Chapter 4

Jawm was beaten all that night, Sigdar and the burly man taking turns punching him in the stomach. It was late in the small hours of the evening when the priestess had declared his death, but the Virgin would not wake for several more hours. And so they worked, socking him over and over in the stomach until blood came out of his mouth and their fists were sore with redness. 

 They then took him (more dragged) to the ceiling above the Virgins kitchen, to one of the loose ceiling tiles. There, they waited for an opportunity while fell silent, tied up and in exquisite pain. The morning passed without incident, except for the Virgin, coming out of her bedroom in only her nightwear, grabbed an apple from the table and munched on it half-heartedly. 

 Sigdar, watching the scene from above, called out to Jawm, whose stomach was on fire. 

 "Behold, ye wrastle, what must come to past, for sooth, is most personal. I hath watched and hated thee, in thy softened of heart, thy lack of devotion, and I," he stopped, looking over at jawm, "Will most certainly enjoy this."

 He smiled at him, a sickly smile, and Jawm let it pass over him.

 They waited for a while longer; the Virgin passed into her room, and played her music once more. This day, they knew, was a day of complete rest for the Virgin- she did not venture out usually and she usually took this day to rest, clean, or watch a small box that made sound and moving pictures. They were confident, however, that the Virgin would come out to make a second meal, and there they would dispose of Jawm. 

 Finally, the Virgin emerged out of her room. They watched as she, now washed, dressed in blue jeans, a tee shirt with a logo plastered all over it with a light jacket over that, and green high top sneakers go back and forth in the kitchen, humming a bright tune and cutting up vegetable. It was a little after noon, and she seemed to be making a liquid concoction. After cutting up the vegetables, she set a pot of water to boil.

 "Behold, Jawm," the burly dude said, pointing to the boiling water, "she maketh a soup. Mayhaps thou shalt be the side dish?" He laughed at his own joke. Still they waited. Jawm knew, with certainty, that these would wait for the most painful and discrete way of disposal- the Virgin would most certainly notice a tiny person floating in her water, despite the painful circus it was to be in boiling water. 

 They watched her for a while longer. Eventually, the Virgin put red, bulbous fruits into the water, taking them out quickly and setting them into icy water. She then peeled them, cut them up, and set them aside, near the edge of the counter. She also cut up a white layered vegetable, a long green thin one that made their eyes sting, even all the way into the roof, and a few others that none of them had ever seen. 

 Finally, she set all the vegetables (with the exception of some of the red, juicy, bulbous vegetable that she had splattered onto the floor at her feet) into a large glass with blades at the bottom. It was apparently called a 'blender,' because that's what she called it when she cried out, "come on, work, you stupid blender!" 

 She set it to work, and with a large roar, it quickly liquified all of the vegetables in it. Sigdar laughed when he saw it, and looked over at Jawm. 

 "Behold, thou wrastle, the engine that shalt give thee an end!"

 Jawm's stomach turned sour. The imminence of his death was very apparent and caused him a lot of distress, an anxiety in his stomach that he had never experienced before. Sure, he had almost died before, several times, but he had never had the distinction to be executed. He felt like he couldn't do anything. Worst off, others were going to die.

 It couldn't end like this. It just couldn't. 

 He started to think very hard about a way to escape. He knew that he was in the roof of this place, and that there was usually some residue of something he might be able to use. His hands were currently tied around the behind of his back; he took a second to gather his thoughts, and then, with a deep breath, closed his eyes, and moved his hands around. 

 He felt, and he visualized. The touching and feeling crafting a map for him, molecule by molecule. He could see, in his mind's inky blackness, the dust particles and fluff. The grain of the wood the Virgin's kind used to craft castles and castles worth of space, like towers of brown with their green fires spreading out towards the sun.   And, much to his delight and relief, a sharp metal shard. 

 He couldn't have known that while this apartment was being built, the carpenter in charge of the housing frame  had just found his wife was two-timing him with that sunovabitch Joey down at the bank. He was ruminating on that fact when he hammered that nail into the frame, where it collided with another nail and fragmented the tip off. Jawm could not have known, but he would be grateful for it indeed. Gripping the piece in his hand, his eyes now open, he sawed away at the fiber rope, hoping he could cut it away in time. 

 He was about half way through and could feel the blood returning to his hands when he heard a sharp bell noise, two tones that, according to the scouts, alerted the home that there was someone at the portal, or door, of their dwelling. They looked at the Virgin, who, at the tone, grew an immense smile. Leaving the blender running on liquefy, but the lid off, she skipped away to the door and out of sight.

 "Now!" Cried Sigdar, urging the burly man to pick Jawm's body up. Jawm, the shard still gripped tightly in his hand, held together the rope an prayed it did not loosen yet, alerting Sigdar and the burly dude. They dragged him over to a tile that they believed would be directly over the blender, where they planned to drop Jawm. The burly one set Jawm down, and, with the help of Sigdar, began to move the tile to create an opening. 

 Jawm knew that it was now or never. He continued to saw as he watched the two try their damnedest to move the heavy tile. Little by little. The wait was maddening. Finally, he broke through and loosened the rope. The two were just finishing to open the hole when he got up from his supine position. Struggling, but pushing through it, Jawm trotted, then jogged, and then slammed into the burly man, who was looking down the hole, trying to find the best place to drop Jawm. He apparently found it, right when Jawm slammed into him. The burly dude, with a whimper, fell right down what seemed like several hundred feet. The man slammed into the lip of the blender, breaking his arm. He finally fell into the viscous concoction of vegetables, and, the motor sucking him down into the blades, screaming, was painfully obliterated and added a dark red to the spinning mixture. 

 Sigdar watched this from above whole Jawm got his bearings. His stomach and hands burned to the point of his passing out, and he could hardly remember what planet he was on. When he finally did, a blur jumped at him and connected a fist to his face. His head reeling, he stumbled back and fell. His hand slipped up with the broken nail piece in it, at the ready and willing. Jawm just got aright in time to dodge out of the way of a descending knife that Sigdar had pulled out. Sigdar's arm wheeled about, slashing wide towards Jawm who stumbled back further. Both uprighted themselves and faced, gutting tools in front of them. 

 "I shall bleed thee, ye thrice-damned whelp!" Sigdar spat out. "I care not what thy bitch of a matron said! I will kill thee where ye stand!"

 Jawm spirited to him, head still foggy. The moment to thrust came far too early, and his body struggled to keep up with it. The shard made contact with Sigdar's left arm, cutting surprisingly deep. Sigdar in turn made a wild stab and Jawm's head, but was too much in pain and faltered at the last second- the knife that he wielded found a superficial cut in the shoulder, slashing up, and back down again, making contact with Jawm's chest. Jawm shot to the side as the knife swept down, as the knife made only a small cut on bare skin. 

 Dropping the metal piece, Jawm slammed his fists down on Sigdar's neck and back, making the latter drop the knife and fall to the ground. He continued to kick away, messy, stupid kicks, which did not do much damage in of themselves. Sigdar grabbed Jawm's leg and dragged him down as well. He jumped on top of him, wailing on him wildly. Messy punches. The two rolled not eh ground together for a moment, precariously edging towards the opening. 

 The fight all at once become and brawl, fists hammering away. Jawm gained the lead on his opponent, starting to think about his hits, forming a fist, following his arm through. Soon, Sigdar's face was red and puffy, a broken nose muddling his breathing. He spat a bloody phlegm and chipped tooth. 

 Jawm arose up and tried to rest his body, he being doubled over. Sigdar's rattle seemed to subside. He hesitated for a moment, and then stumbled over to where Sigdar had dropped his knife. He picked it up, shoving the thing in his belt loop. He coughed once, twice, the thrice blood leaking out of his mouth- his stomach was a flaming inferno. He looked at it- blackened spots, the size and shape of fists and kneecaps, started to cover most of his stomach and chest. 

 He would need water, somehow. And a place to rest. 

 He started for the darkness in the roof, away from the light in the kitchen. He would slip away. Now.

 "Thou thinketh," came the voice behind him, tongue swollen from bites, "that thou thall get thee awayth?"

 Rest. Somewhere. Water.

 Sigdar made a noise that might once have been laughter. 

 "Thou cowerd. I kneweth thath you hadth no tathte for blood. Run, ye bitth."

 Rest and water. But not yet. One last thing to do.

 Jawm turned round, drawing the knife he had taken. He wanted to kill this man, this Sigdar. He would stick him, bleed him.

 Or maybe not.

 He sheathed the knife again, this time getting on his hands and knees next to Sigdar. Then, with a gentle push, he rolled him over. And then, he rolled him over again. And then again. And again. And again. He was only a few strides to the opening.

 It took only a few rolls for Sigdar to realize what was happening. He started to protest, and struggle, but he could not move on his own. The most he could do was yell, but that only seemed to fall upon the deaf ears of Jawm. 

 Sigdar saw that he was very close to the edge, and felt the winter breeze, cold from the open door that the Virgin attended. He didn't know for sure, because he could hardly hear over that damned blender, but he thought he heard the faint sounds of frantic speaking and crying.

 He was shaken out of those thoughts, however, when he felt his arm fall over and hang off the edge of the opening in the tile. He felt Jawm stop pushing him, a moment to catch breath. He looked down to the blender, where the other one was liquified. How ironic. He noticed, though, that his body was not above the blender, and, he knew, when he would fall, he would not land and be obliterated and be eaten.

 "I want thee to know," Jawm said, coughing, "that this is, for sooth, not very personal."

 Jawm placed his foot on Sigdar's body, and pushed. The limp body started to lean, tilt, and finally gain speed as it fell over the brink, down into the wide world of titans. 

 Jawm didn't bother to look and watch him fall- he touched the hilt of the blade and coughed blood again. He spat, spat again, and lost one of his teeth. He laughed, and walked over into the darkness, disappearing into the frame of the apartment.

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He couldn't believe it. After all that hullabaloo, he was alive. When he tipped over the edge of the ceiling, he closed his eyes. When he found himself falling far longer than he thought, he dared to open his eyes. He immediately regretted it, as he saw the patch of broken tomatoes on the ground come up to meet him blindingly fast.

 When he hit the ground, the pain wasn't immediate, but gradual- he felt the ache, then pain, then excruciating agony. He wanted to die. But, he did not. Finally, after what seemed like hours, he heard a door slam, followed by sobbing. It was the Virgin, he knew. He halfheartedly wondered why she was crying, but didn't think it would matter. When she came back into the kitchen, she would see him. 

 She would SEE him! 

 He was elated. Maybe, just maybe, she would find him and save his life. The thought excited him. He smiled, but found that painful. He had to make her see him. He just had to. 

 He heard the booming footsteps, rising and falling, coming closer. He braced himself. He would call out to her, make himself known. Ironically, it was the worst thing that he could have done before today. To make oneself known to the Virgin meant death. But now, it was his only chance at living. 

 Closer. He heard her sobbing. 

 When she came in, he was awestruck- even at his size, laying down had the effect of making her even larger. She was no longer just a giantess, a large woman that was going to give their tribe life- this was THE giantess- the one foretold by the prophets of yore. A titaness among titans- made even those who his tribe sought seem like even them. The prophecy was that one day, a one would come, visiting the same death and destruction to the Virgin-kind as the Virgin-kind brought to his tribe. They would be crushed underfoot, much like Ureat. 

 Each footstep shook the ground beneath him. More. More.

 He tried to cry out, but a pain leapt through his spine- he was unable to muster the air in his lungs. 

 Panic.

 He tried again. 

 Fear. 

 It didn't work. He could speak to her. It was then, that he realized, the titans vector of walk. She was walking right toward him! And, before, he could try and move, he saw the shadow of her foot, a menacing diamond-segmented sole, come down on him, faster than he could imagine.

 Despite the pain in his lungs, Sigdar was able to let out a weak scream, only to be silence when his mangled body was smashed flat by this goddess of a woman, this giantess, his cry unheard, his presence never being even noted by her, crying. 

----

"Ugh... Dammit!" The Virgin's voice warbled. She saw the tomatoes she had just stepped in, causing red to be splattered all over her favorite green sneakers. This was more than she could take. She set her hands to her face and wept, leaning against the counter for support. 

 When she same to, she poured the salsa, meant for taquitos and chips, down the drain. She then grabbed a paper towel, wiped off her sole and sneaker, trying to get off all of the red. She then cleaned up all the mess, tomatoes and all. 

 After doing that, she took of her shoes and put them in the wash, hoping to prevent stains. She was there but was not there, cognizant but oblivious. She was depressed, the consciousness that was in the back of her head realized. 

 She decided that she would go to the store, but...

 "...later." She admitted to herself. She then took off her pants and shirt and socks, and crawled under the covers of her bed, flipping them over her head.

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 That same evening, in naked except for her lacy panties and bra, and accompanied by a bowl of vanilla ice cream, the Virgin wrote in her diary. 

 "Dear diary,

 What a terrible day. The day started fine- James and I had scheduled lunch, and so during the morning I had been making salsa because he told me he was going to bring over taquitos. I was so excited- I had made the salsa just as he liked (which was always a bit too spicy for my tastes). 

 Anyway, he told me he was going to show up at 12, but instead he showed up at 11:30. I was naturally excited to see him, and I invited him in, thinking he wanted to talk. I should have seen it coming; he was pretty solemn and didn't look at me in the face a lot. He told me he"

 She stopped for a second, eating a few spoonfuls of ice cream- her first bowl in months.

 "wanted to see other people."

 Her hand shook as she wrote it. She had had the thought in her all day since he came and broke up with her, and she had taken it as one might expect and reacted how one might expect. She continued on.

 "He told me that he loved me and really wanted to go somewhere with me, but that he really didn't want to continue without taking it to the next level. Without having sex.

 We discussed it a lot, of course. I said no, he thought I was being unreasonable. He said he wanted to express his love to me fully, I told him that I wasn't ready." 

 Another couple bites of ice cream. She continued.

 "And after that," she trembled, "he said he didn't think we should be together. He left after that."

 She got up from her desk, taking the bowl of ice cream with her. She watched half of a detective show featuring a brilliant English man who looked like an otter, but her heart wasn't into it. She finished her bowl of ice cream, and then went to the kitchen to get some more. 

 She was about to scoop another helping, but then, convincing herself that she shouldn't, put the bowl in the sink, not bothering to rinse it out. Instead, she got a coffee mug that that proclaimed 'world's best aunt,' and scooped in just one lump of ice cream. 

 She was about to leave the kitchen when she noticed that the blender was still out, with the salsa, now very cold, sitting there still. She thought about having a chips and salsa snack and saving the ice cream for tomorrow, thinking it would be better to have something slightly more nutritious than a cup of ice cream. But, she thought, it was late and hot food didn't sit well with her stomach. And the only thing worse than going through a break up is going through a break up with your stomach being violently evacuated at the small hours of the night.

 She decided to pour the salsa down the drain, being honest with herself and knowing she would never actually eat it. Besides, it had sit out all day- who knows what else might have flown or fallen into it?

 Returning to her journal with her dinner's dessert in hand, she sat down and fiddled with her mp3. She settled on an album that was in fact terrible but was also sad. She finished her entry. 

 "It's really hurting to break up with him. I really thought we had something going there. I guess I'm just really slow to progress. I don't really want to think about it. I just miss him already.

 Good night."

 The Virgin ate her ice cream, didn't bother to put her dish in the sink, and went to the bathroom to brush and rinse her teeth. After such, she came in, shut the light off, and dropped into bed, covering herself only with two blankets.

The sad album played on as she cried herself to sleep.