Eli was honestly surprised by how horny his brush with death had made him. The combination of Melanie’s feet, the power she’d had over him without even being aware, and the looming presence of death had charged his libido. Now that he had finished his one man handshake, his lust had mostly faded away and he was left with the strong urge to cuddle with Melanie, stroking her back while she stroked his hair. But at this size, it was a long road until that could happen . . . if it could ever even happen at all.

     This realization saddened him. How had he even gotten this small? How many of the possible tropes could actually work in reality? Had God finally chosen fit to answer the naive and misguided prayers of Eli’s ten year old self? And was there any way to get back to normal?

     He shook his head in an attempt to get himself to focus. He needed to prioritize. The task at hand was to survive. The best chance he had of doing that was to get Melanie to notice him.

     He breathed deeply, building up his confidence and trying to weave together the frayed threads of a plan. But the plan wouldn’t form. All he was left with were tattered slivers that didn’t quite mesh together as well as he wanted. She would probably be having breakfast soon. If he could get to the couch before she sat down to watch TV, he could potentially get to her while she was reclining and he wouldn’t run as much of a risk of being stepped on . . . maybe.

     “Autobots,” he mumbled as he readied himself to sprint. “Roll out.” He took off across the open expanse—he’d already more than learned not to walk across the open places. He made it to the moulding where the wall met the floor. After  he’d had a moment to rest, he sidled his way along the contour of the wall until he was able to round the doorframe and peer into the hallway.

     The normally short hallway was now immense. The first thought that Eli had was of looking at the world from on top of a mountain on a hot summer day: when everything in the distance seems to blur until all that remained were basic, hazy shapes. Not only that, but everything in the distance took on a blue hue, supposedly from the light travelling through the air molecules or something.

     As Eli gazed down the hallway, everything in the distance had taken on these same effects. The couch that rested against the living room wall at the end of the hallway was only an immense, green, fuzzy blob from where he stood and it was shrouded in the same faint blue hue that things far away had. It was one thing to see these effects from the top of a mountain looking down at the city below; it was entirely another to see it happening in your own home.

     He braced himself mentally and physically before sprinting again, this time down the hallway. He stayed as close as he could to the walls and the moulding, trying not to venture too far into open space. As he ran, he became aware of the sounds of cooking coming from the kitchen that rested opposite the living room. The aroma of eggs filled his nose and he realized he was absolutely starving, and incredibly thirsty.

     How far was it to the couch? He began to wonder after he realized he’d been running much longer than he’d expected to. Running certainly wasn’t making him any less thirsty. He had to slow to a walk after a few more minutes. Apparently he was more out of shape than he remembered.

     The sounds of Melanie working in the kitchen suddenly stopped. Now he felt the tremors rumbling through the floor again. “Oh Jesus,” Eli said aloud, pressing himself as flat as he could against the wall. The sound of footsteps grew louder and then deafening. Her gigantic figure loomed out from behind the wall and for the first time, Eli got a clear view of how mindbogglingly gargantuan she was. She towered over him. It was hard to estimate an exact height, but he had to crane his neck to see her as she continued down the hallway toward him.

     One flat-clad foot after the other would slam to the ground, the force of which would send muscles rippling up her calves and her thighs and her ass cheeks, eventually causing the loose cotton fabric of her shorts to quiver and her full bust to jiggle beneath her loose pastel shirt—breasts that were conveniently unencumbered by a bra. Her right foot landed a few feet from him (inches, if she’d look down).

     As one foot slammed beside him he called out to her. “MELANIE! MELANIE! Down here!” He waved his arms and leapt up and down. When her other foot slammed down a few feet further down the hallway, the foot beside him lifted away and she continued on. She stopped at the bathroom door and knocked gently. “Eli?” she asked.

     “I’M DOWN HERE!” he roared.

     When there was no answer, she swung the door open only to find the bathroom empty. “Eli?” she asked again.

     “DOWN! HEREEEE!!!”

     She walked out of the bathroom and went further down the hall to the bedroom. “Eli, honey, breakfast is almost ready and you need to start getting packed for the trip.” But the bedroom was empty, too. He watched as she shrugged and made her way back to the kitchen. She probably assumed he had stepped outside to smoke, or to pick up some last-minute things to take with him later.

     “No, Melanie, please, I’m right here!” Her footsteps began to rattle and thunder as she made her way back toward him. “No, no, nonono please, Melanie, PLEASE. I’m right here. Please don’t leave. Melanie!” He moaned as she walked away and rounded the corner to disappear into the kitchen once more. He felt completely and utterly helpless. She couldn’t even hear him. If he didn’t do something, he was going to die. Even if it meant doing something drastic, he at least had to do something.

     He took the despair that clawed inside him and he utilized it rather than succumb to it. He sprinted off down the hallway, reinvigorated almost magically. He reached the couch within minutes and it was then he paused to breathe. Now he had options, and he liked options. He could climb the table, or he could wait here and try to climb her. The choice was easy for him in theory. He wrapped his arms around the polished wooden table leg and began to shimmy his way up. But he couldn’t get any traction, and almost immediately slid back down. He tried a few more times, but he never made it more than a handful of feet from the ground. And what would he do when he got up there, anyway? He couldn’t get to the surface of the table no matter how hard he tried, not unless he had rock climbing gear.

     So he waited. He hunkered down by the table leg and listened to the sounds of Melanie cooking breakfast. The sizzling stuttered and then silenced. Not long after he felt the ever familiar tremors again. His girlfriend was a goddess, alright. The earthquake goddess—and if he ever made a joke about that, she would be certain to kill him.

     He watched her feet swing in beside him like a pair of jets attempting again and again to take off, only to fall to the ground before trying to lift off once more. He watched as her massive, firm ass fell to the couch cushions.

     Her black flats rested in front of him, filling his vision. One foot slipped free and rose out of sight above the tabletop leaving an empty shoe behind. The other foot rose onto its toes and the heel rested against the couch, as if she were wearing an invisible pair of heels. Eli stood and peered upward.

     One foot hung above him, crossed and resting over one knee. It dangled now fifty feet above him. With every shake of her foot, a small shower of dust and debris rained down and was scattered by the wind current from the heating vent. Her toes flexed methodically, scrunching and stretching, making the wrinkles of her sole stand out and then nearly disappear. He couldn’t make out her face—it was obscured by her knees and the seat of the couch. He heard the TV come to life behind him, and then heard the sound of utensils scraping against a plate. She was eating.

     He brought his attention back down to his level. He was just barely taller than her black flat. This was a relief—now he knew he wasn’t microscopic in comparison to her, at least. He had to be about the size of a small paperclip . . . maybe a little bit smaller, but it was something.

     He turned toward the foot that was propped by the heel against the couch and walked up to the toe section of her flat. He climbed his way up on the black leather of the shoe, not wanting Melanie to notice him until he was absolutely ready. The flat had grown warm from her body heat, and every now and then it twitched under him as her toes flexed or her foot readjusted under the weight of her dangling leg. He crawled up along the tip of her shoe, toward where the lip of the shoe opened up to reveal her skin.

     He stopped and gazed up. She was still distracted with breakfast and TV. God, was he starving, and those eggs smelled really fucking good. He would starve to death if she didn’t find him. That meant it was now or never. Eli began to pound against her bare skin. One fist slammed down, followed quickly by the other. Right fist, left fist, again and again. For added effect, he yelled out to her again. “MELANIE, HEY MELANIE! DOWN HERE! IT’S ME!”

     She was vaguely aware of a tickling sensation against her foot. It felt more like an itch than a bug, so she lifted her dangling foot from its resting place on her knee and brought it down to scratch.

     Eli watched as her other leg rose from its perch above him, her bare foot swooping down. He immediately realized what she was planning. He leapt from the shoe and hit the floor. Her bare foot came down as he landed on the wood floor. He watched as her gargantuan toes scratched at the skin where he had been only seconds earlier. Her toenails made a deafening sound much like an amplified version of sandpaper against lumber. Then her foot ascended to the heavens again to settle once more upon her knee.

     She noticed that the itch was gone, and continued to eat. The event completely left her mind.

     Eli gasped for breath below her. That was a close one. He chastised himself for not thinking it through enough. Of course she was going to scratch at the itch, what else would she do? How many times do people look down to see what’s going on? Certainly not often. He needed some way to practically guarantee she would see him.

     He looked over at the empty shoe. There was no way, he thought to himself. But then again . . . when you feel something in your shoe, you try to get it out, right? Maybe, just maybe, she’d notice him then. And if she didn’t . . . well, at least he’d go out in a way he would love.

     He ambled over to the shoe, gripping the lip of it in both hands and then hoisting himself over the edge and into the soft padding of the sole. Noticing he was able to fall in without even swaying the shoe, let alone tipping it over, only did more to drive home how small he truly was.

     Standing, he was the same height as the top of the shoe. But the heel was no place to be—it would crush him. And the arch of her foot, though high (as he had learned), would undoubtedly crush him as well. His best bet was to wait patiently at her toes. They wouldn’t have much weight to them, and there might be enough room for him to move freely down there, even if the toes were there with him.

     He fell to his knees and began to crawl as if into a cave. The padding of the shoe was slightly damp from her sweat and probably from residual moisture from her shower. It didn’t seep out like water from a muddy road, but it did dampen his skin as he crawled. It gradually became darker and darker, while the scent of sweat and foot and vanilla lotion become stronger and more cloying. He finally reached the end of the shoe. Here, he pressed his back against the curve of the toe section and waited for his girlfriend to put on her footwear.

     He hadn’t been a praying man since he’d been in college, but now he began to mumble silent prayers to anyone who would listen.