One hour.
One hour is the time I've considered having left to relate my life till I die.
I've had kids, a wife and a rewarding job, I've been wealthy but fuck that:
In one hour, she will wake up, stretch her body, likely reach for her phone and sit
by the side of her bed, instantly flattening me beneath tons of her.
I won't have the time to back up now.
I'm worn out and I don't want to.
She's breathing softly now, dreaming of anything but me, but us.
She...
When I made up my mind and met Cleo face to face, I was disappointed.
She was cute but just this. Cute. Long brown hair, blue eyes and freckles,
much less tall than me and should I say, mundane.
She handed me that contract stating that I gave all my possessions
in exchange for living in her flat, no bigger than a crumb
and gave me nothing more than a shrug for my courage and resolve.
"You sign here, here and here."
I signed without a word: we already had sorted all the details online.
She casually advised me to visit her flat before the actual shrinking
occurred and walked to her bedroom, giving the early hour as an excuse.
I did, highly excited, curious above all and again, disappointed.
Cleo's flat had nothing special to it. Everything in her flat was just like her: mundane.
I opted for the living room where I thought I'd have the best chance to see
her live and sat on the worn sofa, waiting.
It took me about an entire day to get out of this one. I remember my heart,
beating so fast, the adrenalin kicking in as everything around me became hostile,
the vast, impossibly vast landscape of leather to cross, only to reach the edge of
that mere sofa. The prayers. The screams for her help.
Nothing could possibly have prepared me for this.
Nothing.
One more day to climb my way down to the floor with an empty stomach
and let myself fall, exhausted, to the cold emptiness of miles and miles
of white tiles.
This crumb was the most delightful thing I'd ever eaten. It was bread, as tall as I'd become.
I scraped it till my fingers bled and it finally crumbled to an edible size and the whole time I wondered where she was,
when she
"Mom. I just don't like him. He's sooo...."
In the matter of seconds, Cleo, walking barefoot in her living room,
crossing it to the kitchen while speaking on the phone had wiped everything
my mind was busy thinking of. Her toe, my world, which one, impossible to say,
the gush of air, blasting me away, her voice, my world, stumbling, looking up,
a monument, to the blurry skies of her roof, her voice, her smell, her, her her!
Cleo the giantess, walking, having nearly squashed me to less than nothing,
walking away now, my heart, my breath, my fear,
raw and animal.
Two weeks under the sofa. Maybe three, four.
This sole crumb has been my only source of nutrients and this water
she dropped from her glass, my salvation.
Was it on purpose?
"You sign here, here and here."
Then there were the others. I quite never had considered there would be and now that I think of it,
considering Cleo's take on life, it seemed completely logical.
Dozens and dozens of others. They would come and sign, walk around and disappear from sight.
Her entire flat was a fucking playground, so huge that we'd probably never meet.
Her body was simply there, half crushed, extending its arms toward me while her lips
formed an incoherent plea. I looked into her eyes, then up to the immeasurable length of
Cleo's legs and higher. Noticed she had paused, typing on her phone. Looked back to the shrunken woman, cut in half beneath the giantess's foot, writhing in pain.
I couldn't move. Why would have I moved?
I stared, utterly conscious of my uselessness.
Cleo walked away and the meaty flesh of her sole gently spread on the tiles to support her weight,
finishing the job,
leaving nothing.
Nothing had been there.
I was the only one to know, what this light crimson jam meant
and now that she'd walked away...
I wasn't even sure this woman ever existed.
Two years and I was certain these lines I added on the contract between me and Cleo had been for naught.
This was my permanent state.
So three years under the TV desk. Good times.
And this is where I met most of my comrades.
We had food, popcorn, crumbs and soda on lucky days.
We had the best view on her while she relaxed.
Until there were too many of us.
We agreed on a split. Half the group to the sofa, half for the tv desk where most of the food would fall.
Forty of us. I waved them good luck and watched the group–
"Coming!"
The entry door bell rang and Cleo jumped out of her sofa to greet her brother.
Forty, casually turned to mush, the same mass, ruthless and joyous,
a clamor and nothing.
I screamed, sweared and cried. To nothing. To the everything she was.
Cleo's foot had compressed the crowd the same way she'd compressed that woman.
This was what it did best.
I swore I'd never leave the TV desk, ever.
Until it moved, and the entire room with it.
The sofa, the desk, the table and the chairs,
everything, changing place while she sang heartily.
Our world, her rules.
It took me 10 more years to realize that I had no reality beside the one
she'd eventually would grant me.
Cleo had never addressed any of us shrunken victims, not directly, but...
the more I listened to her deafening words, the more I came to think of hints that she
was aware, very aware of what she did. How else could it be? How possibly else could
have she deceived so many without ever thinking about it?
My dearest wish, my only wish was to speak to her.
And exist.
Mundane... when she was my everything.
I'm Donald, I'm 54 years old, and my arm just been violently severed by the fall of a massive bra.
I've lived twenty one years in the flat of this bra's owner.
I'm on my way to Cleo's bedroom, and this is intended to be my last journey.
She will hear me. Cleo will hear me.
The pain will go away and I'll be patient. I'll pray to her in the time I heal,
feeding on what she forgets behind. Her voice on that towering bed heals me.
"Mmm, Jake..."
As she moans, I'm healed. She never ages like we do. I don't know why. My thoughts are confused and I'm old.
I think I can do it.
Three days, up to heaven, climbing to her cotton sheets, plenty of time to think
and now I'm here, the speck, contemplating her.
She's breathing softly now, dreaming of anything but me, but us.
She...
She's the only thing that exists.
Making the world move around her,
deciding on my every action,
provoking them,
unpredictable,
perfect,
eternally young,
God is wearing chanel n°5,
fuck that Jake,
her body so vast in the waking day,
yawning
stretching
reaching for her ph–