We wanted to be giants. In our small town we were surrounded by people thinking small, being small. You told us we were growing, but we felt as though we were shrinking. Our lungs constricted until it was almost impossible for us to breathe and we knew that we had to leave or we would die.

Tearing out along the highway, the sky was so vast that we floated up into it, detaching ourselves from the sense of perspective that you had instilled in us. It was easy to visualize ourselves as part of the landscape, easy to imagine that we were big too. We knew that we wouldn’t be back. Already we had become too big to ever fit into such a small place again.

When we reached the city we played at being statues of ourselves, oversized and stern, our lives already over and our images cast in stone. Your preoccupations do not concern us, we said, as you scurried around our feet. Your limitations do not bind us.

But it was difficult to stay motionless for long. Instead we became stars, so massive that we bent space and time about us, and we pulled you into our orbit. For a time we burned transcendent, exalted, but then we began to collapse inwards on ourselves, and just as we had grown we shrank again, smaller and smaller until we could have fit into the palm of your hand. Not even light escapes us now. We look inside ourselves and find that we are looking out onto the universe and we finally understand what it really is to be a giant, and we gaze upon infinity with envious eyes.


Alice .

London, United Kingdom

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  • greenbeards
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