Did I check before I left? I’m pretty sure I checked before I left. But I can’t stop the feeling. They’re shrinking. I can feel it. They are scrawny twigs hanging from my sides. They feel smaller. They do.
What if I didn’t check? I can’t remember. Did I check? I have a feeling I checked but what if I didn’t check? If I checked – I did check, I always do, don’t I, how could I not - I have a feeling that I didn’t start at the bottom of my triceps because I got distracted by those rustling leaves and I rushed. I always rush and now I’ll be late. I checked. I checked and they were fine. I know. They were fine.
I don’t want to get my Jack out again. If I use him too much, I’ll damage him and I’m late. But I can’t not know. I have time for one more check, surely? It’ll be fine.
I pull him out of my pocket and hear a crack. I must be more careful! He doesn’t seem to be squirming as much as usual. If he’s dead, what use would he be? He’d rot and he wouldn’t be the same size and he’d be squishy and I’d have to ask for another one and they’d ask why and then they’d know and they’ll think I think it was a big deal because why else would I mention it? But I’ll tell them it wasn’t a big deal, I just needed to him to check, then they’ll ask why I need to check and I won’t be able to explain. They’ll think that I think they’re shrunken! I will tell them… I will tell them… I was only using him to measure… but they’ll want to know why I was using him to measure and then they’ll look at my arms and see my arms and they’ll think…
Oh! A prick on my leg. Ok. Breathe. Breathe. Focus on the task in hand.
I speak to him, tell him to rouse his blood and shake him. He begins to moan. I roar and coax and move him closer to my mouth, smacking my lips, he gets so close that I can taste the smoky metallic taste coming up and, as he thinks I’ll gobble him up, at the last second, I lower him down and finally - finally - he stands up straight as a bean pole. Good man.
Hmmm, I can’t put him on the floor, as he might try running again and I can’t risk him falling from a branch so I will just use my free hand… and… yes, it clears him still. Have I lined him up properly? It seems to be fine. I’ll check again to be sure. In my haste, I have smushed him completely against my arm. Is he bent? No, no, no… it’s fine… he can straighten up and I can see they are fine, definitely fine.
Repeat a thousand times: Tree trunks would envy my arms.
I shove him back into my pocket. He served his purpose today. Or did he? Was he stooping? Did I check properly? Was his back broken? I was so relieved by it all that I wasn’t careful again. Gargantuan Idiot! I can’t check again lest I damage him more and I’m so late, will they ask why I was late?
It’s ok. It will be alright. But what if, when I get there, he wriggles about and starts to moan and they hear him squeak and ask me why I keep him and I have to tell them? I will tell them I was keeping him as a snack. Yes, as a snack. I will practise and then they will never know. Never.
“I was keeping…”
Errgg, I’ve set the trees to rustling again. Focus, get there, no time to lose.
Where was I. Ah, yes. Confident: “I was keeping him as a snack.”
Once more. Deeper.
“I was keeping him as a snack.”
It felt ok. They are fine. Did I measure from the base of the arm? They still feel withered. Maybe my jerkin was billowing too much and I was measuring the cloth rather than the muscle? Just once more and I’ll roll up my sleeves this time to make sure it’s accurate…. There…
Ow! A prick and…. The little blighters are everywhere. Swarming. I do not have time for them today and …. Oh Typhon! They saw me measuring! They saw! They know!
“Bare arms!”
They are looking at my arms! How dare they! I must have stumbled onto a village of them whilst I was checking and... what if they tell the others about my arms?! They’ve seen them naked! I’m going to have to crush them all and I don’t have time. I do not have time.
“Fe…” I start to bellow but I can hear that they’re still shouting in their shrill voices. Not scared enough. They don’t fear me because of them?
“Raise arms…” Yes, this one is calling at me in his little acorn hat. Raise arms? They dare tell me what to do? They dare tell me to show my… my... lilliputian arms.
Then they’re throwing their little sticks at me.
That one drew a speck of blood! My jerkin! I’ll crush their bones and make them my bread! No, wait. It’s Jack. Blefuscu!
He’s no use now! I need to get him out and find one that’s the same height. This will take all morning. I guess I needed a replacement anyway. It’s ok, I’ll tell them I got attacked but what if they ask why I took ages and then they think it’s because of my little-ended arms. What if…
*Brobdingnag*
I go down with a titanic crash. Fi! When did they tie my legs?
My Jack is all smooshed up and my clothing is all gooey. I can’t even get someone the same size as him now. Fo!
Easy enough to tear their weak string… But…This is embarrassing. They’re looking at me, staring at my scrawny arms, judging me, planning on telling the others, “They’re tiny! They’re tiny!” they’ll say. Oh Pantagruel! Don’t let them see. They can’t look any more. Tuck the arms under my back. They can’t see them now, not even a thumb. It is ok. I am safe.
What’s that? Something smells like iron… hot, boiling iron…