- Text Size +
Author's Chapter Notes:

Content Warning: The following story contains explicit violence, cruelty, and discussions of suicide. Discretion is advised.

            The cement in front of the automatic, glass doors was seemingly painted with a translucent patina of red and brown. The glow of the neon lights above and the smell of stale bleach mixed with the swirling pattern, giving off the impression of a strange, almost nauseating piece of modern art. Jacob stared at it absently,

before stepping forward, allowing the sliding planes to open automatically.

            “Good afternoon, sir. We have an open booth right now. How many hours will you be using today?” The man behind the counter greeted.

            “Uh...I don't...How many hours do people usually use? What's the, you know, the cost?” Jacob asked.

            “Ah, a first timer. Well, you see...” The host hooked one thumb around his suspender, using his free hand to point to a menu of options, “Our three-hour option gives you the greatest value for cost. Most folks start with one, but if you want in on a little industry secret, they all end up asking for more time in the end. May as well get the savings while you can, right?”

            Jacob looked over the finely printed board without responding, focusing for a moment on the logo at the top: The Tel-Tiny Club. Where Jacob stood was a telephone club made specifically for approximately inch-high people, colloquially known as tinies, to connect over the phone with those who were more normally sized, though often called giants by the smaller community. One would pay a fee for a certain number of hours in a booth, wherein giants hired by the club would call in.

            This was a novelty at first. The disparate sizes between the two groups made communication nearly impossible. Over time, however, services became seedier. For a small group it was still an innocent transaction, a way to converse with someone you'd otherwise never be able to. To a greater number it became a front for prostitution, a way to find paying tinies with a fetish for enormous bodies. And for some, it became a de facto Kevorkian mechanism, which is to say, a method of suicide.

            In any other circumstances, these sorts of businesses would be shut down. However, due to the ambiguous nature of tinies in the law, and the fuzzy status of their rights and personhood, this particular brand of entertainment was allowed to continue operations.

            “Sir?” The host leaned over the counter.

            “Oh, sorry.” Jacob winced, “Three hours, please.”

            “Excellent choice. If I could have your credit card, please?” The host asked.

            “Right.” Jacob slid his card over the counter.

            “You're in booth six, sir. Necessary items are provided on the desk and in the drawers.

            “Necessary items?” Jacob asked.

            “Oh, you know, ashtray, matches, tissues, lotions, a notepad and pen to write down any numbers or addresses...” The host said, “And in the bottom drawer, legal forms, should the need arise.”

            “I...I see.” Jacob bit his lip. “Thank you.”

            “There are vending machines in the back, should you become thirsty.” The host smiled, “Enjoy.”

            “Yeah.” Jacob blankly responded, wandering towards a hallway full of numbered doors. He made his way to the sixth one and stepped in, quietly closing it behind him. It was exactly as the host had described, a desk with an old office phone, an ashtray, and a box of tissues. Jacob opened the drawers one at a time, from top to bottom, finding various accouterments, and in the bottom, filing cabinet style drawer, a tight ream of papers organized by inscrutable form numbers. He sucked air through his teeth, fidgeted on his toes, but did not sit down yet.

            'What are you even so nervous for?' Jacob thought, 'Who even calls into these places? It's not like any giants would really-'

            His internal monologue was cut off by the peal of the phone's ringer.

            “Ah!” Jacob scrambled into his seat and grabbed the receiver, fumbling with it for a moment, before putting it to his ear, 'Uh, hi, hello.”

            “Hey there tiny~” Came the sultry voice from the other end.

            “Y-yeah, hi...” Jacob said.

            “You've got a sexy voice~” She said.

            “Th-thanks...? You do too, I guess?” Jacob said.

            “Mmm, you little guys turn me on sooooo much~ How would you like to take a little trip to the deepest, sexiest parts of-”

            Jacob placed the receiver back onto its cradle with a soft click. That was not what he was looking for.

            'Augh, this is so stupid, there's no way anyone is going to want-' Jacob's thoughts were once again cut off by a loud ringing. This time he was able to pick up the phone with less issue.

            “Yes, hello.” He said haltingly.

            “Hello? Is this...is this a tiny” Said a soft voice.

            “Y-yeah. Is this a giant?” Jacob asked.

            “Um, I guess? I'm not really that tall.” She said.

            “Oh, how tall are you?” Jacob laughed nervously.

            “Five two, around there.” She said.

            “Well, I'm one inch, so you're pretty tall compared to me.” Jacob said.

            “Ah, wow, you really are small.” She said, “How is that, um, going?”

            “It's fine? I mean, not great, to be honest...” Jacob said, “What are you calling in for? I mean, what are you looking for, you know?”

            “Um, that's a good question.” She said with an audible wince, “I've never done this before, but the pay is pretty good, and I thought it would be cool to talk to a tiny, maybe hang out with one?”

            “Hang out?” Jacob asked.

            “Yeah. It'd be cute to have someone like you sit on my shoulder, watch a movie, something like that? Would you, um, want to do something like that?”

            “Uh...” Jacob stared at the blank white wall of the booth, “That sounds nice, but...I don't think you're quite what I was looking for.”

            “Oh, I'm sorry, that's a shame.” She said.

            Jacob hung up again, and then pulled the receiver off the hook, placing it on the desk so that another call wouldn't come in just yet.

            'What are you doing Jacob?' He thought to himself, 'She seemed really nice, why did you hang up? Yes, she was getting paid, but does that even matter? When was the last time someone talked to you like that?'

            A long sigh followed. It had been too long. At the forefront of Jacob's mind, he knew, just as well, it was probably too late. Too much had happened, too much hadn't, and too much time had passed. He took a deep breath and reset the position of the receiver.

            No more than a minute passed before it rang again.

            “Hey bug, you wanna’ get squished?” Asked a rough voice.

            Jacob was stunned into silence.

            “Hello? You there?” The voice said again.

            “Y-yeah, I'm here.” Jacob stammered.

            “Well?” She asked.

            “I, um...” Jacob said.

            “You do, don't you? I can tell.” She said confidently.

            “Well, I mean, y-yes? I guess?” Jacob replied.

            “Knew it.” She said.

            “It's just...things have been-” Jacob started.

            “I don't care, honestly. I'm not a therapist.” She said curtly, “If you want to get stepped on, just say so and grab a copy of the form for it.”

            “The form?” Jacob asked.

            “Yeah, in the bottom drawer,” She drummed her fingers loud enough to hear her nails clicking over the speaker, “Form S-32.”

            “Uh...” Jacob slid open the cabinet and scanned over the tabs, “S...S-32, right?”

            “Yeah, c'mon, hurry up.” She said.

            “Okay, I've got it.” Jacob said.

            “Do you see the section labeled 'Action Assistant?' You need to put my ID number there.” She read out an alphanumeric code.

            “G-Got it.” He said, scribbling in the identification.

            “Okay, now fill out the rest.” She said.

            “Right...” Jacob began writing again, “Have you been doing this long? I mean, you know, with the telephone club?”

            “About a year,” She said disinterestedly, “Good money for a side job.”

            “I see. And you usually just...” Jacob trailed off.

            “Flatten tinies? Yeah, duh. It's not like you little fucks are good for anything else.” She said.

            “Er...” Jacob hummed.

            “Done yet?” She asked, “And what are you wearing, I need to be able to recognize you.”

            “Just about.” Jacob replied, “And, uh, a letterman jacket. Maroon, white sleeves.”

            “Got it. I'll be wearing red chucks.” She said.

            “That's it?” Jacob asked.

            “That's all you'll probably see.” She snarked, “You're at the club on Seventh, right?”

            “Y-yeah...” He replied.

            “Cool, give your forms to the guy at the front and wait outside, I'll be there in five minutes.”

            “W-wait, can we talk a little-” Jacob tried to interject, but the loud click of the opposite phone cut him off.

            'Five minutes, huh?' He thought. '...Well, this may as well happen sooner rather than later.'

            Jacob picked himself up and shuffled out of the room.

            “Oh, sir, if you leave now you cannot return, this is not that sort of establishment.” The host said, seeing Jacob cross past the counter.

            “Er, no worries, I'm not going to be coming back.” Jacob handed the paper over.

            “Mm.” The host murmured through pursed lips, “I see. I'm glad you could find what you were looking for.”

            “Y-yeah.” Jacob said.

            “Cigarette?” The host pulled a soft pack from his breast pocket.

            “I don't smoke.” Jacob said, stepping outside.

            It was late afternoon and the area was more or less empty. The telephone club doors slid shut, barely a whisper from the glass panes installed neatly in the side of a much larger building. Ground level establishments were common in integrated cities like this one, though their entrances were normally made of much firmer stuff than glass. The Tel-Tiny Club clearly had enough money to frequently replace broken glass.

            'Can I really do this? Maybe I should just go home, it's not too late for that, right?' Jacob thought nervously glancing up and down the street, 'Yeah, I'll just head home and forget this entire thing. This was a mistake.'

            Just as he turned, however, he heard the tell-tale thumps of rubber on cement. From beyond the near corner an enormous red shoe appeared, stepping directly in the path Jacob would need to take. He looked up, and up, and up, taking in the sight of the truly titanic woman. Short socks, shorts, and a tank top, all pale tones against dark skin and darker hair. Her eyes, barely perceptible in the shadow of the afternoon sun, scanned the ground before focusing on Jacob's tiny form.

            “Ah, there you are.” She said.

            “H-hey, um, I was actually about to go, so-” Jacob gesticulated wildly.

            “Are you trying to say something? You know I can't hear you, right?” She asked with a sneer. Jacob did know this, but was suddenly struck by a mortal terror so great that common sense seemed to flee from his mind.

            “I said I don't want to do this!” He frantically called.

            “If you're trying to get out of it, it's too late now. I get paid extra for delivery of service.” She smirked, “So, just stand right there, and let me do my job.”

            Jacob sighed. He knew running would be meaningless at this scale. He'd already signed the papers anyway. His life was forfeit.

            The titan lifted her foot, but instead of moving it forward, she stretched it back, bending her knee, shifting her weight just right to balance, and then...

            WHAM!

            She kicked Jacob like she was a soccer star, tossing him end over end, launching him at least fifty feet. He skidded to a stop, leaving a short trail of blood from the inevitable road rash of being scraped over the sidewalk. He heaved, trying to pull in a breath, but the rubber toe of the giant's sneaker had completely caved in his rib cage, tearing the diaphragm, making death by asphyxiation inevitable, unless something intervened first.

            “Wow, good distance.” The giant woman chuckled, taking heavy steps towards her victim. She lifted the toe of her sneaker over Jacob, heel still placed on the ground, pivoting it back and forth teasingly, “Bet you want me to do it now, huh?”

            Jacob wretched up blood and teeth, barely able to even comprehend his position. His survival instincts buzzed, he knew he should be running, fighting, doing anything, but his body would not and could not move.

            “Luckily for you, I plan on it.” The giant said, “But unluckily, I have a few extra minutes, so let's have fun.”

            Her shoe slammed down, catching Jacob's skewed leg, immediately rendering it to gooey paste. She lifted her rubber sole again, a string of blood, stretching like a thin, red cable, following its arc. Jacob wanted to scream, but his voice would no longer catch.

            “Yikes, that looks like it hurt.” The woman bent over, admiring her work so far, “Which hurts more though, the leg, or the arm?”

            She lowered her foot again, this time over an already broken arm. She didn't stamp down like a hydraulic press this time, however, she only applied enough pressure to hold the appendage in place, before sliding her foot back, the grippy sole of her shoe rotating the arm along its path of motion, quickly and easily tearing it off, the fractured humerus completely breaking, ribbons of skin and fat whirling away with it.

            “So? What hurt more?” She asked.

            Jacob stared wildly at the hot liquid pouring from his stump, and three incongruous thoughts all cartwheeled through this head at once:

           

 

'This feels right, I deserve this.'

            'Every problem I had was reparable, this was a mistake.'

            and,

            'I get why the concrete is this color.'

            Sweat began to form on Jacob's quickly dulling skin. Bile snaked its way out of his mouth, dripping to the ground. His eyes were no longer able to focus, and his world grew blurry.

            “Augh, you're going into shock, aren't you? Guess I should finish you off.” The cyclopean woman said. She lifted her shoe once more and aimed it carefully, before slowly, deliberately rolling her foot forward. The flexible sole curled with her plantar flexion, rolling like an inverted wave, until finally it met Jacob's scrambled form. The full weight of the giant stretched over him, pressing him from the bottom to the top, like a steamroller would, flattening inch after inch of bone, skin, and viscera, turning each in sequence to stains between the pitted concrete and the dusty rubber. Jacob's guts tried to find the path of least resistance, sliding around his body until they were either leaking from his mouth or ground to a fine paste.

            In those last moments, Jacob felt outside his body, aware, able to feel the pain, but somehow separate from it. In another moment he was gone, for that unstoppable foot met Jacob's skull, deforming it, sending cracks through it like an eggshell, finally splitting it open and scattering the last vestiges of the tiny man's consciousness into gray clumps of jelly-like brain matter, which too were mashed into a paper thin glaze.

            The woman twisted her foot, completely replacing Jacob's minuscule existence with her weight and her form. Whatever was left of him was either stuck to the ground or the bottom of her shoe. She stood on one leg, turning over her sneaker so that she could snap a picture of the remainder of Jacob, taking a similar one of the mark on the ground.

            “There we go.” She tapped away at her phone, uploading the images to the application which would handle her payment. Glancing once more at the sticky remains of Jacob, she walked off, glad to have made some extra money, quickly forgetting the tiny man in the milieu of tiny lives she'd ended underfoot.

 

-END-

You must login (register) to review.