and again as they followed the wave of expansion.
Try to imagine every one of your two hundred and six bones in your body shattering simultaneously, slicing your muscles and organs because they are growing a few inches. Imagine the pain doesn’t kill you. Imagine those inches are now feet, and those feet number in the dozens, then hundreds. But that excruciating pain didn’t render her mindless.
She threw herself back and away from her Mac, and found herself boxed in a room that barely contained her. Then, thinking of her family, she hurled herself forward to no avail, because she grew to the front and to the back too, and her expanding body crushed her husband and children just as they woke up to the sound of her screaming, and wood and plaster cracking all around them, and the butchering sounds of her exploding flesh. They didn’t feel a thing. Feeling everything was her job as she looked back and saw red in the night, saw bodies under her, and screamed all the nine-one-ones that were left in the world. Her madness was immediate.
Months later, she had healed… adjusted, remember? She had a job, a new life, and every night she went to sleep in her designated field with thoughts of that family she had killed with her growth. And one day she saw him. One morning she’d been patrolling the city as always, as all normal giantesses did (never mind the building-raping ones… they belong in another story). She’d been talking to the [little] people, listening to their complaints, comforting them when she could with a warm word or embrace. She’d been tippy-toeing her way across streets and highways, picking up stranded drivers, giving them rides to work, nursing and transporting the injured, when she saw him. She decided he was perfect.
But you knew he wasn’t, didn’t you? You knew what he was. Why didn’t you tell her? You should have. And maybe this end would not be your fault. Maybe there would have never been reason for that anger, and she would not have decided to become the biggest, tallest building fucker of them all. Maybe she would have stopped growing. Maybe she would have been happy. Fuck you for not telling her you all knew he was a jerk.
Now look at everything. Look outside. I said look, asshole! Scrape yourself off the floor and pull the curtain to the side and see the world she’s made. Did you see where there used to be those buildings downtown? Did you count the people that were working there that day when she finally had enough? Did you know it was all your fault? Thousands of shattered lives that day. Did you know anyone that worked there? Oh, the flurry of comments online; the chats and tweets. “She’s lost her mind!” you cried out. “Somebody do something!” you clamored. But there was no one left to do anything, because she was pissed beyond belief, and she was growing.
She was a couple of hundred feet tall when she saw him walking down the street. What do they still call that? Something about some little fucker with a bow and arrow. She saw him and he was Nutella and heat and rushing blood and chocolate and tequila and fire and holidays all turned into one. He was in color when the world was black and white. Shit. I crossed the line. I fucking crossed the line with this hard seltzer. That last swig made my stomach turn into a churning nightmare… but can you blame me? This is the last drop of alcohol left in the world. What a shitty deal. Let me tell you about her a little longer, because I don’t think I have enough time left to throw up.
She loved him, but he didn’t love her back. She took him, but he didn’t really take her back. Oh, he could have. If you don’t have any intelligent questions to ask, then keep quiet. Yes, you can take a giantess if you’ve of a mind to. All you need is little words. Tiny words and a dance she understands. And boy, did he dance for her! He said all the right things, and you heard him. I know you did. You just sat in your miserable, unventilated office and let him hold that megaphone as he gave her crumbs when she wanted a feast.
But when she discovered what he was, what he truly was, she screamed and she grew. How tall? Don’t ask me that. I don’t know. Look out your window. No, look. Stop crying and look. LOOK. Part the fucking curtains and see her come, because we’re the last of them, and she’s coming for us. You should have told her it wasn’t true.
Don’t ask dumb questions. Her feet aren’t parting the clouds. Those aren’t preexisting clouds. That’s the natural heat from her toes evaporating her sweat, and creating a stream of moisture in the atmosphere, which looks to you like swirling clouds as it mixes with the Earth. Yes, she makes our atmosphere even as she destroys it. Hundreds of thousands of feet above, where there’s no oxygen, she pulls every molecule of oxygen from down here into her lungs. I know you can’t see her face, even though you’re looking at it. All you see is the fire on her skin as the sun cooks it with no atmosphere to protect her. It burns everything, yet she keeps breathing ignited air. Do you feel sorry for her? Don’t. She heals instantly, and she’s killing the Earth with all that combustion.
But don’t worry your tiny little head. There’s nothing you can do about it now. Calm down. You should have told her early on he was just humoring her. Now she grows… Yes! She still grows. Can’t you see? LOOK. Do you see the blue in the sky disappearing? Look at all the rainbows by her ankles as every particle that made our air shifts to make prisms. There must be a million rainbows… Yes, like ankle bracelets. I feel the vacuum now. I feel it in my joints. Do you feel it in your lungs? Try to take a deep breath. No, you stupid fuck, do not open the window. There’s very little air outside now. She’s taken it all for herself, and she grows. Soon she’ll be the only one left.
Look at her shins, if you can. It’s like looking into space made of skin. Imagine the Everest is two feet walking toward you, and multiply that by ankles and shins and calves. Yes, that flesh-colored horizon you see is the rooting of her legs into the ground. Do you see the clouds of dust as they spiral up into the moisture her toes create? Look at their shapes. Yes. Tornadoes. Hundreds… no, thousands of tornadoes belching out of her skin as it creates weather. She’s walking each of them over toward us. Have you made your peace?
Then make peace now. Whisper a last goodbye in your head to those you love. They are long gone. No, you’re not going anywhere. Every time she takes a step, the earth claims a million lives. Stay put. We don’t have that many floors above us. Look at the buildings crumbling all around us. Now we can barely see her past the storm of debris. Look. Soon that glass will break and you’ll breathe in nothing but blood and bone. I warned you. You should have told her he was an opportunistic asshole. This is all your fault. My god, why does my body hurt so much?
Keep looking. Strain your eyesight upwards. Do you see her knees? You knew her before she grew this tall, so you can transpose that memory into the world she is now. I know you can’t see her thighs. They are far too distant, far into space, more moonfolk than Earthfolk now. What? No, you can’t stop her. Apologize? You can try, but you know there’s very little oxygen left out there. How is she going to hear your little screams? You should have warned her when you had the chance. When she was only a couple of hundred feet tall, and not thousands upon thousands of feet of flesh bearing down upon us.
Try saying you’re sorry. Why not? You and I know he never did. Maybe if he’d tried she wouldn’t have kept growing. Do you remember when she started fucking buildings? That should have been a clue that something was wrong. You should have said something then, but by all means say something now, when her ears are atmosphereless, when her heart should be the size of a moon but has been shattered into factions and rebellions and muscle that pulses with the strength to demolish worlds.
But wait. Wait until the window shatters from her feet digging into Earth plates that were supposed to shift on their own. Wait until she gets closer and the roof above our heads has fractured into splinters and the cancer of remaining asbestos that is now a loving embrace compared to what awaits us under her sole. Do you doubt it? She won’t miss. She’s coming for us. Her footprints are as large as states, and she aims well, and you will pay as much as I will. We are both destined to be red for an instant and then grey as our liquified remains mingle with dust. We will be absorbed, and deteriorate in the void of a dead Earth. My heart is pounding so hard! And my bra… my clothes! Oh, my god!
Now! The window shatters. Tell her! Beg! Claim you didn’t know, and cry for mercy. Distract her. Her foot comes down. Dark. Darker. Darkest. Look away. Look at me and hold my