The Dream
=========
by Andrew Nellis
a.k.a. the Poison Pen
Copyright 1998
The children were laughing. It should, like the silvery peal of wedding bells,
have been a sound to lighten the heart and grant ease to a weary and troubled
spirit. Instead, it brought me only a feeling of deep, abiding dread. How could
anyone ever have been glad to hear such a sound? The laughter was cruel,
mocking, all the worse for it having come from the mouths of such young,
innocent little girls as ran freely around the room.
I could not see, at first, what had attracted the children's attention, and
which elicited such excited squeals of delight. I threaded my way through the
tables and desks which littered the cluttered room, obviously designed for forms
smaller than my own. A classroom perhaps? Though the building was small, as
buildings go, there were no internal divisions, the whole of its space being
given over to whatever purpose this room served. Certainly it seemed that the
children were properly attired as if for a particularly formal school in their
prim little dresses, and their neatly pressed jumpsuits, and their best Buster
Browns.
Several times as I approached the throng of laughing little girls they reversed
direction and stampeded past me as a group, as if in pursuit of something small
and fast which I could not see. Finally, I emerged into an open area against one
side of the room where the children had stopped, standing with barely concealed
excitement, their bright, glittering eyes fastened on a spot midway up the wall.
As I passed through them, several of the little girls turned to me, making a
brief assessment. Before they turned away again I could see the dismissal in
their eyes. I was neither a threat nor of interest to them.
At first I thought it was a mosquito. Like a mosquito, it had long, thin,
translucent wings which fluttered nervously. The tiny little creature could not
have been more than a quarter of an inch in length, and so it was not until I
stood almost directly before it that I saw the thing for what it was -- a
miniscule, winged woman.
She was nude, and I could see her skin was desperately pale, though whether this
was natural or a sign of her terror I could not have said. The ebon blackness of
her hair only seemed to emphasize this. She crouched on the wall, like a fly,
her hands and feet seemingly capable of adhering to the smooth surface. I could
not see the front of her, but her back was shapely and well-toned, the buttocks
shaped like tiny white teardrops. Were she larger, she would surely have been a
very beautiful woman indeed. Her pale white shoulders rose and fell rapidly as
she panted, trying to regain her spent breath.
One of the children, a blonde-haired girl who looked to be six or seven years
old, giggled and looked up at me, as if waiting for me to get some secret joke.
Then, suddenly, before I could react, she lashed out with an open palm, trying
to smash the little insect woman. I cried out, but I saw the woman launch
herself free, lurching tiredly into the air a half second before the slap which
would surely have crushed her flat.
Once again the children began laughing, their hands slapping at the tiny form ¿Qué es un pata negra? – El cerdo ibérico
that buzzed in increasingly exhausted loops through the air. Each time a hand
would lash out, a knot of fear would form in my gut, and each time the children
would miss by a smaller margin. Seconds later, the little creature fetched up
against the wall again and perched there, exhausted, her whole body heaving
violently with the force of her exertions. Then she turned her head to look at
me.
I knew that nothing the size of a mosquito could have a brain capable of
rational, sentient thought. And indeed, though the mosquito-woman had the
lushly-lipped, high-cheekboned face of a beautiful woman, I could see dull,
insectile stupidity reflected there. It was not until I looked into her eyes
that the true horror revealed itself to me.
She was human.
There could be no doubt. Though her brain was now no larger than the point of a
pencil, and though the world had now become incomprehensible to her, she still
retained whatever it was that makes us human. Her eyes told me the whole story.
Someone -- one of these little girls, perhaps? -- had changed her, taken away
her body and her mind, but left her humanity horribly intact such that, though
she lacked even the rudimentary thoughts necessary to save herself, she could
still feel the exquisitely human terror of death.
My mind raced. I must help her. I must save her. This was a fate too terrible
for any person, almost too terrible for me to even contemplate. How could one
person do such a thing to another? I looked down at the little girls and saw
only cruel anticipation on their faces, enjoying the fear of their prey.
I formed my fingers into a cage and brought it down slowly over the tiny woman,
intending to cup her in my hand. As my fingers neared her, her face became a
mask of fear, causing her wings to buzz anxiously. I stopped my hand,
motionless. She continued to stare at me, uncomprehending that I was trying to
save her, seeing only another source of danger. With agonizing slowness, I
brought my fingers closer, seeing her agitation become more and more pronounced.
In my mind, I had a sudden image of a fly battering itself to death against a
window, realizing with a flash of horror that even if I trapped her in my hand,
she would kill herself trying to escape her salvation.
I could not save her. The thought brought tears to my eyes and a wave of black
despair. Though I knew she was doomed, I also knew that I could not allow her to
die by my own hand. With great sorrow I let my hand drop away from the little
woman, whose body sagged with both utter exhaustion and relief.
For the last time, the insect woman drew on her final reserves of strength and
launched herself into the air with a sob of hopeless fear. The children gave a
joyous cry and pounded in pursuit of her, grasping at her with hands like stubby
claws, the tiny winged woman slipping between their fingers only at the last
possible second, her motions becoming slower and slower as she tired.
There was only one way this was going to end, and I could not bring myself to
stay and watch. Closing my eyes, I turned my back and left the building.
2021-08-01
Giantess Stories: The Dream
The children were laughing. It should, like the silvery peal of wedding bells, Copyright 1998 Copyright 1998 a.k.a. the Poison Pen a.k.a. the Poison Pen by
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