The Curl

by Seeguy

You sit on your naked butt, the smell of ozone and dust tickling your nose. Your ears ring and your vision blurs into focus. The sun feels warm on your skin. The ringing lessens and sounds fade into your consciousness; alarms, sirens, shouts and screams.

A voice, distorted by loudspeaker, reaches your ears.

“DO NOT MOVE. WE REPEAT, PLEASE DO NOT MOVE.”

You realize that they are talking to you. You also realize that you are completely naked.

“WE ARE CURRENTLY RESCUING CASUALTIES AROUND YOUR BODY. PLEASE, DO NOT MOVE.”

Your vision un-blurs, but you don’t see anything too unusual. You see the building across the street from your workplace, a fairly non-descript small office building, a lot like the one you work in actually The thing is, you’ve never seen it from this particular angle. Also, you’re pretty sure it looks a lot smaller than other times you’ve seen it.

You move your eyes around without moving any other parts of your body, as the loudspeaker has requested.

Darting you eyes downward, you see crumbled brickwork, twisted metal, and crumbled masonry.

Amid the wreckage, you spot people in uniforms, people in safety gear, lots of high visibility vests. They look a lot smaller than you remember too. About the size of a little medicine capsule.

There are other people, some partially buried under debris. Some were clearly only injured. A few are clearly only bodies. You’re not sure if you recognize any of them, but you don’t try too hard to figure it out either. The emergency workers who dare cast their eyes up to your face appear disquieted and startled to see you eyes moving darting around, taking in the scene. You stay quite still while they spend hours on end checking around the ruins and your enormous body. It takes some patience on your part, but that’s okay, you’ve waited this long after all. Eventually, they’re satisfied that there are no more reachable living people in the rubble.

“WE ARE EVACUATING THE SURROUNDING AREA OF CIVILIANS. ON OUR MARK, WE WANT YOU TO STAND UP.”

You wait and when the voice returns you stand upright. There’s a lot of crashing and rumbling as the portions of the building that your body was supporting crumble and fall away.

Now standing fully upright, you can appreciate the true scope of your situation. You are now hundreds of feet tall. The buildings surrounding your shattered workplace look like little milk cartons or shoe boxes. The people look like little vitamin pills shaped to look like people. Examining your own body over, you don’t seem to look or feel hurt in any way. Im fact, you feel good, strong, powerful.

You survey the city spread out around you. Once again, you can’t help thinking: Little paper milk cartons and shoe boxes.

“WE ARE MANAGING THIS SITUATION. PLEASE, REMAIN CALM AND STAY IN YOUR CURRENT POSITION. WE KNOW THIS MUST BE VERY DISORIENTING AND DISTRESSING. IF YOU HAVE ANY DESIRES OR NEEDS, WE’LL DO OUR BEST TO ACCOMMODATE YOU ANY WAY THAT WE REASONABLY CAN.”

You had only one desire.

After considering it, you make a request.

You give the officials a list of names; friends, close neighbors, over all a couple dozen people who know you the best in the world.

Your spouse, your two children (One a teen, the other just entering second grade) your parents, assorted siblings and cousins, your best friends from college who you keep in touch with, and a few neighbors you’ve grown particularly fond of over the years.

Authorities say they’ll make their best effort and make some space for you, so that you don’t have to stand the whole time. You sit down crisscross applesauce to wait.

You don’t have to wait too long. Your spouse saw you on the news and was already on their way, arriving only minutes after you made your wishes known. You wave hello, and they look way up to your face, and give a little nervous wave of their own.

Over the next hour the rest arrive either in their own vehicles, or brought in by the authorities.

They gaze up at you, awe visible on their tiny little faces. As each arrives, you give them a little wave and greet them. Your spouse seems more apprehensive, more concerned than any of two dozen or so others. It makes sense, out of everyone here, they know you the best. You’ve shared a lot with them; thoughts, dreams, desires. They hold your shared children as they look up with a kind of awed innocence.

When they are all gathered, you ask if you can hold them, all of them, in you hands, so you can share this strange experience with them. You lean over and put your two enormous hands on the ground, palms up, for them to climb aboard.

A few daring friends and siblings climb up with no hesitation. You and your spouse’s elderly parents need some help getting up there, which the others happily provide. Your spouse hangs back with your two kids.

They look up to your face. They are trying to read your expression. You give them a sincere loving smile. They seem reassured. Along with the kids, they clamber up onto your palm, helped by your other family and friends.

You savor the feeling of all the little people in your hands. They give you tiny little tickles raising the hairs along your back; quite relaxing and satisfying.

You stand back up slowly, steadily, to your full height, careful as careful can be with your precious cargo.

When you have fully stood up, you look down into your hands.

About two dozen little people sit or stand in your hands. Some of them gaze around at the world far below. Others look up into your gargantuan face. You wonder what your eyes must look like to them. Your spouse looks up at you too, some trepidation still in their eyes. They know you so well.

All of them are so small; so fragile looking. You search your heart for some connection, some empathy for these people.

Perhaps it’s for the best.

You curl your fingers up, slowly at first. A few of the braver folks make a run for the edges of your palm, so you speed things up, and clench your hands into fists.

The shouts and screams reach your ears as you squeeze.

Your mother and father plead and weep. Your neighbors and friends seem split between silent shock and begging for mercy. A conspicuous absence from the chorus is your spouse. They would never give you the satisfaction of rewarding what they probably saw as a betrayal. You feel proud of them. Finally, your own children cry and scream for their parents to save them. In their fear, they call out for you to save then. You actually find yourself savoring the cruel irony of it.

In a way, you think, I am saving them.

A lingering part of you says that this is the merciful thing to do, another part just enjoys how extremely decadent and inhuman your actions have become in such a sort time. Either way, you feel your remaining ties to the human race sever.

You clench and grind your fingers against your hands as screams give way to cracking bone, pulping meat, and last gasps of breath.

When every sign of life is crushed from their little bodies you uncurl your fingers opening your hands.

You inspect the remains; twisted, crumpled bodies. You see pulped muscles and organs, sharp cracked bone poking up out of shredded skin, and so, so much blood.

The line is cut and you smirk. You look out and down at the crowds of first responders, media representatives, and assorted onlookers.

You hold your hands out for all to see, and you make an announcement:

“These were the people who I love and care about the most in all the world, but I looked at them and knew it could never be the same. I’m not one of them anymore, I’m not one of you anymore.” You smile wider than you ever have. “So if that’s what I’ve done to the people I love and care for the most in all the world,” you pause for effect, “what do you think I’m going to do to the rest of you?”

With that, you chuckle, lift your foot, and stride forward.