Chapter #4At the base of the jogger by: Bird   The choice is ripped from your hands as the chair you were beneath, the one you were sitting on normal sized just moments before, is pulled back. Its feet scrape against the tile, creating a teeth rattling screech as the jogger from earlier enters your view. She gives you no time, her toned legs sliding into her chair, her grey trainers aimed right for you.
"No, wait!" you scream, but the ambiance of the shop drowns you out. The dingy soles, once a pristine white but now worn smooth and tarnished gray, hover overhead for a heart-wrenching moment, before splitting away and slamming to the ground to both sides of you, resting on their toes with her heels against the chair legs. Her pale skin peeks out from a hint of ankle sock, leading to her towering calves that soared up and out of view.
You sink to your knees. How did this happen? You were a normal guy, just living your life, but now? Now you're- you're-
You can't bring yourself to think the word "bug." Yes, you were small and yes, this random stranger was a deity to you now, but you couldn't give up. This was because of the damn chemical spill, and if you could cause it you could fix it. All you had to do was get this woman's attention.
The woman's chair creaks as she moves. You're awestruck as her hand descends from above the table top; you watch, enraptured, as she jams a finger between foot and shoe, the sounds of her itching roaring over you once, twice, three times, before her forearm tightens, and with force you could never hope to muster, she pulls her foot free. The discarded trainer clatters sideways to the ground mere feet from you, its yawning mouth releasing a cloud of sweaty air over you, as she pulls the freed foot up and tucks it beneath herself.
You throw your hands over your mouth, struggling to catch your breath. God, that's beyond rank. Even at this distance, the air felt humid, as if her jogging had imbued the very atmosphere with her sweaty essence. Still, this presented an opportunity. The discarded shoe was stationary and made of rather worn out fabric, an easy climb. If you could secure yourself on it, you could hitch a ride with this woman until a better chance to grab her attention arose.
A shift in air currents blows another fresh gust of her scent your way, and you have to hold back a gag. Then again, it might be better to stay far away from that rank, dank cave. Her other foot, still completely shoed, was only a little further away. Maybe you could just climb that? It seemed still enough.
You see a waitress's thick slip-proof shoes stomp over, her voice ringing out above. "What can I get for ya?" Time was running out, before your closest chance at salvation got back up and stranded you.  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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