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Author's Chapter Notes:
This is the final story in the Transforming World series; I may add more stories here and there, now and then--the beauty of an anthology is that nothing is hurt if I shoehorn something in. But this story--though you can't tell in part one--has a huge impact on what comes next.
July 16, 2006-October 23, 2007



"The final mystery is oneself."



--Oscar Wilde



He awoke to the sound of laughter.



It was a tremendous, all-consuming laughter, a laughter that rang in his head, shook his soul.



The laughter of the gods.



He shook his head, trying to clear out the fuzziness, but the fuzziness did not clear. What was going on? He was human—he looked at himself. A man. He was wearing a t-shirt and shorts made out of an odd blue material. Amphisize.



The word—that word used to make sense to him. He remembered it had once held great meaning for him indeed. But what?



He searched his memory—a job? A car? A school? His wife?



His name?



It was none of those. Indeed, he realized he had no idea of what car he drove, what school he'd gone to, if he'd ever been married, or if he had a name at all.



Perhaps he had sprung to life here, at this place. Perhaps….



He turned around and saw it immediately, a series of letters and numbers, each successive letter in diminishing scale.



qwe123!@# sam30173 culdesacfever.c



His name was Sam.



Well, maybe it wasn't. The rest of the message looked like gibberish. But the "Sam" stuck out of him. He would adopt the name, whether it was his or not. He needed a name. At least he could call himself Sam. Introduce himself to someone.



If he could get someone's attention.



He didn't know what the rest of the message meant, but he tried to remember it as well as he could. It was important. Somehow, he knew that.



He turned and tried to make sense of his surroundings. It was some sort of store, perhaps a grocery store. He was standing on the periphery of it, hiding under a shelf, a huge bit of pencil laying on the ground where he must have scrawled the message to himself.



The laughter resumed.



Sam looked around in a panic; was the laughter directed at him? It occurred to him that he should be scared. They'll be looking for me. I've got to get out of here.



The last thought appeared in his consciousness unbidden; he didn't know if it was the echo of a lost memory or the first hint of paranoia. Well, he did know that he was tiny, hiding under a shelf, and there was a giant laughing around here.



Certainly, a bit of paranoia was warranted.



Still, he was strong-willed enough to know he had to see what it was that was giggling. He stepped forward just far enough that he could see what it was that someone found so funny.



The unnatural fluorescent lights dazzled him for a second, before he got his bearings. He was staring at an enormous metal cage, suspended about forty feet up in the air by two metal beams. It was filled with…



Ah, of course. Groceries.



Sam ignored the utter incongruity of a cruise-ship-sized grocery cart, and searched out the source of the laughter—and found it lagging behind the cart.



There were two titanesses there, one leaning on the cart he was eyeballing, one beyond her. He knew that their height was reasonable, given his size—somehow, he felt like he'd lived this scale before. But he was still in awe.



The two were chatting and laughing about something or other; probably friends who'd run into each other while shopping. The one beyond this cart's pilot was a pretty enough blonde, wearing jeans and flip-flops and, seventy-odd feet above, a white t-shirt that showed off monstrous breasts.



But he barely looked at her. He was instead captivated by the woman leaning lackadaisically against the cart.



She was dressed for shopping and running errands—ratty white keds with ankle-high socks, legs that seemed to stretch endlessly—but paradoxically, seemed almost short—betraying a hint of stubble, blue gym shorts and a not-quite-matching blue T-shirt. But Sam couldn't have cared less about any of that.



She was dazzling in an ineffable manner. Her jet-black hair was cut off into a pixieish bob that framed a lovely face; her body was lithe. But more than anything, as he watched her laughing with her friend, he could feel the force of her personality, viscerally.



He wanted to get to know her better.



He caught the end of the conversation going on a hundred-odd feet above his head; they were saying their good-byes. Without hesitation, he raced for the cart, pulling himself up through the iron bars that made up the bottom shelf.



And the cart pushed off.



He held fast, even as he watched the floor moving below him. Looking around, he saw that his chauffeur had picked up a mammoth pallet of water. Carefully, he maneuvered over to it and pulled himself up over the edge, out of sight of the giantess.



He pushed and contorted himself until he was a few rows into the water. He told himself it was for safety, but it was as much to avoid having to introduce himself just yet. He crouched down, and gazed up at the ceiling made by the plastic wrap. It was covered in an enormous translucent logo.



He'd be safe here.



Soon enough, the water was lifted, and he bounced against the four bottles he hid between. He felt the movement of the conveyor, the start-stop-start; heard the blip of the scanner, and back onto another conveyor. Then he was being lifted again, and clanged into the cart.



And then they were off, and then he was lifted up again and dropped unceremoniously, and then, a few moments later, there was a loud slam.



And the lights went out.



◘ ◘ ◘





Sam hid by the dresser, watching across the room as Alyssa lay on her bed and studied, foot tapping an aimless air kick-drum to the sound of the stereo.



In the five days that he'd been here, this was, he thought, the best place for him to hide and watch her. She was beautiful—as beautiful as she'd been at the store—and she was as kind and smart and amazing as he'd initially sensed. Even though she was a nervous wreck as she studied for the bar.



It was the latter revelation that had kept him from contacting her yet. She didn't need a distraction at this point in her life. It sounded from phone conversations like he only had to wait a few more days, and then she'd be done. And then he could burden her a bit.

Until then, he was content. He scavenged for food in the nighttime; her cupboards were well-stocked, and he had enough to last him. And he could look at her forever, he thought.



Alyssa did not feel the same with regard to her current vista.



She yawned and stretched, and closed the Barbri guide, and wondered for the eighteen thousandth time that week why it was she had thought law school was a good idea.



Oh, it wasn't like she was scared about the bar—not really, anyhow. She'd done well in school, and she had faith in her ability to take a test, and she had enough drive to study enough to be competent.



But there was a hell of a lot of "enough" to go through, and most of the law was of the Rule Against Perpetuities variety, with language that left one's head feeling vaguely numb and spongy, even if one generally understood it.



Alyssa deposited the Barbri guide atop the PMBR guide that also graced her nightstand, knowing full well that morning would bring another round of studying. Getting up, she turned off the stereo and headed to the bathroom to get ready for bed.



This was Sam's cue; he sighed, as he started to shuffle back to the spot behind the dresser that he'd made his de facto bedroom.



He paused.



He turned around, and headed out a bit further from the dresser.



He wondered, for just a moment, what it would be like to be in bed with her—to lie in her presence, closer to her than he'd yet dared to be. To see her, to touch her, to smell her….



His reverie was abruptly broken as Alyssa returned to the room, her arrival trumpeted by the dull thuds of her footsteps. Sam started as Alyssa strode to the end of the bed, casually removing her shirt and then, quickly and without fanfare, her pants.



Sam had been a gentleman thus far; he had foresworn temptation. Every time Alyssa had threatened to disrobe, he'd reluctantly hid away.



But he almost had to stare as she tossed her bra into her hamper and spun, wearing only a basic pair of pink cotton panties, and gazed at the bed. He swallowed hard at her visage.



It was as he gaped that he suddenly realized he was completely out in the open.



Oh, crap.



He had to fight the urge to run—she was looking above and past him at the moment, and he knew that running would only draw her eye his way. Carefully, he edged his way to the bedskirt—it being the nearest bit of cover he could see.



Alyssa moved his way, toward the bed.



Her steps were upon him suddenly, and he flattened himself on the floor as a car-sized foot passed just over his head. Then, as the beauty passed, he scurried on all fours underneath the bed.



He listened as the mattress above groaned with her weight, watched as the light turned out. He rested underneath the bed for a good long time, heart racing, until finally he heard light snoring above him.



Well, he thought, I may as well go forage. I'm not gonna get to sleep anytime soon.



◘ ◘ ◘





Sam sulked underneath the microwave cart, cursing his indecision.



She was sitting at the table, drinking wine and celebrating her hiring at a small local firm. Sitting across the table was a monstrosity of a man, who was chatting amiably and lustily with her.



Almost three months he'd been with her, drinking in her presence, watching her from cover, at times aching to touch her.



He loved her.



He'd realized it maybe a month after he'd moved in. After the bar, he had kept coming up with excuses why he couldn't approach her. She was looking for a job, she had to clean, she was on the phone with her sister, she needed to wash her hair—and it was at about this time that he realized why he wouldn't, couldn't approach her.



It wasn't because he feared she would hurt him, or that she would refuse to help him—he had seen enough of her to know that she was at heart a very gentle, caring person. No, she'd help him, and that was for sure.



What he knew he wouldn't be able to take was her helping him to get big again—and then, with a smile, bidding him adieu.



And so he'd bided his time, waiting for the perfect moment, the perfect plan to win her love—and lying to himself that he was okay with the way things were, for now.



And then she'd met Ryan.



Sam couldn't see what she saw in him. Oh, damnation—yes, he could. Ryan was handsome, cock-sure, and bright, and he said all the right things.



He was also about seventy inches taller than Sam.



As they laughed and finished their dinner, Sam tried not to look as Ryan grabbed her hand, tried to tear himself away as they got up and kissed, and kept kissing.



Tried to ignore it when they went to the bedroom.



Instead, he leaned up against the wheel of the microwave cart and cried.



Some time later, after Ryan had gone, he went into the bedroom where Alyssa was sleeping peacefully, and he climbed up onto the bed.



The heady miasma of sex hung sweetly in the air. Sam approached the titaness slowly. She was sleeping on top of the blanket, laying on her back, the hillocks of her breasts rising and falling with each breath she took.



She was naked, and spent.



He walked to her hip, and touched it gently. Here the pungent scent of her late arousal wafted gently to him, stabbing him in his gut.



Cautiously, he kissed her side. And then, suddenly, she began to stir.



Whether she was awakening or whether she was merely tossing in her sleep, Sam did not wait to discover. Instead, he simply raced for the tangle of blankets than made a convenient slide to the floor.



He headed back behind the dresser to the spot he called home.



◘ ◘ ◘





Christmas came and went, as did New Year's Day and Memorial Day and the Fourth of July and Labor Day. Somewhere around St. Patrick's Day, Ryan had moved in. On the third finger of her left hand, Alyssa wore a lovely princess-cut diamond on a simple gold band. The date was set for March.



Sam foraged through the kitchen briefly before he headed back to the bedroom for sleep. Idly, he puzzled about the message he'd left himself, many months ago. He reasoned, as he had quite a bit lately, that it was important that he address it. After all, he wouldn't have written it if it wasn't important.



Perhaps it would help him reconnect with a life he only glimpsed briefly in dreams—a brief view of a pristine lab, a short snippet of a heated conversation, a sense of longing and loss unconnected to his late infatuation.



He didn't think there was anyone waiting for him over the horizon of his lost memory. But he didn't think there was anything waiting for him here, either.



He had decided that it was time for him to go. The only thing that had held him this long was his belief, deep in his gut, that Ryan was not a good match for Alyssa, and not a good person in general.



He saw it in a thousand little things—like the conversation they'd had on Tuesday, when Alyssa had been packing for a trip to visit a friend in Milwaukee.



"So," Ryan had said, "What are you and Jamie going to do?"



"Oh, you know—get together with a few other friends from Marquette. Tell old stories. Talk about how our respective wedding plans are going. The normal stuff."



"What friends?"



Alyssa had paused, briefly. "Oh, Sandy, Kim, Robbie—"



"Who's Robbie?"

"I've told you about Robbie, honey."



"Really? I don't remember him."



"Oh, he was good friends with Jay—we hooked up once my sophomore year, it didn't really go anywhere—we ended up friends, he ended up getting married to a girl in Chicago."



"Is his wife going to be with him?"



Alyssa stopped packing.



"I don't know. I know he was going to come up and meet us for drinks on Friday; it's not a long drive from Skokie. Erica might be there; Jamie was making the arrangements."



"Is he staying over at Jamie's?"



"I don't know."



"Well," said Ryan, suddenly letting his fiancée off the hook, "I hope you have fun."



"What's that supposed to mean?" Alyssa said, whirling.



"What? I just hope you have fun. What's your problem?"



Alyssa backed down. "I'm sorry, it just—it seemed like you weren't happy with me seeing Robbie."



"What? Damn, Lissa, you're always accusing me of stuff like that. I'm tired of it! I'm just trying to show interest in your life, that's all."

"I'm sorry," said Alyssa, getting back to her packing. "Just the product of arguing about things for a living, I guess."

Sam, for his part, still seethed at the memory. Alyssa deserved better.



But he had come to the conclusion that he couldn't make that happen. And waiting around for her to come to her senses was just getting too painful.



So he'd decided that come Monday, he'd hitch a ride with her to her office, and he'd find a place to hide there. And maybe he'd start to figure out what the cryptic message he'd left himself meant.



He heard the key in the lock. Ryan was home.



He scrambled a bit, concerned that he'd be caught out in the open. He bolted for the bedroom, and dove under the bed.



He heard Ryan stumble through the door, and heard the sound of laughter.



Gleeful, unfamiliar, feminine laughter.



He peeked out to see a pair of humans quickly disrobing and working their way to the bedroom quickly, while still trying to keep lips locked. One of them was Ryan.



The other was not Alyssa.



Sam backed up as the girl dropped to her knees in front of him, spun around and unzipped Ryan's fly. He gazed up amazed at the sight of an enormous, thong-clad ass moving slowly up and down as she began to service Ryan's cock.



He stepped back into the cover of the bed, mind reeling. He had to let Alyssa know of this. But how? He couldn't very well just approach her when she got back, introduce himself, and tell her that her fiancé had been unfaithful while she was out of town.



No, he had to record this somehow, make it indelible. And then he began to run.



He raced out the other side of the bed, and looked up at the dresser. He thought he'd seen her put it down there—yes! It was sitting on the dresser, as it had been since she dropped it there after work on Tuesday.



He knew he didn't have forever; he went to the light cord and pulled himself up the steep cliff of the dresser, arms burning and lungs heaving, but he was driven. As he heard the two flop into bed, he pulled himself up and into the shadow of a gigantic recorder.



Alyssa used it for depositions. Sam hoped it had a good battery charge.


Throwing caution to the wind, he leapt onto the record button, and a red LED blazed.



He monitored it for a good long time, catching the ambient noise of two giants fucking. Ryan, for his part, had helped; in the first minutes of the recording, he had said, "Damn, Nicki, you give better head than anyone."



Sam got ten minutes before stopping it. He just hoped Alyssa would listen to it as soon as possible.



◘ ◘ ◘





"Hi honey, I'm home!"



Alyssa stood in the living room, eyes blazing. She looked at her fiancé, who had cheerfully walked through the door, only to be hit in the chest with a small pocket recorder.



"Damn—what the—"



"You tell me, asshole," said Alyssa. "Just press play."



"Not until you tell—"



"Who was she? The timestamp shows it was Friday, Ryan, the night you were all concerned I'd be fucking Robbie, you were fucking some girl named Nicki. Admit it!"



Alyssa's voice was quaking, as Ryan's face turned white. He looked down at the recorder, and said, "I can explain…"



"I'm sure you can. Get the hell out of my apartment, and here—" she said, throwing the diamond ring at him with as much force as she could muster.



"It didn't mean anything, Alyssa. I love—"



"Bullshit."



Ryan stared at Alyssa a good long moment, and his eyes began to narrow. "No," he said.


Alyssa stared back, nonplussed. "What?"



"Lissa, this is my apartment, too."



Alyssa took a step back. She had played this scenario over and over since she'd played back her ex-fiancé's tryst that morning. She'd expected him to cry, or grovel, or just to leave. But she'd expected he'd leave.



She hadn't expected him to refuse to go.



"Ryan, I'm not kidding. I don't want you here. And you moved in with me, remember? This is my place. I'll pay for a hotel room if I have to, but you need to go."



"I'm not going," said Ryan. "This is my home, you're my fiancée, and I'm not leaving."



"I'm not marrying you, you son-of-a-bitch. You get no free passes on cheating."



She stood ramrod straight, staring him down.



It was then that he rushed her.



He was so much larger than she was. "I'm not leaving, damn it!" he said, throwing her against the wall. "You can't do this to me! I love you, you bitch!"



She bounced off the wall, and he swept her leg, causing her to tumble to the ground with a dull thud. He walked over to her and crouched down by the end table, his face inches from hers. "I'm not leaving, Alyssa. You can't make me. We're going to talk this over, and when I explain it to you, you're going to understand."



Alyssa looked up at a man she had thought she loved through tears and pain. "And what if I don't?" she asked, quietly.



"I'm not leaving, Alyssa."



It was then she realized just how serious Ryan was.



"Now, get up—" he said, as he started to put his hand underneath his head to yank her to a sitting position. He started to, but suddenly he screamed.



Alyssa saw it happen and wondered if she'd hit her head harder than she'd thought. A tiny man leapt onto the side of Ryan's head, and with all his might jammed a paper-clip into the eye of her attacker.



He pulled the piece of metal out of his eye and, flailing, grasped the tiny man and flung him across the room. But it gave Alyssa enough time to deliver a kick with all her might, directly into Ryan's scrotum.



He howled and doubled back, and Alyssa caught him across the chin with another kick. Then she was up, moving rapidly toward the kitchen. She grabbed two things. In her left hand she grabbed a telephone. In her right, a butcher's knife. She dialed 911.



Ryan looked up at her, heaving, defeated. "Okay, I'll go," he said, finally.



Alyssa ignored him. "Hello, my fiancé is trying to kill me. I've got free long enough to grab a knife and call you, he's unarmed."



"Alyssa, no—you don't have to involve the police. Look, I know I got out of hand."



"Please, I don't know what he'll to me."

"Alyssa," said Ryan, menacingly, but he stopped as Alyssa brandished the knife angrily.



They stood and faced each other, wordlessly, until the police arrived.



◘ ◘ ◘



"It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known."



The lines of a book Sam could not remember reading traveled through his mind as he traveled away from the giant he had attacked. He knew he was doomed; he didn't care. He just hoped he'd given Alyssa enough time.



He'd given all for her. As he should. As she deserved.



He hit the wall, and collapsed into darkness, and dreams.



"You're mad," he said in the dream.



"Not at all," the voice replied. "We're just doing what we have to do to win. There will be a place for you in the new order, Doctor."



"Not the new order you're talking about. I'd be a slave at best."



"Come, Doctor. Don't go into hyperbole. You've proven useful, tremendously talented. Micromemor would never have gotten to the level of development it did without your input, and of course, Amphisize is your baby. We don't want to eliminate you. We want to celebrate your uniqueness. After all, Marie Curie had her place in the old order, didn't she?"



"I can't help you. I won't."



"Pity," the voice said. "Well, then I guess this can't be helped."



◘ ◘ ◘



Sam was resting on something warm and soft. It smelled faintly of perfume.



He didn't want to open his eyes. Didn't want to know where he was. He didn't want to go to Heaven, and he didn't believe in Hell; he just wanted his eternal rest.



Still, after a time, he knew that he had no choice; his consciousness was stubbornly refusing to wink out. So he opened his eyes.



And shut them immediately.



No, he thought. Not like this.



"Hello?" the voice drifted over him, soft and melodious, and full of deep concern. "Are you waking up?"



He opened his eyes again, and stared again into the deep sienna eyes, one of which was outlined with the purplish haze of a bruise. The mop of short black hair hung around her face and dangled haphazardly as she stared into her hand, where he was currently reclining.



"Are you okay?" he asked, struggling to a sitting position, realizing for the first time that he was naked. Oh, God, not like this.



"Thanks to you," she said, smiling.



"Good," said Sam, heaving a deep sigh. "I'm sorry. I didn't know when I recorded that—well, that—that he'd attack you if you left him."



"So that was your doing, eh?"



Alyssa looked down at her tiny rescuer, trying to suss who he was. Well, he was tiny, to be sure, but that wasn't exactly the impossibility that it once had been. She'd suggested the idea of playing with just this scenario to Ryan more than once. He'd declined.



She knew why, she realized with a shudder; she was suddenly grateful he had turned her down. If she'd been tiny and helpless, would he have been cruel, or merely cold?



But this tiny man—clearly he'd been with them for more than a day or two. More than a week.



"How long?" she asked, suddenly, and Sam, caught off guard, answered truthfully.



"More than a year. Last July." Oh, no.



"Why didn't you ever tell me? I would've helped you."



"I know," he said, looking up at the lovely countenance, still unsure whether this was all a dream—or possibly Heaven. "I just—I was stupid. I'm sorry. I hope you're not upset, but if you are…"



"Upset? Are you crazy? If you hadn't been here, I'd probably be dead by now—I just wish you'd told me you were here, because it must have been really lonely for you."



Sam coughed, and rubbed his eyes. "Alyssa—"



"How—no, of course you know my name. Go on."



"I'm Sam," he said, awkwardly. Finally, he stared up into her eyes, and decided that there was no time like the present. "I was afraid that I'd approach you and you'd…uh…okay, I don't know how to say this, but I'll just, um…"



Alyssa looked on, puzzled, when suddenly several of the thousands of light bulbs she'd been gifted with went off. "You had a crush on me, didn't you." It was a statement, not a question.



"What? No, I…well…yeah. Yeah, I did. I'm sorry, Alyssa, that was stupid, and I just—I kept trying to figure out a way to approach you that you'd like me, and…then you met Ryan, and then I just didn't know what to think."



Alyssa looked down on the little man with a mix of pity and something ineffable.



She leaned down and kissed him, gently, urgently.



When the lips stopped probing his upper torso, they withdrew and said, simply, "Well, it took you a year or so, but I think you figured it out."



And then she bent down again, and he reached out wide to embrace her lips, and they shared another long, lingering kiss. When it broke, finally, he looked up. "Alyssa—I love you."



"I'm going to have to get to know you more before I can reciprocate in kind, you know."



"I know," said Sam. "I can be patient."
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