Through tired eyes I stare at the clock mounted on the wall. It reads '5:47pm'. My shift will soon end, and not a moment too soon. Days like these are agonizing. As an emergency physician (ER surgeon), every day of work is a different beast. Some days we get hordes of patients, ranging from those with minor, acute injuries to those in critical condition. You never know what will happen. We’re expected to be prepared for anything.

That in itself is exhausting.

Today is one of the slower days. I met with a teen who had twisted his knee in a football game. Two hours later, I helped an elderly woman who had scalded her finger while pouring her tea. Nothing too serious, and not that much work. Don't get me wrong, I love what I do. I wouldn't have studied so hard to become a doctor if it wasn't something I enjoyed. The hours I spend at the hospital vary each week. Some days I get to work all day and other I have to work all night. Too many night shifts in a row and I've become thoroughly exhausted. There's never any rest for us, and even less appreciation for that matter. Even still, I wouldn't want to be doing anything else with my life.

Except for today. For the first time in ages, I have plans.

The clock finally hits '6:00' and I decide to start gathering my things. If a patient bursts in now I can just pass them on to the next doctor, assuming they're here. They’d understand since we’ve all been in a hurry one time or another. Eager as I am, I need to get out of my work coat and scrubs first. I take my time changing back into my casual clothes. A navy-blue sweater under a double-breasted, brown coat was the look I chose this morning. Beige trousers and a belt finish off the outfit, and I quickly check myself out in the reflection of a metal tray. Pretty damn handsome, or at least I think so. The only opinion that truly matters is my wife's. 

Leaving the lounge, I pass by some of the other ER doctors and surgeons chatting by the receptionist's desk. One of the surgeons notices me and nods with a smile. She seems just as tired; dark circles are clearly visible under her eyes.

"See you guys tomorrow, I'm just about to head out. My wife's already at the restaurant and...yeah, I didn't plan all that well. Anyone know if the Green line's running late?"

"Yeesh, that's some bad luck. Green's been down all day. Apparently some dumb teens spilled a drink down a maintenance shaft and flooded the tunnels. Kids never change..." She scoffs.

"Damn. I'd take the Red line, but it's super crowded this time of night. She'll have ordered, eaten, and gone for a walk before I get there." I sigh, feeling hopeless. "Oh well, there's always next week."

"Actually." One of the doctors interrupts me. "I do know a shortcut, but it's outside of the safe zones. You'll be walking through biggos territory, but it'll get you there in 30 minutes or less. I took it once, but I only use it when I really have to."

I consider the idea. Generally, leaving the safe zones is strictly prohibited. Technically it's illegal, but it's not a law that anyone really enforces. The risk alone is enough to deter people like us. During rush hour, it's basically guaranteed you'll be reduced to a red stain underneath someone's boot. With all the commotion, they wouldn't even notice until they got home. I doubt they'd care, either.

"What choice do I have? I’ll take it. So, where this shortcut anyway?" I shrug.

"Okay. So, to get to downtown..." He tilts his head and stares up beyond me, trying to visualize it. "Head out from the back door of the building and…head to that big, old, cracked pipe. It's empty and it'll take you halfway there. Exit through the next crack you see and you'll be in an alleyway. From there, you'll be in the streets. I suggest you stay as close as you can to any walls and avoid the pedestrians."

"Sounds doable? I'll give it a shot, thanks. If I'm not here tomorrow, assume the worst." I use my finger to mimic slitting my throat.

Morbid as it is, accidental deaths happen far too often. With such a cruel reality it's somewhat therapeutic to make light of it with jokes. I even manage to get a chuckle out of a few of them. Giving them a wave, I turn and head down the hall to the stairway. On instinct I head to the main entrance before turning to head out the back. Looking back and forth I check that no one is watching, probably looking very suspicious.

As soon as I step through the back door I'm met with the frigid, winter air. I shiver and exhale, seeing the condensation of my breath clearly. I mouth a thank you to my wife for insisting I dress warmly this morning. The sky is dark since the sun went down two hours ago. The only light in the area is from a window somewhere high above me. I locate the pipe: a large, rusty bridge going from one massive building to another. I stare at my feet, situated at the border of the safe zone line. My voice of reasons urges me to reconsider this course of action, so I act before I can come to my senses. If I'm quick, I can minimize the time I spend in danger. It’s a reassuring thought.

I'll be there in no time.

I take my first step out of the safe zone and stand there for a moment, unmoving. If anything were to happen to me here, it would be my fault. The law only protects those who are injured within our protected zones. Am I really about to give up that one guarantee of protection? I step back into the zone, not sure what to do.

"Come on, she's waiting for you. You're wasting time standing here like a scared little kitten. Just do it!"

I mumble under my breath in an attempt to psych myself up. Somehow it works, and I find my feet moving on their own. One step, then two, then three...

I then make my way over to the pipe. It's low to the ground; enough so that I can climb into it if I jump up. The crack is visible and easily big enough for me to slip through. I hop up to it, catching the damaged part with my hands. With a grunt, I pull my out-of-shape body up and crawl into the tunnel. Still on my hands and knees, I gaze into the darkness and shudder. Being alone in the dark would make anyone feel anxious. There’s this feeling that I’m not alone in here.

"Hello?"

My voice echoes as it travels down the seemingly infinite distance, fading away somewhere in the abyss. I gulp, take a long, deep breath, and stand back up on my feet. My pan and use my phone as a flashlight. It only illuminates a few feet in front of me, but it's enough to see where I'm going. I start walking, and soon enough, I manage to calm myself down. As dark and spooky as this pipe is, it's providing me protection from the outside world. When I compare this walk to a walk through the streets, I’m immediately inclined to count my blessings.

As I walk, my mind becomes lost in thought and my body goes into autopilot. 

Why does the commute have to be so complicated? Actually, why does anything have to be so complicated? Every little thing is a journey to us Lillis. I guess that's what we get for losing the genetic lottery. Our bodies are small, we’re relatively weak, and many don’t even consider us people. Sure, I am a foreigner in this land, but the Gulliveran nation has loads of opportunities for Lilliputians, assuming you're willing to live in a world built for people much bigger than you. Even our buildings only occupy small pockets of their society, here and there. 

Life is this land of giants is...complicated. Ever since the three races confirmed that we share essentially the same DNA, we gained the same rights. Despite our diminutive size, we're made of the same stuff. We think, feel, experience and love all the same. Pain and hardship are universal, but rampant sizism tends to make people forget that. Size matters far more than it has any right to.

Currently, you can legally immigrate to and work in any of the three nations, if you're of a smaller race. Naturally, Brobdingnagians don't leave their land. It's simply far too complicated for them to visit the Gulliverans, let alone our nation, Lilliput. I chose to come here with my wife to make ends meet. Neither of us are particularly fond of the larger races. In an ideal world where money was not a factor, I would never have left my quiet town in the southern countryside. 

Such is life.

My disdain for those larger than me is not born of jealousy. I lost a friend to a Gulliveran once. A teenage girl thought it would be funny to enter the safe zone and pick him up. Apparently, her friends were pushing her to do it on some stupid dare. That dare ended up costing him his life when she lost her hold on his clothes and he plummeted over 300 feet to his death. It was gruesome, cruel, and completely unexpected. One day he was with us and the next he was gone. Needless to say, we couldn’t let his family see the state of his corpse. Not his poor, old mother; I don’t think she could have handled that. Now that I think about it, I'm older than he ever got to be. He was four years older than me, at the time. Damn, I miss him a lot. At least I can rest easy knowing that the girl was punished for it. The law came through and she had to spend some time behind bars for involuntary manslaughter.

My wife has had her own share of losses too. I can't even begin to imagine how she must feel, having lost both her parents so suddenly. This happened years before I met her, but apparently her parents had saved up enough money to go on vacation. The two of them had only just retired and were looking to start the next stage of their lives with an adventure. Of all the places they could have chosen, they chose Brobdingnag. It should have been safe, but sometimes accidents just happen. Towards the end of their flight, their airplane, one of many arriving at the same terminal, crashed. They were just about to land at the Lilli airport when some Brob woman decided to walk a little too close to the safe zone. She was so fast—line she came out of nowhere. Ground control was doing all they could to alert her, but they didn't act in time. As she walked by, two planes hit her neck and three went right into her cheek. The ensuing explosions left no survivors. 

The woman had only felt some tiny pricks on her skin and thought nothing of it, going on her merry way. It became an international incident and she was eventually put on trial once the public uproar got loud enough to reach Brob ears. She was let off on technicality, since she had indeed been in the safe zone at the time and the planes were simply too tiny for someone so enormous to see them. Although it wouldn't bring the victims back to life, she expressed sincere remorse over what had transpired. Personally, I don't blame her, but I would never tell my wife that. It's because of accidents like this that there's essentially zero interaction between Lilliputians and Brobdingnagians. When you're that big, can you really be blamed for not noticing beings no bigger than specks? We try to respect our differences and stay the hell away from them, when we can.

I hold my hand out in front of me, glancing at it closely. There’s a black speck on my fingertip, probably some dirt from earlier. If I were a Brob, that would be a Lilliputian. That speck, something I can only see if I concentrate really hard, barely even visible to the naked eye, is how I appear to them. Those planes were probably around an inch long to her, I bet. How terrifying.

We fear them, and for good reason.

Whenever people of difference sizes interact it's almost always bad. I don't believe in different-size relationships, let alone cooperation. How could I ever like someone so big, let alone love them? These tragedies are just the tip of the iceberg. I only mentioned some of the 'accidental' deaths. Although no government official will acknowledge it, there are a whole lot more Lilli fatalities than we hear about. 

It's simple, really. You're big; you think you're somehow superior; and you act accordingly. In extreme cases, the smaller races aren't even regarded at all. 'Insects', 'Pests', and 'Mants'--it's all the same. Size equals value. If you think about it, doesn’t it seem like the bigger something is, the more important it’s life is? No one bats an eye when squishing an ant. Killing a mouse might make some feel remorse. A dog or cat would definitely be seen as bad. By that logic killing an elephant or a whale would be the worst of all, I think. A truly terrible act.

There's a pattern here. 

Or maybe there isn't? 

Maybe it's about power? 

Everyone knows that power is attractive. Some people get off on that. When your race inherently grants you power, you'll be inclined to use it. The Gulliverans are the worst, in my opinion. Being the 'middle race' means they should relate to both Lillis and Brobs. You'd think being bigger than some while also being smaller than others would put things in perspective, but it doesn't. 

Sex trafficking of Lillis is real, even in this city. You get captured, sold, and then used by some sick giant or giantess. Being crushed, eaten alive, or tortured really depends on how depraved they are. If they're the types who like 'toys' then you can look forward to a painful end in one of their orifices, while they get off at the expense of your life. I’ll leave it at that.

We live in a sick world. Life isn't fair and there's nothing to be done about it. Sometimes I like to imagine what it would be like if we lived in a world in which everyone was the same size. It's silly, but I like to think that we'd have world peace. Like, what would we fight about if sizism wasn't a thing?

I finally snap out of my daydream when I notice some light up ahead. I pick up the pace and head toward it. It's the first crack down the line, just as my coworker told me. I carefully step through it and hop the short distance down to the ground. I'm in an alleyway now and can see the street up ahead. Apparently, it connects the two streets on opposite sides of the block. My target is another broken pipe on the other end of the alleyway. Just a little farther and I'll be at the restaurant. Lucky for me, it seems that no one is crossing through. Not too many giants are walking around in the streets either, which is a huge relief. I start making my way through the alley when I hear a noise. It's loud and it's beginning to shake the ground as it intensifies. 

There's no mistake; it's a Gulliveran.

I turn and dash back to the pipe, ducking beneath it as the person emerges from the dark alleyway. I assume they were also looking for a shortcut between the streets instead of walking around the entire block. 

“Crap. I can’t let them see me.”

All I need to do is hide here and wait for them to pass. There's no danger so long as I stay hidden. When in the presence of a potentially hostile biggo, do not make yourself known. Smallness is an advantage here. Some deep breaths later and I'm calm as can be. My hiding spot will work, I keep telling myself. Out of pure curiosity I peek out to look at the giant as they pass. I’m careful to remain in the cover of the evening darkness.

“Is this better now?” A feminine voice asks. “The noise in the building was dreadful. Hello? Lara, dear? I’m on my way home now, it shouldn’t be long.”

This alley is dim, but a nearby streetlight saves it from total darkness. The person emerges, and it becomes clear that it's a woman. I realize now that she’s talking on her phone. She's tall, even for a Gulli. I'd put her at least 400 feet tall, maybe even 430 at this angle. She's wearing a black, knee-length fur coat that's been left unbuttoned. Beneath it, I see a very expensive looking purple dress that's intentionally showing off her chest. She's very well endowed, and she seems to be flaunting it with all that exposed cleavage. Various jewelry adorns her hands and neck, giving her that 'upper-class' bordering on 'trophy wife' look. If I were to guess her age, I would say thirty, give or take a few years. Not too much younger than me, actually. I have to crane my neck to see, but way up there her face has been made picturesque with the makeup she's wearing. It's not excessive, mainly accentuating her already-attractive features. She's got an equally expensive-looking purse dangling over her arm that sways with each of her steps. Thankfully she doesn't see me down here. Of all the Gulliverans out there, I definitely hate the rich ones most of all. 

They're the only ones who can afford to hurt us and avoid the law. It makes me sick. 

Suddenly, I hear a shuffling coming from the other street. There's someone there, but I can't see them yet. Are they hiding? I'm not sure. They are shifting a lot from what I can hear. They seem anxious, to say the least. Once the woman passes me, the other person comes out of hiding. He walks out and I get a better look at him.

He's a giant like her but the similarities end there. This man is filthy. He’s wearing ripped, baggy sweats and a filthy, ragged, gray hoodie. His hands stay buried in his pockets and he seems anything but friendly. No, it's worse than that. He seems hostile. The target is not me, though; I can tell by his gaze. Without so much as a sound, I continue to watch the two of them.

"Um...m-may I help you...sir?"  The woman stammers.

The man approaches her, and she takes a shaky step back. He's bigger than her, and clearly much stronger. If he decides to jump her, I doubt she'll be able to resist him. 

"The purse. And any jewelry you've got on you." He commands, in a raspy voice.

"O-Ok...just a moment."

She digs into her purse and pulls out some money. It seems like a large sum, but I can't be sure. All I know is that it's not what the man asked for. 

"Huh? Are you deaf, bitch? Hand over the money, or things get ugly."

His hand leaves his pocket, revealing a knife. He's clutching it tightly, and his hand seems to be twitching. I wonder if the mugger is on something right now. He probably is. Maybe even a bunch of substances at once? The look in his eye is not one of a sober man.

She sees the knife and panics, her phone falling from her hand. The mere sight of it steals any courage she might’ve had.

"S-Stay away!" The woman yells, accidentally dropping her phone on the ground. “Take another step and I-I’ll scream!”

In my mind, I hope that she will simply comply and escape with her life. This kind of resistance is so obviously a terrible idea, but she’s not thinking straight. Whatever plan she had in mind was never going to work. I just know it. This guy looks confident. He's done this kind of thing multiple times, I'm sure. He's not even concerned that she's yelling. Nobody’s going to come for her at this time of night, even if they hear her cries for help. She’s trapped and they both know it.

The man steps forward just as the woman turns to run. He's too fast, catching her by the shoulder and throwing her into the wall near me. Their shoes stomp down dangerously close to me, shaking the very ground I stand on. I stifle a scream as they struggle so close to me. The woman squirms some more, prompting the mugger to pin her arms against the wall, over her head. Her high heel is dangerously close but I choose to stay where I am. If I move now, who knows what could happen. A guy like him might just stomp me like a bug. Lillis can be witnesses in court, after all. 

"P-P-Please! Why are y-you doing this?!" She cries. Her fear is palpable.

He leans in close and sniffs the woman. It's so creepy that I can hardly watch. He keeps one hand pinning her arms up and moves his free hand to her chest to feel her up. The woman starts to sob and I can tell where this is going. As much as I hate Brobs, no one deserves this. If I were bigger, I might have even stepped in to help. Sadly, I don't have that kind of power. His hand moves lower, pulling up her dress and trying to sneak under it. At this point she’s had enough. The woman fights back, kneeing the would-be rapist in the crotch as hard as she can. It's not a direct hit but he keels over in pain.

"You fucking bitch!"

The woman should have run. That window she had created for herself would have allowed her to get away. She could have gone home tonight with nothing but a scare and some bruises. It would have been so easy.

But in heat of the moment, few manage to take the best course of action. The terror and doubt in her eyes are visible, even from all the way down here. She hesitated and it cost her. The man stands back up and plunges the knife into her gut. She cries out in pain and his expression suddenly changes. He pulls the knife out, leaving the woman to clutch the wound with her hands. Blood begins to seep through her clothes and a drop even lands near me.

"See what you made me do?! This...it's your fault, you bitch! Now I'm a killer! Fuck, fuck!"

He snatches her gold necklace before running for his life. The woman is clearly too weak to speak, let alone resist. I notice her legs buckle and run away as fast as I can. She falls over, landing with a loud thud. The ground beneath my feet shakes again, causing me to trip and fall. I hear a weak moan as she turns onto her back, staring up at the night sky. Once I confirm that she isn't going to move again, I approach her, walking by her arm. Her breaths are ragged, and tears are streaming down her face. Her makeup, which was so immaculate before, is now ruined. 

As I gaze at her, I feel a sense of guilt. This is not my fault but it's no less sad. Yes, I loathe Gulliverans with all my being, but seeing someone in so much pain is...difficult. Despite her enormous size, I'm viewing her as I would a patient in the ER. I feel an urge to help, but even if I was willing to, what would I do? We're not at a hospital, and I've only ever operated on Lilli patients. Most of the injuries my people sustain come from encounters with her kind. 

On second thought, does she even deserve to be saved? What if she goes on to step on a school or purchase us as slaves? She certainly seems wealthy enough to do so. 

A part of me feels like I'm projecting. I don't know this woman, nor do I claim to. I probably won’t ever see her again, assuming she survives this. By the look of her I wouldn't bet on it. Help doesn't seem to be coming and I know for a fact that a stabbing such as this will be fatal if not treated immediately. Maybe...I was meant to be here? What are the chances that an ER doctor ends up being right next to you when you need them the most? It's funny, in a sick, twisted way. Someone up there really wants to ruin my night.

Fuck. 

What should I do?

Weighing my options in my mind only serves to stress me out more. As a doctor, I'm well aware that every second counts. If I'm going to act, it needs to be soon. If I'm actually going to do this, I'm only making the task more difficult by delaying. I need to decide. Now.

I'm running out of time.

Standing by the dying woman's shoulder, my eyes are drawn to her face. Through half-lidded eyes she looks without really seeing. The pain must be excruciating. She seems to relax momentarily only for her face to become pained again. She's losing consciousness. The shock from her injury is becoming too much for her to handle. Weak moans escape her lips as she tries to say something. I can't make it out.

My heart aches.

Turning on my heel, I make a dash down the length of her enormous body down to her abdomen. I can't believe myself. What the hell has come over me? This goes against everything I believe in. How will I face my wife? No, that’s not important. I’m a doctor—we don’t get the luxury of choosing our patients.

I'm going to try to save her while it’s still possible.

Grabbing fistfuls of her dress I climb up onto her stomach. Instantly I find myself falling onto my hands and knees. Her breathing, though weak, is short and rapid. The 'ground' I'm standing on is far from stable, making this that much more difficult. I glance over to my right, seeing the swells of her chest rising and falling with each agonizing breath. Poor thing.

After a few seconds I manage to find my balance again. I make my way over to the tear in her dress. She's got her hand on it, probably to stop the blood. It's doing little to help from what I can see. Blood has already stained her dress a deep crimson and continued to spill onto the street. 

This already looks hopeless. I need to see the wound. Depending on how deep it is, this could already be over. 

I push against her hand with all my might. It barely budges. Dammit, this is ridiculous. I'm running out of time. The position of her elbow means it’s impossible to push her hand off entirely. Maybe I can move it away? Turning around, I press my back against it and push with my legs. With a grunt and some inevitably pulled muscles, I manage to inch her hand lower. This space should be enough.

I step closer now, not caring that my shoes and most of my clothes are soaked in her blood. Good thing I wore black shoes, I guess. It's not the first time I've seen blood, though I will admit that this is a lot, even for someone her size. The flow doesn't seem to be slowing down either. 

I'm running out of time.

Pulling at the tear of her dress reveals an equally large wound beneath it. Its depth is hard to judge from here. Hm. I'm going to have to take a closer look. I might even need to get in there. The risk of infection is real but I'll take it over her certain death.

I strip off my jacket and shoes. The shirt and socks I'm wearing are not sterile, but I figure they’re clean enough. One careful step forward and I'm standing on her bare skin. My feet are met with an unexpected coolness from her body. Not good. How much blood has she lost? Looking around, I really can't tell. To me it's enough to fill a small swimming pool. If I had to guess I would say at least a couple hundred milliliters. 

"This is going to hurt. I'm sorry."

I plunge my arms into the wound and use some force to pull the skin apart. Some blood splashes onto my face but I wipe it off and continue. My goal is to make some space so that I can work. Thankfully my small size allows my hands into a space this narrow. Pain is par for the course but I won't be causing any more damage than there already is.

The woman cries out, groaning in pain. Her entire body shudders.

"Bear with me. I'm doing an impossible job as fast as physically possible." I whisper.

Once I create enough space, I reach my arm in as deep as it can go. I feel the bottom of the wound with my fingers. With my upper body partially in, I’d estimate it's about two inches deep. That's good. Maybe the guy didn't put his full strength into it? Whether that was a conscious decision or not, I doubt I'll ever know. All I can and should do is work quickly. There's hope for her yet.

My next goal is to determine if there's any perforation of the intestines. If so...I'm not sure there's any point in any of this. Laying on my stomach and leaning over into the opening, I check the damage. 

"Straight through the skin, fat, and muscle. Intestines seem fine, though. Barely missed them--damn that’s lucky."

I sigh in relief. Her risk of peritonitis just plummeted. Once I sew the blood vessels her risk of sepsis will also decrease significantly. That's the most important thing. That, and the blood loss. If I'm quick she can always get a transfusion to replace what was lost. At the current time, she's not lost enough for it to be life threatening. Yet.

I was fortunate to have brought my bag back with me from work. More importantly, it has my scrubs and jacket. There should be something in there I can use. I’ll need my surgical tools. Retrieving my coat, I check each and every pocket, as well as those in the bag. 

"All in all, pretty good. I can work with this."

Setting the contents down in front of me, I look over them once more.

"Sutures, two scalpels, needles, a syringe, flashlight, some gauze, a stethoscope, a bunch of empty vials, a bunch of filled vials, and a few bottles of antibiotics..."

Sealing the bleeding vessels is my top priority. I pick up a needle and sutures and get straight to work.

Leaning back in I see the source of most of the blood. A severed artery is gushing faster and faster with her quickening heartrate. She’s progressing towards hemorrhagic shock. There's no question now, I have to deal with that immediately. I reach into the warm pool and physically grab the exposed part of the vessel with my hands.

"Can't move…my arms...enough to...seal..." I grunt.

Frustration wells up in me. A split-second decision, though extremely unusual, ends up making things easier for me. With extreme caution I push my legs into the open wound before sliding the rest of my body in. Immediately I become stained red with her fresh blood.

"Mnnnagghhh...!" She starts to cry out in agony.

"I'm sorry. There wasn't any other way!" I yell back, my voice drowned out by her own.

To stop the bleeding, I tear off my sleeves and tie them around each side of the vessel like clamps. The blood flow nearly stops entirely. Thankfully veins are pretty stretchy things. Knowing that, I then take each side and pull them together in preparation for the sutures. I have to hurry since I doubt my 'clamps' will hold for long. 

The process of stitching the vessel back together is now doable. Of course, I only have Lilli-sized stitches at my disposal. There's no way to know if they will hold a body this large together. For good measure, I use five times as many as I normally would. It's a struggle, but the bleeding begins to slow down. 

"Nnnnghhh..." She groans.

It sounds like she doesn't even have the energy to cry anymore. My being in the wound probably feels unimaginably painful--like being stabbed all over again. For her sake I double my efforts, working even faster. Soon enough, I manage to repair the artery to a satisfactory degree. It's all I can do given the circumstances. Lastly, I untie each side and test my work. There's no more bleeding.

I exit the wound and her body shudders once more, knocking me over. Whatever pain I was causing seems to have mostly subsided. My work is still far from done, though. The wound itself needs to be stitched shut and it won't be a simple process. There's muscle, fat, skin to do, in that order.

Getting back into my laying position over the wound, I reach in to pull the flesh together. It's a whole other level of difficulty compared to sealing the artery. Someone like me--someone so small--simply doesn't have the strength. I doubt five of me would, for that matter. Maybe if I had more energy, but I’m still spent from moving her hand out of the way. In the end, I only manage to fix the muscle and some of the fat. The skin remains torn open.

"It's impossible. I don't have the resources to do something like this."

Options...I need options. What do I have? What can I try? I need to consider everything. There's a life at stake here. The amount of blood around me wasn’t too much before, but now it’s alarming. It’s easily a liter or more and that’s ignoring the potential infection.

I'm running out of time.

"With the tools I have, there's no way to do this conventionally. Okay, okay...focus on the goal. I need to prevent infection. The skin is a barrier, so I need something similar. A barrier..."

I reach to my right and feel the fabric of the woman's dress. The thinner, silky lining seems usable. At the very least it's the cleanest thing around in this filthy alley. Using a scalpel, I begin to cut away a large square. It's difficult--the surgical knife was never meant to cut things like this. As it's edge dulls, I find myself needing to compensate with more force. Not a moment later the blade snaps.

"Fuck. Fuck!"

The other scalpel will have to do the rest of the job. I continue cutting out the square shape before it snaps as well. Holding the soon-to-be substitute membrane before me, I nod in approval. This will do.

"No, I still need to disinfect this somehow. Getting in there definitely didn't reduce the chance of infection."

The antibiotic pills are what I use next. Though a cream would be better, or even an IV in this case, this may be the next best thing. I break the capsules one by one, spreading the powder in and around the area. I finish a bottle then open another, then another. I exhaust every single pill I have before running out. That has to be at least a couple hundred milligrams--enough to kill a Lilliputian adult many times over. Even with all of that, I'm well aware how little it is for her. If only I had more!

"Focus, focus. Need to seal this already." 

Laying the dress lining out over the wound, I stretch it out to cover every inch of it. All that's left is to secure it in place. Given my lack of resources, I'll need to get creative again. Plus, I'm running out of intact tools to use.

"Think. There's got to be something...?"

My first thought is to suture it to her skin but I'm already very low on the stuff. In fact, I'm low on all of my relevant tools. Despite being the final step of this treatment, it's no less important than the previous. If I leave this partially open gash exposed, I might as well have done nothing at all. She'll die within the week.

I survey my surroundings for something--anything that will do. Maybe she has something on her person? I gaze up and down the length of her body for pockets but see none. Good, I wasn’t keen on searching her. I proceed to scan the alley next. My eyes are drawn to her purse. Wait, didn’t the mugger take that? He must have been in such a hurry that he left what he came for in the first place.

"Why not? It's worth a shot."

I slide down her hip and head over to the expensive-looking bag. It’s tipped over since she dropped it, saving me the need to climb inside. I step into it and look around for anything useful. At first glance, nothing stands out to me.

"Perfume, her phone, hand cream, keys, a cardholder, extra earring backs, tissues, some breath-mints...but nothing useful. Come on, give me something!"

Scavenging through the various, oversized contents reveal something hidden under her phone. It's...a lighter. Beside it is a single cigarette and...something else. I stare at it for a moment, not really able to process anything other than the task at hand. My focus shifts back to the cigarette and I consider my options. 

"So she's a smoker? Strange. I didn't smell it on her at all. Maybe for someone else? Doesn’t matter. This could be useful, maybe."

I haul the lighter out into the street and drop it. Just moving it out here has drained my strength. To think she just picks this metal tank up like it's nothing...how unfair. I head back inside the purse to get the cig and the much lighter tube of hand cream. It takes me a minute but I manage to carry and drag what I need back over to her.

"Need heat. Just can't burn her in the process."

The cigarette comes apart pretty easily as I tear it. I take out the tobacco and only keep the filter and paper bits. It won't burn for long so I'll need to be fast again. I take the cream with me as I climb back up onto her. 

"Okay. If this doesn't work...well, I really hope it works."

I take the cream and spread it along the edges of the lining I cut out earlier. Placing it carefully on her visibly clammy skin, I press down on it firmly. The pressure is key here since I don't want it to be absorbed into the skin. Rather, I need this stuff to harden like glue. Again, time is of the essence.

"Now for the dangerous part."

Back down I go again, using this woman like some sort of slide. I don't have time to think about the silliness of the situation, though. Placing the flammable papers in front of the lighter, I use all my strength to pull the lid open. Fortunately, this isn't some cheap disposable item. Those would require a lot more force to get the flame going. All I have to do for this one is pop the lid.

"Here goes..."

A flame half my size explodes into being. The paper quickly lights and I remove it before it can burn too quickly. Back up I go, keeping the flame away from her dress and exposed skin. Standing over the 'membrane' I slowly move the paper around like a torch, heating the cream. I give each part about 30 to 45 seconds before moving to the next. Any longer and the paper will burn out before I can finish. 

As the flame nearly reaches my hands, I toss the last of the paper aside and away from my gigantic patient. Kneeling back down, I lightly tug at the lining. It seems solid so I give it a slightly harder tug. It doesn't budge. The cream hardened just as expected. 

Finally, my work is done.

I sigh deeply in relief. All of a sudden, my vision blurs and I fall down on my butt. The stress of the situation finally catches up with me. I’m a sweaty mess and I'm fucking exhausted. Not to mention this blood will never wash out. I look over to the woman's face, now seeming less anguished. Her chest rises and falls slower now, looking far more stable. 

"You may live to see another day, miss. You're lucky I was here."

With my treatment complete, I can now leave with no regrets. As a doctor and a good Samaritan, I did all I could. Whether she lives or dies now is not within my control. Though if I were to guess, I do think she'll make it. Given, the recovery period will be hell, but she'll survive. The thought is enough to elicit a smile from me.

“Just one more thing to do.”

Across the way I see a faint light. The phone she was holding earlier is still on, albeit with a cracked screen. I make my way over to it. Apparently, it’s still on the ‘phone calls’ screen. I can see that her call from earlier was to a ‘Lara <3’. I think I recall her mentioning that name? I redial the number and wait.

A few rings later I hear a woman’s voice answer.

“Hello? Mom, are you okay? God, I was worried sick!” She waits for an answer but I give none. “Hello? Mom, are you there?”

I consider how to reply. I didn’t expect it to be her daughter. So much has happened. She needs to know, but I don’t want her to panic. Okay, I’ll just keep it simple. I get close to the mic so that my voice will be heard. 

“1669 Spring Street. The alleyway. Get her help, she’s injured.”

“What? Who is this? What happened?”

I hang up the phone and leave the rest to her. If she doesn’t come in person, she can at least call 911 to this spot. 

I change into my non-blood-soaked clothes and continue on my way. This detour only took around 30 minutes so I can still make it to the restaurant, I think. Sure, my wife will be fuming, but better late than never. Naturally, this will have to stay secret. I'll need to come up with some convincing excuse for why I'm wearing my work clothes under my jacket too. 

"Ah, this is going to be a headache..."

As I'm walking up the length of the woman's form, she finally stirs. Her head turns toward me, her eyes looking at me but not really seeing me either. She's delirious, no doubt. Given her current predicament, I don't fear her this time around. For that reason, I don't immediately make a run for it. Instead, I turn to meet her gaze.

"Th-Thank...you." She tells me softly.

I'm taken aback, unsure of how to respond. I watch her carefully. To my surprise, she has enough strength to lift her hand toward me. As soon as I see it my instincts take over. Grabbing my packed bag tightly under my arm, I move. Despite my own fatigue, my legs carry me in a sprint as far and as fast as I can away from the now-conscious giantess. 

"W-Wait..." She tries, reaching out and barely missing me.

I don't even consider hearing her out. Even an exhausted, terribly weakened Gulli woman has the strength to crush me in her grip. What in the world could she be thinking? That I was robbing her? Worse, if she felt me climbing on and off her body, I can only imagine what perverted things she thinks I was up to. 

It only takes seconds to get far out of her reach, and yet I still keep going all the way back to the broken pipe. I jump up and get right back to where I should have gone in the first place. I'm about to leave when I hear another sound coming from behind me. Within the safety of the metal pipe, I peer out to the woman once more. 

"You idiot! The seal will come loose!"

This woman, still barely conscious, is trying to get up. It's slow due to her wound, but she powers through it. Sitting up and using the wall closest to her, she keeps her hand on her stomach. I hear some groans and grunts as she ascends back to her full height before my eyes. Not a moment later her legs buckle and she falls over against the wall, grazing her bare shoulder. I'm honestly amazed by her willpower.

The entire time her back is to me. I think she's either too out of it to hear me or simply ignoring me. With a few more shaky steps, she almost reaches the street. She stops short, slumping down against the wall of the building for support. It becomes clear to me now that she wasn't going to wait to be found. The darkness of the alley would've kept her hidden only until daybreak. Who knows what could have happened to a woman as attractive as her while on the ground and defenseless? From her new position she’ll definitely be seen by the next passerby, hopefully another good Samaritan.

My sense of urgency returns while I'm watching her from all the way over here. I have a wife who is no doubt wondering why I'm over forty-five minutes late. I should leave now. It looks like this is no longer my problem. The fact that the woman’s capable of moving is a good sign. My worry slowly fades.

"Good luck. I doubt we'll meet again."

With those final words, I head through the tunnel to the restaurant. 

The rest of the night goes mostly as planned. After a long earful from my understandably-upset wife, she eventually goes back to her cheerful mood. She waited for me all this time, sipping on expensive wine. She seemed tipsy which may or may not have helped my case. Obviously, I kept the story of what happened to myself. The only evidence was the blood-soaked clothes hidden under my jacket, which is not uncommon for an ER doctor. 

I did need an excuse for my tardiness so I fed her a half-lie. Blaming it on the sudden appearance of a Gulli, I explained that I had to hide until they left. It's an unlikely but reasonable story. Thankfully, she didn’t suspect a thing. We enjoyed our meals and celebrated five years of being together, and many more to come.

The next day is the weekend. After a long week and an incredibly stressful impromptu surgery, I'm beat. Without a shred of guilt, I spend the day in bed beside my wife, doing nothing but eating and watching TV. I lazily flip through the channels while she comes and goes around the house. As I do every afternoon, I check the news for anything interesting. My eyes bulge when I see an all-too-familiar face.

"No fucking way."

I lean forward, turning the volume up to hear this. The reporter is going on about a ‘mugging gone wrong’ last night involving a city councilwoman. The crew are at a Gulli hospital with the woman from yesterday. She's sitting up in bed, smiling for the camera. It’s clear she’s trying to put on a brave face for the viewers. Anyone can tell she's been through the ringer with just a glance. 

The reporter asks her how she's feeling after the attack. He seems interested in hearing it from the source.

"I'm shaken, to say the least. Walking around at night was never something I thought twice about--this city is usually so safe. I'm just thankful to be alive."

He goes on to ask her about what the doctors said. Something about being helped before she got to them.

"Y-Yes...The doctors found that someone had treated--er, partially treated me before I made it to the hospital. They took care of the worst of it, buying me the time to get proper help from the amazing surgeons here at St. Paul's. I can't thank them enough."

I scoff. Of course, they're 'amazing' when they only had to do a third of the work. I shake my head and continue listening.

The reporter asks her to repeat what she said. The part about being helped. The woman looks at him carefully as if considering something.

"I don't know what happened or why they did it, honestly. My purse had a lot of valuable things in it, and yet nothing was taken. Sure, I lost my necklace, but...I'm still grateful. It's not an exaggeration to say that they saved me."

She then turns to the camera for a moment, as if somehow looking through it right at me.

"Thank you. Though I'll never know your name, I hope my ‘thank you’ is no less personal. Please find me if you're willing to chat sometime. I was wrong about people like--" She tries to find the words. "I don't care about your background; you're a hero in my eyes."

She smiles before turning back to the reporter.

"That'll be enough. The doctors tell me I need to rest."

The reporter leaves her alone, concluding his breaking news report with a police sketch of the mugger and a hotline to call for any information about him. No longer interested, I turn the TV off and pull the covers up over me. My mind replays the events of the other night.

Despite my actions, my views on Gullis haven’t changed much. The way she said 'your background' leads me to believe that she knows full well that a Lilli saved her. I don't doubt that we’d have a pleasant conversation, possibly even with some sort of compensation, but that's nothing I'm interested in. I don't do what I do for the attention or the thanks of my patients. I do it because I want to--because I believe it's right. In the heat of the moment, I wasn't concerned with her race, nor mine. 

"I only wanted to make the right choice." I suddenly think aloud.

"What was that, dear?" My wife asks me, entering out bedroom and slipping under the sheets next to me.

"Hm? Oh, nothing. Just...thinking about a patient."

"Always so worried about others, I love that about you. This patient--will she be okay?"

"Probably. Last I saw her she was looking much better."

"Good." She snuggles up into me. "Saving others is never a bad thing."

My mind flashes back to the vial I saw in her purse. The look on that poor woman's face sealed securely inside it, now reduced to the property of another. I shudder just thinking about it. I'm reminded of the kind of person that woman really is. Hearing her on the TV just now, I'm no longer sure what to believe.

"Yeah. I guess so. I...hope so."