BIG

I emerged from the cobwebs of the underworld clean and pure and bright, like a flower rising from a pool of quicksand. And I was five hundred feet tall. I was absolutely the biggest thing around.

I watched the little people scurry at my feet. I tried not to step on them, except for that one guy—I still remembered the way he used to hog all the washers in the laundry room of the apartment complex where I’d once lived.

I walked downtown with all the subtlety of an earthquake. I was surging with the power of my immense size, and I felt the jealous hatred of my former friends. And I didn’t care.

But as the day wore on, a sadness descended upon me like a pile of rolling boulders. Where would I buy clothes? And where would I find a pizza big enough to satisfy my hunger?