These days he mostly knew thirst. And dust. Thick layers of it, covering the ground he marched through, the air he breathed. Choking him and making his throat dry. And the dark. The dark meant safety, meant being out of Her sight or reach.
The sun has barely risen when he woke up, the first shy beams of light gleaming on the horizon. Faded, soft; it must’ve been cloudy outside. Not that he could tell. It’s been ages since he went out or looked at the sky. His sky was here, dozens of metres above him. Or maybe calling it a roof would be more suitable. He got up, slowly, wiping the dust off his chest, his arms. His feet were sunk in the thick layer of it still. No matter, he’d shake those off as he walked. He should get food, and water. To get either would take a long walk through the ashen landscape. Dangerous roads, but the roads he knew well, in the end.
Then came coughing. Long, tiresome, as if his lungs decided to jump out of his chest. It’s okay, it’s okay, She can’t hear you, not from this far. Will you get moving this time or will you wait? Better to wait for Her to wake up, go on about her business and leave. Then the whole joint is yours for the next nine hours or so, and so is the food. Maybe you should finally talk to her? Or did you burn that bridge by now?
A rumble from the roof, an enormous mass of bones and muscles, stretching, shifting far above him. Tossing and turning in her sleep. A nightmare? What could She possibly have nightmares about?
Maybe you should get a move on. See if you can find something before She’s up. Even something to drink would do. How long can you hold the thirst in?
The music starts to play, the same tune as yesterday and the day before. A cheery, morning tune with guitars and trombones, a soundwave slap on the cheek telling you to wake the fuck up. Another rumble of a massive body stretching above, a hand bigger than life smacking the alarm, the impact echoing through the void. A voice, low and loud, at least to you, murmuring a curse. She’s up.
He stood still, watching Her enormous feet touch the ground, watched the piles of dust rise as they did. Two giant blocks of flesh, more akin to twin isles to him, that carried Her around. He dared not imagine what would become of him should he find himself in their way. The stoney, rugged skin on her heels, the impossibly long and wide soles. Somewhere in the front, too far from him to see, her toenails glistened blood red. Somewhere even further up was the rest of Her, including Her face, which he never got to see, so far below he usually was. Everything higher than the knee was a blur anyway. He’s seen Her start the day so many times, never getting quite used to it.
She sighed with a sound of a wind flowing down a mountain and rose to her full height. The planks on the floor creaked loudly, the sharp noise assaulting his ears. They will withstand her weight, they always did. The ground shakes as she takes the first step, then another, a series of low concussions fading into the distance.
You should’ve talked to Her when she moved in, back when you were still the size of a mouse. But like a mouse you scurried from view, hid, ashamed. The smaller you got the more reluctant you became and now that you’re but a shriveled speck of flesh how can you even hope of reaching out to Her? How tall are you these days anyway, half? You don’t look like half to me.
It’s okay, she’s leaving. You can try again tomorrow. In the meantime, the joint is yours. Nine hours should be enough to get to the kitchen and back. You should get a move on.