Giantess Stories: The Dream

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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


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


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.


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



Giantess Stories: The Dream

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Giantess Stories: The Dream

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