Sophie

A slight grin appeared on Sophie’s alluring lips when she strained her eyes to focus on the minute spectacle playing in front of her homely green eyes. Balancing on the tip of her index-finger, like an acrobat on a rope, was an inch tall skyscraper, rigged with tons of voluntary lilli’s, screaming their lungs out.
Prior to this, Sophie was fretting to much and was unable to sleep. It was at times like these whereby Sophie found solace in some old-fashioned time of play with her micro kingdom in the gloom of her back room.
Merely dressed in underwear and a sleazy shirt, which she used as pajama, Sophie plunged down next to a lilliputian city, sitting indian-style.
For a moment, she beheld the sea of sparkling, teeming lights, emanating from its countless cars and busses and trains, meander along miles long fabricated roads and tracks, amidst innumerable blocks of apartments and office-towers.
Millions upon millions were already on their knees, paying holy tribute to their beloved and enticing auburn Goddess, their savior.
Sophie’s thundering voice washed over the city, demanding entertainment from her speck slaves at once.

“I want you all… in there.” She adverted a pointy, glimmering office structure with the tip of her nail.

In the absence of indecision, throngs upon throngs of lilli’s scurried off immediately, to gorge the building until people leaked and dripped out of its windows, all to serve the holy will of God.
Satisfied, Sophie used the nail of her thumb and index-finger to pulverize concrete, pipelines and nested soil to pluck the structure from its foundation and placed it on her fore-finger.

“Like what you see?” She whispered softly, looking askance, with her intrusive green eyes.

Hearing these faint screams of agony, emanating from the little skyscraper, juggling on her finger, Sophie’s mind wandered off.

She brooded about the interrogation she received earlier. They kept asking her about the killings and possession of lilliputians, how someone had invaded a country of lilliputians, named Tendaric and how there were clear indications that Sophie had something to do with it. Sophie managed to retort it all with plausible reasons as to why it could not have been her. She had foreseen a moment like this and already had an arsenal of well thought-out arguments at the ready to babble her way out of it. She only had to be cautious to make it sound all natural, like all these accusations were overwhelming to her and came as a total surprise.
Luckily, Sophie appeared to be a good actress on occasions like this. She even feigned deep indignation, played it all out in a masterful performance, which would be Oscar-worthy. Blended with her unmatched beauty, these nervous male interrogators were soon more than happy to offer her their sincere apology for this nuisance. They even offered her an escort home, which she politely declined.

Sophie gazed at a compressed part in one of her cities, perfectly imprinted with the shape of a boot. It made her also mull over her recent confrontation with her oldest daughter, Claire, and felt a slight of guilt.

Was I too harsh on her? She pondered. The relationship with her elder daughter was never something to boast about. However, Sophie felt dismayed about her own exaggerated burst out. She still cared about Claire and loved her like the daughter she was.

Why does she have to be so quirky all the time?

Maddy on the other hand, was her precious favorite, her cuddle-bunny. Thus harder the pain when her hug felt so dutiful just yesterday, standoffish even, like she was blaming her for something. Sophie however, chose not to pry about it.
It was only normal that Madison was devastated after Claire trashed her birthday present and with it, killed her so-called best friend, Ashley. Secretly, Sophie was relieved when she heard about Ashley’s demise. At least, Madison could hang out with real people for once, instead of these dust-mites.

Sophie brought her attention back to the office structure, balancing on her fingertip.
She saw dozens of lilli’s spilling and dropping out of its windows, clenching desperately on the grooves of her finger skin and the edges of her nail, blasting screams.
Shrieks rose to shouting matches when Sophie opened her luscious lips to reveal an intimidating black hole of a throat, hemmed by a row of perfectly white teeth and clenched the building between them, playfully.
Due to the building suddenly rotating horizontal, even more lilli’s plunged and crashed through doors and glass and plasterboards and fell either on Sophie’s tongue or lower-lip.
Clamping the building, like a sugar cube between her incisors, she teased the structure with the tip of her tongue by rubbing it along the edges, invading ransacked offices and meeting-rooms with saliva dipped taste buds. Hundreds tried in vain to swim for safety.
A hot moisty breeze washed over them all when a giggle reverberated from Sophie’s deep throat.
With a quick snap of her teeth, she sundered the thing in two. The outer part fell and glued on her lower lip, until it slid down and plummeted into the canyon of her cleavage, bounced some, and crumbled apart on the softness of her left boob. The few survivors clung on it, until washed away during Sophie's morning shower the next day.
She used her tongue to maneuver the fragments and squirming bodies of the other part of the building deeper into her mouth to meet end between her grinding molars. And after a powerful clench of her jaw, She swallowed the mashed-up pile into the depths of her gullet and scrutinized her civilization once more with boredom in her eyes.

These games weren’t so excited like they used to be.
Suddenly, she felt a titillation on her right leg and looked down. Dozens of helicopters landed on her bare thigh, with countless of lilli's sprawling the vastness of her smooth skin. Probably followers whom took this chance to worship the body of their God, even if it meant their demise.
Sophie knew that among many lilliputians in her civilization, her body and especially her legs, was considered to be sacred and a pilgrimage to it was something worth dying for.
And that’s exactly what happened to them when a vexed Sophie brought her thumb down to pulverize them all on her naked, soft skin and brushed the residues off her leg to rain upon a residential area below.

“These mites scarcely entertain me lately.” Sophie said to no one particular.

In her early twenties, Sophie used to savor in her supreme domination over these inferior little life forms.
It made her forget about hard reality, where she was merely a single mother and had to work around the clock to make ends meet.
Because in here, Sophie was a true deity, invulnerable and omnipotent in the eyes of these lilli’s. Her grimly will and celestial appearance formed the foundation of their religion, firmly anchored in their collective petty culture.
Recently however, Sophie felt an emptiness in her being which couldn't get cured anymore with lilliputian playtime.
What good was it to rule over people like a God, when you're eight-year-old niece could do the same?
Sophie wanted more. She rubbed some over her new ring and took a long glance at the micro arena, her throne and the big screen and thought about the fight on the morrow.

The fun is merely about to get started. She smiled with delight.

Cobra

With a dreamy look, his eyes toddled along the streamlined curve of her boot, traveled across her bare leg, to climb the crimson satin of her dress, crested her healthy bosom, to end the journey in the cold stare of the eyes of God. It was like her intimidating look was pointed directly at him.

“Fuckers already act like victors.” Zorban’s raspy voice suddenly yanked Johnson out of his spellbound. Once again, he found it hard to resist the beauty of this Brobdingnagian woman, towering over them, with her voluptuous thighs, tempting shoulders and voluminous auburn locks. She just sat there, cross legged, in her province-sized throne, scrutinizing them all, with a self-complacent, boring look.
He quickly shook his head and fluttered with his eyes to bring his mind back to the arena.
He and his crew waited in the sands of the arena, among the cheering storms of the crowd. They were on the edge of fighting the final battle against the champion team. Tens of thousands roared the name of the champion when he, and the rest of his group entered the battlegrounds through the arched stone way.

CHESTER STONE! CHESTER STONE! CHESTER STONE!

Up front, ambled a stout, sturdy bald guy, with a greasy salt and pepper beard, flexing his monstrous oil rubbed muscles, kissing them, with a cheesy smile while winking to the crowd and the cameras. Girls went giddy all over the stands.
This character appeared by far the most impressive of them lot and probably the biggest threat.

“The champion is mine.” Zorban rasped, clenching his jaws and fists, eager to fight.

“Stick to the plan, remember what Miah said.” Boar warned with his grunting voice.

“I spit on your plan and that wench. Feast your eyes while I wrap this up.” And without warning, Zorban shoved Boar aside and darted forward, to plunge in the unsuspecting group, who were still occupied with their grand welcome in the arena, waving and smiling.

Seeing Zorban dusting his way through the sands like a maniac ignited a wave of roars from the crowd. It brought the champion and his crew to attention immediately. The five of them spun around and braced for Zorban’s one-man assault.
Zorban deftly slid under a swinging side kick and used his momentum to crush the kneecap of another with the heel of his boot. The guy cried out in agony.
Lying supine in the sands, Zorban quickly found himself surrounded, dodging stomping feet and kicking boots.

“Idiot!” Johnson heard Boar, smoldering in rage. Zorban’s reckless behavior made it impossible now to execute their battle plan.

“What are we gonna do boss?” Marble asked.
Boar just stood there, fumed, with clenching jaws.

“Fuck this.” Johnson said. “Lets aid him.” He darted off, to join the fray. Boar and Marble followed suit.

What followed was a royal rumble drenched with spatters of blood, hurling teeth and shouts of both exertion and pain, all nebulized under roaring heat, emitting from the throats of thousands.

“Cobra, behind you!” Zorban pointed to Johnson. He quickly head-butted the guy he was wrestling with, spun on his heels and was greeted by the sight of the champion steam rolling at him, with a loony look of blood thirst in his eyes, strand of saliva drooling from his mouth.
Johnson braced himself for the impact as the champion threw an earth-shattering punch against the arms of his block. He tumbled backward and tripped over the former guy, who was busy standing up after Johnson’s head-butt had broken his nose.
He fell down, his back scrubbing the sands. He squinted while the towering champion blocked out the artificial sun and saw him bringing up his mighty boot, ready to crunch his ribs.

“Hey no-neck!” Zorban’s voice called out when he flew by with a flying kick, impacting the champion’s torso. The latter tumbled backwards a few steps and aimed his sight directly to Zorban, who was already on him, battering him with flashes of punches and kicks, compelling him into defense-mode.
Still a bit dazzled, Johnson witnessed it all with wonderment. He was already familiar with Zorban’s superior fighting skill, but to see him circling like a whirlwind, stinging the brawny giant from all sides, going to and fro, made him realize that Zorban obviously surpassed him. He didn’t feel any envy, on the contrary. It made him feel proud. Proud to fight by his side, despite the fact he was mostly an asshole. The thought made him smile. He was unable to savor in it for too long, because another fighter was already on him. Johnson rapidly leapt up to face his aggressor.

Things swiftly bode well for them after that. Apart from Marble, who lay in the sands with a twisted neck, the three of them were still alive when Zorban finished the champion off with a dirty kick in the groin.
Johnson saw Zorban whipping away a smear of blood from his face and survey the crowd with a crazy, satisfied smirk, waiting for his well-earned gratification. But none came. No sound was heard, merely their own panting from all the exertion. Tens of thousands of eyes were looking at them, in dead silence, like the fight was still going on.
Johnson gazed up and saw the massive auburn Goddess, leaning her head on her hand, still watching them with a slight crooked grin.
Than a lone applaud was heard, not far behind them. Suddenly, it blinked to Johnson. He looked about and saw only four enemy bodies lying in the sands. Where was the fifth?
They all turned around and saw a scrawny boy on the floor, giving them a sitting-ovation, gazing at them with an arrogant look on his face.

“Who the hell is this?” Zorban rasped in confusion.

In response, the boy lazily stood up. The only cloth he wore was a white linen-trouser. Despite his lean appearance the muscle lines on his torso and abs revealed a physical well trained body. With his left hand, he combed his thick brunette manes, revealing his youthful face. He looked at them with a self-complacent smile. This pretty boy could not be older than perhaps twenty-one.
The three of them, Johnson, Zorban and Boar looked at each other with perplexity, unable to grasp this peculiar turn of events when suddenly, the crowd started to chant again, the name of the champion.

CHESTER STONE! CHESTER STONE! CHESTER STONE!

It rose from the throats of thousands upon thousands, reverberating through the arena.

“You got to be kidding me here.” Zorban said.

“I think not.” Johnson said. “Apparently, this is the champion.”

“Don’t let his appearance deceive you.” Boar grumbled.

Zorban gave a disdainful snigger. “Funny thing to hear such words coming from a pumped-up gorilla like yourself. I will handle this, like I’m doing all day.”

Johnson was about to tell Zorban to restrain himself a bit, fighting such a meager boy, but Zorban was already dashing his way for the boy, determined to finish this quick.
The boy didn’t move a muscle. He just stood there, unfazed, when he saw Zorban storming his way at him.

“The Goddess’s favorite fighter, a fierce warrior, never been touched by a single stroke during battle.” Johnson recalled the old man’s words before their first fight.

He saw Zorban approaching his target with high speed, merely a few metres off and the boy still refused to move, didn’t even take the trouble to brace himself. He would never be in time to react. Zorban raised his fist with a big grin, ready to plant it on that comely face. Just before Zorban’s knuckles were about to clench his opponent’s jaw, the latter stepped aside nifty, and in the same motion, commenced a roundhouse kick. Its heel landed with a loud clack on the back of Zorban’s head. The blend of Zorban’s punching momentum, and the force of the kick, caused him to trip over his own feet, eating a handful of bloody sand when scrunching over the floor on his belly.

“Why won’t you try again?” The boy said, combing his brunette manes with an haughty smile. “Maybe I was just lucky.”

Spitting his mouth empty of the blood and sand, Zorban stood up, deep rage swirling his eyes and stormed at the boy again with a loud roar.