The
Curl
by
Seeguy
You
sit on your naked butt, the smell of ozone and dust tickling your
nose. Your ears ring and your vision blurs into focus. The sun feels
warm on your skin. The ringing lessens and sounds fade into your
consciousness; alarms, sirens, shouts and screams.
A
voice, distorted by loudspeaker, reaches your ears.
“DO
NOT MOVE. WE REPEAT, PLEASE DO NOT MOVE.”
You
realize that they are talking to you. You also realize that you are
completely naked.
“WE
ARE CURRENTLY RESCUING CASUALTIES AROUND YOUR BODY. PLEASE, DO NOT
MOVE.”
Your
vision un-blurs, but you don’t see anything too unusual. You see
the building across the street from your workplace, a fairly
non-descript small office building, a lot like the one you work in
actually The thing is, you’ve never seen it from this particular
angle. Also, you’re pretty sure it looks a lot smaller than other
times you’ve seen it.
You
move your eyes around without moving any other parts of your body, as
the loudspeaker has requested.
Darting
you eyes downward, you see crumbled brickwork, twisted metal, and
crumbled masonry.
Amid
the wreckage, you spot people in uniforms, people in safety gear,
lots of high visibility vests. They look a lot smaller than you
remember too. About
the size of a little medicine capsule.
There
are other people, some partially
buried under debris. Some were clearly only injured. A few are
clearly only bodies. You’re
not sure if you recognize any of them, but you don’t try too hard
to figure it out either. The emergency workers who dare cast their
eyes up to your face appear disquieted
and startled to see you eyes moving darting around, taking in the
scene. You
stay quite still while they spend hours on end checking around the
ruins and your enormous body. It
takes some patience on your part, but that’s okay, you’ve waited
this long after all. Eventually, they’re satisfied that there are
no more reachable living people in the rubble.
“WE
ARE EVACUATING THE SURROUNDING AREA OF CIVILIANS. ON OUR MARK, WE
WANT YOU TO STAND UP.”
You
wait and when the voice returns you stand upright. There’s a lot of
crashing and rumbling as the portions of the building that your body
was supporting crumble and fall away.
Now
standing fully upright, you can appreciate the true scope of your
situation. You
are now hundreds of feet tall. The buildings
surrounding your shattered workplace look like little milk cartons or
shoe boxes. The people look like little vitamin pills shaped to look
like people. Examining
your own body over, you
don’t seem
to look or feel hurt in any way. Im fact, you feel good, strong,
powerful.
You
survey the city spread out around you. Once again, you can’t help
thinking: Little
paper milk cartons and shoe boxes.
“WE
ARE MANAGING THIS SITUATION. PLEASE, REMAIN CALM AND STAY IN YOUR
CURRENT POSITION. WE KNOW THIS MUST BE VERY DISORIENTING AND
DISTRESSING. IF YOU HAVE ANY DESIRES
OR NEEDS, WE’LL DO OUR BEST TO
ACCOMMODATE YOU ANY WAY THAT WE REASONABLY CAN.”
You
had only one desire.
After
considering it, you make a request.
You
give the officials a list of names; friends, close neighbors, over
all a couple dozen people who know you the best in the world.
Your
spouse, your two children (One a teen, the other just entering second
grade) your parents, assorted siblings and cousins, your best friends
from college who you keep in touch with, and a few neighbors you’ve
grown particularly fond of over the years.
Authorities
say they’ll make their best effort and make some space for you, so
that you don’t have to stand the whole time. You sit down
crisscross applesauce to
wait.
You
don’t have to wait too long. Your spouse saw you on the news and
was already on their way, arriving only minutes after you made your
wishes known. You
wave hello, and they look way up to your face, and give a little
nervous wave of their own.
Over
the next hour the rest arrive either in their own vehicles, or
brought in by the authorities.
They
gaze up at you, awe visible on their tiny little faces. As each
arrives, you give them a little wave and greet them. Your spouse
seems more apprehensive, more concerned than any of two
dozen or so others. It makes sense, out
of everyone here, they
know you the best. You’ve shared a lot with them; thoughts, dreams,
desires. They
hold your shared children as they look up with a kind of awed
innocence.
When
they are all gathered, you ask if you can hold them, all of them, in
you hands, so you can share this strange experience
with
them. You lean over and put your two enormous hands on the ground,
palms up, for them to climb aboard.
A
few daring friends and siblings climb up with no hesitation. You and
your spouse’s elderly parents need some help getting up there,
which the others happily provide. Your spouse hangs back with your
two kids.
They
look up to your face. They are trying to read your expression. You
give them a sincere
loving
smile. They
seem reassured.
Along with the kids, they clamber up onto your palm, helped by your
other family and friends.
You
savor the feeling of all the little people in your hands. They
give you tiny little tickles raising the hairs along your back; quite
relaxing and satisfying.
You
stand back up slowly, steadily, to your full height, careful as
careful can be with your precious cargo.
When
you have fully stood up, you look down into your hands.
About
two dozen little people sit or stand in your hands. Some of them gaze
around at the world far below. Others
look up into your gargantuan face. You wonder what your eyes must
look like to them. Your spouse looks up at you too, some
trepidation still in their eyes. They
know you so well.
All
of them are so small; so fragile looking. You
search your heart for some connection, some empathy for these people.
Perhaps
it’s for the best.
You
curl your fingers up, slowly at first. A few of the braver folks make
a run for the edges of your palm, so you speed things up, and clench
your hands into fists.
The
shouts and screams reach your ears as you squeeze.
Your
mother and father plead and weep. Your neighbors and friends seem
split between silent shock and begging for mercy. A conspicuous
absence from the chorus is your spouse. They would never give you the
satisfaction of rewarding what they probably saw as a betrayal. You
feel proud of them. Finally,
your own children cry and scream for their parents to save them. In
their fear, they call out for you to save then. You actually find
yourself savoring the cruel irony of it.
In
a way,
you think, I
am saving them.
A
lingering part of you says that
this is the merciful thing to do, another part just enjoys how
extremely decadent and inhuman your actions have become in such a
sort time. Either
way, you feel your remaining ties to the human race sever.
You
clench and grind your fingers against your hands as screams give way
to cracking bone, pulping meat, and last gasps of breath.
When
every sign of life is crushed from their little bodies you uncurl
your fingers opening your hands.
You
inspect the remains; twisted, crumpled bodies. You
see pulped muscles and organs, sharp cracked bone poking up out of
shredded skin, and so, so much blood.
The
line is cut and you smirk. You look out and down at the crowds of
first responders, media representatives, and assorted
onlookers.
You
hold your hands out for all to see, and you make an announcement:
“These
were the people who I love and care about the most in all the world,
but I looked at them and knew it could never be the same. I’m not
one of them anymore, I’m not one of you
anymore.” You
smile wider than you ever have. “So if that’s what I’ve done to
the people I love and care for the most in all the world,” you
pause for effect, “what do you think I’m going to do to the rest
of you?”
With
that, you chuckle, lift your foot, and stride forward.