I, Holly

My name is Holly and I’m 21. I guess I should feel terrible at being the reason behind the annihilation of my city and its entire population. It’s hard to feel empathetic when your own life is at stake, though.

Of course I have recognized the titanic bitch. How could have I forgotten her? The National Championship was probably the zenith of my “career” as a cheerleader for my high school but also one of the moments in my adolescence where I felt more frustrated.

I was, and I still am the embodiment of the perfect American girl. Tall, fit, voluptuous with an amazing rack and a rock hard ass… and with long blonde locks framing a perfect face with deep baby blue eyes. I have always been the center of attention everywhere I’ve gone, even before nature started to develop my body into what it later became. Being robbed of that by someone else was one of the hardest experiences my self-centered adolescence had to endure.

She was like my exact opposite. Her skin was tanned where mine was light, her eyes dark brown where mine were blue, and her hair brown and straight where mine was platinum and curly. After these initial differences, Victoria O’Neal was just more of me than I could ever hope. Her stomach was flatter, her breasts bigger and firmer, her legs longer and silkier, and her ass rounder and harder.

I’ve always been told that I have an attitude to match my looks. Her case was even more exacerbated. I hated her even before she was introduced to me. And when we crushed them in the final I let all this go. It was not as if she did not fight back, but for once in the Championship I had the upper hand and I used it without compassion. Any other girl would have cried. I know that. I’ve made plenty of girls cry. She just weathered the storm and looked at me with more hate in her eyes than I had ever seen before.

I thought I would never see that face again. But now it’s easily visible in the horizon, very recognizable despite the fact that it’s dozens of miles away. The rest of her body can also be easily seen. If anything, it has gotten harder and more voluptuous. Her absolute lack of clothes makes it easy enough to see. It’s also bigger, of course. Way bigger.

Even if I can see her very clearly, it’s still hard to accept the truth. The fact that there is a very noticeable shake perfectly coordinated with the moment her foot sets in the ground in the distance takes any illusion that this might just be an optical effect away.

There was hate in Vicki O’Neal’s face the last time I saw her. There is nothing of that now. The only thing I can see in her expression is a combination of happiness and curiosity. It’s easy enough to deduce that she has seen the city of Dallas, the city I share with millions of other people that are as transfixed as I am at the impossible behemoth approaching us.

Her next step takes her a few miles closer and almost sends me off my feet. I barely manage to keep my balance… until her other foot lands and I’m sent to my butt. I lose sight of her for an instant, my attention taken by the dozens of car accidents around me and by the panicked screams of the rest of the people in the wide avenue where I was when all this started.

I try to stand up, but a new massive shake prevents me from accomplishing my objective. I’m sitting on my butt again and I scream when I see a large crack advancing through the road in my direction. It stops barely a dozen feet from me and I sigh in a panicked relief before a new tremendous crash makes the crack widen and sends tons of glass from the buildings on both sides of the avenue raining down. I’m one of the few lucky ones that are not buried by the storm of glass shards. Dozens of my fellow citizens do not share that same luck.

The volume of the screams intensifies, among them there are mine. I turn and look up and I unconsciously increase the pitch when I see Victoria’s face looking in my direction. If I did not know that I’m absolutely inconsequential to her, I would have sworn that there was eye contact there, for a moment.

Her face is somehow distorted by perspective. She has got so close that it’s impossible for me to focus on her entire body. Her thick lips part and then her voice is everywhere. It shakes my body and all that surrounds it. When she speaks it is absolutely impossible to focus on anything that are not her words. It feels as if both the skies and the gates of hell had opened at the same time.

“IS THIS DALLAS?” the voice asks. The realization that from her perspective Victoria O’Neal has trouble to distinguish one city from another is shocking.

“YEAH, I THINK THIS IS DALLAS” the voice says. “YOU KNOW WHAT? I HATE THIS CITY” it announces, and I know that I have quite a lot to do with that feeling.

I stop screaming when the two heaviest shakings yet make a high-rise a couple of blocks down collapse on itself, burying a few hundred people more under it. When I gather the courage to look upwards again, Victoria’s face is much closer, looking even more imposing. The entire horizon now consists of her visage.

I’m sweating. I know it’s partly driven by the anxiety but then I realize that the temperature has also risen a few degrees and when I realize that there is only one cause for that and that it’s nothing else than a person, with her body temperature and perspiration I feel really awestruck.

Victoria seems to be thinking on what to do. I cannot prevent wondering how it may be to be like her. I realize that beyond the obvious fear there is another emotion running deeper into my mind: jealousy.

I once hated that girl for taking me out of the spotlight. Now she is the only living creature in the world in the spotlight, the only person with real power. I imagine myself at her size, being able to wipe an entire city in one step, to shrug the world’s mightiest military forces off, to rule 7 billion people without even getting a nail chipped. And I hate her even more than I fear her.

I know I’m about to die, so there’s no point in fooling myself. I’ve enjoyed the attention and the soft power my looks have granted me during my entire life. So, I know I would enjoy bringing this to the extreme and having all the power of the world embodied in my person.

I would show off, I would have fun and I would rule. Rather than bullying those I don’t like, I would simply flatten them out of existence. I would disintegrate cities I hate with a wink of an eye and blow entire countries away. I would change the landscape to my liking, just to show the world I could, and I would make its entire population worship me.

I would become a true 21-year-old goddess. Just what Victoria O’Neal has become. It’s so unfair…

Her godlike voice takes me off my train of thought once more, not letting me do anything else than listening to its words.

“ONE OF YOU GUYS WAS VERY RUDE TO ME SOME TIME AGO. I DID NOT LIKE THAT” the voice says.

Of course, I know that person is me. It does not matter. I’m going to die, so fuck everyone else around me.

“THAT SITUATION KIND OF BOTHERED ME FOR A LONG TIME, BUT I COULD NOT QUITE PUT THE FINGER ON THE REAL CAUSES” the voice says. “NOW I KNOW BETTER, OF COURSE. I’VE REALIZED WHAT IT WAS. I’VE ALWAYS KNOWN I WAS ABOVE YOU, ONLY I HAD NOT REALIZED JUST HOW MUCH. AND, YOU KNOW, FOR SOMEONE LIKE ME, BEING INSULTED BY SOMEONE LIKE YOU IS… IRRITATING”

Despite my hate for the woman, I can understand the truth in the words. I realize that I would do the same.

I should be her, I should be a goddess. Instead, I feel like a bug, like a microscopic being with no importance. This feeling is even worse than the certainty of an imminent death.

Her hand approaches, casting an infinite shadow around me. Then, a finger extends and I feel the ground shaking again. I look up and realize that I’m more or less under the heel of her palm, its massive form blocking the sun rays from me. The shaking has not been close, though. I’ve never been great with distances, but I’d swear that the impact has been at least half a mile away.

I risk a look in the direction of the tremor and see a massive column on flesh that has descended from the sky and has flattened a couple of city blocks out of existence. Then, the column moves and block after block of the city start disappearing in a giant cloud of dust as screams intensify and then die.

Chunks of concrete the size of cars start raining around me. The only reason I’m still alive to tell this needs to be pure luck. Dozens of people get hit by the rain of rubble that I now know has been caused by nothing else than a giant girl dragging her finger.

I feel the ground rumbling and see a digit, both taller and wider than the largest building in the city, heading in my direction. I know I will become yet another insignificant stain on its apparently soft skin. Then, the finger stops and after a second, it starts raising. Larger chunks of concrete start raining from it once again, but once more I’m miraculously saved.

The hand moves into a different direction and I can finally stand up. There is very few people standing around me. The odds of still being alive beat the lottery.

Her finger got really close. I can take a few steps and look down… and even further down to see that her digit has dug a trench the width of two city blocks and as deep as a medium sized building. A crash in the distance makes me look into its direction and I catch a glimpse of two of the goddess’ fingers crushing a large skyscraper out of existence.

Then, her hand closes into a fist and I see, seemingly in slow motion, as it hits down hard a few neighborhoods away.

The impact is so heavy that I bounce several feet off the ground. I’m incredibly bruised when my back hits the tarmac hard. The moment I can regain my senses and sit down to look around me I see a massive tsunami of dust and smoke advancing towards me with the speed of a stampede. I have run out of luck.