Mustering every ounce of courage, you abandon your makeshift hideout under the bench and sprint across the cold, vast tiling of the Footlocker floor. Kayla's humongous Nikes loom closer, like buildings on a city skyline, until you're running right alongside them. Your heart races, adrenaline surging as you navigate this world of rubber and leather monoliths.
Damn, they're huge. Even at her normal height, Kayla was on the thicker side, and now, her sneakers look like tanks parked on a battlefield. You glance up as you pass the immense Nikes, seeing her taut, yoga-pant-clad legs stretching up into the sky like twin pillars. The fabric hugs her legs tightly, emphasizing the curves of her calves and the fullness of her thighs. A part of you wants to marvel at the sheer scale of everything but, god, not now.
With every step, the ground reverberates like a drum, shaking your frail, miniaturized body to the core. You struggle to keep your balance, praying that none of those footsteps stray in your direction. You're now caught in her orbit, both terrifying and magnetic.
Finally, you reach what you consider a safe distance—directly between her gargantuan feet and the shoe display she’s rearranging. You feel exposed, standing there on the gray tile, and look up to see Kayla's rounded backside facing you. Her form is titanic; her ass is a mountain range, hugged tightly by the unyielding fabric of her yoga pants. There's an unmistakable smell, a mixture of sweat and cheap fabric softener that descends from her, overpowering in its pungency.
Taking a shaky breath, you muster all the strength your minuscule vocal cords can manage. "Down here! Help!"
A low rumble echoes through the air as she laughs at a joke her coworker just told her. Your screams are drowned out as if you were a gnat trying to be heard through the din of a rock concert. Your heart sinks, and you wonder if you've just committed yourself to a gruesome fate.
You feel a sudden draft, a gush of wind that nearly knocks you off your feet. You look up to see Kayla straightening, stretching her back with an audible pop. "Ugh, finally done with these," she mumbles, her voice a deafening rumble above you.
And then she turns, swiveling on her massive Nike-clad feet, pivoting to walk away. The floor quakes, and in that heart-stopping instant, you realize your mistake. Kayla's colossal right foot is lifting off the floor, coming right toward you, blocking out the overhead lights. Time seems to freeze, your life flashing before your eyes. You're too paralyzed with fear to even scream.
Then, with a crushing finality, her foot descends.
Your final scream, high-pitched and desperate, gets swallowed in the cavernous space of the store. As Kayla’s Nike-clad foot looms closer, blocking out the overhead lights, the sheer terror of your impending demise is palpable. There's no time to move or think — just the cold reality that, in her world, you are nothing more than a speck.
The weight of her foot, aided by gravity and her own obliviousness, brings her shoe crashing down onto the floor. The impact is immediate. The sturdy rubber of her sole compresses your miniature form effortlessly, rendering your once animated body lifeless in an instant. In the split second of contact, your bones splinter and crunch, a sound that would be horrific if it were audible at a larger scale.
When she lifts her foot to take her next colossal step, your obliterated remains cling to the patterned grooves of her shoe’s underbelly. The grisly remnants of your being are now nothing more than an indistinct smear, blending seamlessly with the daily dirt and detritus she steps on. Layers of muck and grime conceal the grim evidence of your tragic fate.
The world continues its rotation, and Kayla, none the wiser, proceeds with her tasks, occasionally scratching at her name tag or adjusting her tight yoga pants. Unbeknownst to her, she carries the remnant of a life extinguished by a mere footstep, the darkly comic absurdity of your end stark against the backdrop of her mundane routine.
As the hours wear on, your crushed remains begin to dry, harden, and flake, eventually eroding from the grip of her shoe, scattered and forgotten amidst the dust and debris.
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author