If you saw our world, the place where we live, you would probably not think much of it. In fact, you would probably not even notice it at all. Our world, for you see, resides on something that I believe you would simply refer to as a 'dust speck'. A particle, flying and soaring and diving through the air, so fast and light, yet easily glimpsed and observed. I am not an expert on the matter, and would not be able to tell you if every piece of dust you found lying around was home to, and supplied for, the lives of roughly 4.9 billion people, but what I can tell you for sure is that this specific speck does.
This tiny world, the one I and my species so love and adore, is much like your own. It has mountains and forests, oceans and cities, and, as I mentioned previously, houses a great population. We are self-sufficient and peaceful, cultured and fair, and, in fact, if you never had known that we existed on a fragment of dead skin tissue, floating silently through the air, you would probably have never known how vastly different we are from you. And believe me when I say we are very different, not for our history or society, but for the problems we posses. Our problems do not concern global warming, or politics, or crime, but something... different, shall we say. The radio transmitters and satellite features we have developed are far more complex than anything you could possibly imagine, and they need to be.
The reason I tell you specifically of our radio systems and global network of stations, dedicated to purely broadcast, is simply because it is the only area we have evolved in for a long time. Our cars, trains, internet, healthcare, you name it, all can be considered quite like yours, though for thousands upon thousands of years, we have created and improved on radio equipment, because it's what we need. Without it, there would be no hope for my race, and my world. The radio transmissions are what keep us going, filling us with hope. The constant 24/7 pumping of broadcast after broadcast of messages deep into the harsh, vast space surrounding our speck is what our civilization's goal has been for as long as we can remember. And why do we do it? Why do yell and scream and shout for hours upon hours, days upon days? Why is it that the only radio transmissions that you may ever hear being emitted from our world repeat the same haunting word, over and over again?
'Help.', the broadcasts say. 'Help... Help... Help... Help...', for thousands of years, without cease. It all began with the crash. The crash was probably the most devastating thing to ever occur to our world, and it's people. One thing we could never get the hang of was steering the speck we flew aboard, and so we just let fate have it's way. On the day of the crash, though, we soon saw how we had made the mistake of allowing the gentle wind to choose our path.
Your world, as we see it, is slow. Very slow. People at your size seem frozen in time as we look up into the sky with our naked eyes, and the wind that you recognise as howling and strong we all recognise as the lazy current that pushes our miniature planet throughout your rooms and hallways and corridors with ease, over a period of millions upon millions of years from our perspective.
We saw the crash coming far ahead of it's time, and why we didn't do anything about it I may never know, but when our speck finally did touch down in her palm, chaos soon followed. 'Who is this 'her'?' you may ask, if you cared. To answer that would be impossible for us, as we very little of your people, though we do know you would most likely recognise her if you saw her. Possibly just as a passer by on the street, or a friendly face in the classroom. However, to us, she is the pure embodiment of horror itself, completely unaware that an entire world of helpless, microscopic people is deeply resting down within one of the hundreds of crevices lining her hand's palm, her colossal fingers like entire nebulas in comparison to our home-world. There we have stayed, wedged in between two ravine-like layers of hot, sticky skin for thousands of our years, but probably only seconds of hers.
The fingers are closing, and the shadows cast by those long, glinting nails stretch slowly but surely across the planet we are dotted across. Some tried to escape at first; Rockets were sent, full of people and supplies, but contact is always lost and fuel always runs out. Estimates state that our world will stay intact and it's citizens alive for just about 2000 years more, before... before her finger...- I try not to think about.
That is why we shout across the airwaves. That is why we beg for help. We don't know for sure much of your species, but we can only hope that you are capable of detecting and decoding radio transmissions through natural means. It is our only hope. It will work. It will. It will... It...
It has to.
Giantess World
