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adarkrainbow · 10 months

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The Yaga journal: Baba Yaga in Soviet movies

And we reach the final article I will translate from the “Yaga journal”: Baba Yaga sur l’écran soviétique (Baba Yaga on the Soviet screen), by Masha Shpolberg!

In 1979, the Soviet studio Soïuzmultfilm produced a three-part cartoon for the Olympic Games that had to happen the following year. The first episode opens with a choir of journalists proclaiming in all the languages of earth: “Micha the bear-cub was just elected Olympic mascot of Moscow”. Baba Yaga listens to this in her cabin, and becomes enraged: “Why him? Why him and not me?”. “Everybody agrees to it!” the journalists say. “And Baba Yaga is against it!” she says, before attacking the television screen with her broom. Throughout these three short episodes, the “Baba Yaga is against it!” cartoon tells the various attempts (and failures) of Baba Yaga and her assistants (Zmeï Gorynytch and Kachtcheï the Immortal) to prevent Micha from reaching the games. The plot relies on the omnipresence of Baba Yaga in the Soviet imagination, and her importance as a symbol of folk-culture. However Baba Yaga did not always have such a status. The witch and her tales were banned by the Soviet Union soon after its creation. Starting in 1918, the year of the creation of the komsomol or “union of Leninist-communist youth”, the Soviet Party reorgaized the educational system: it was decided that fairytales had no place in education. Its rural and pagan roots were problematic for a State which wanted to create an industralized and rationalized world. Galina Kabakova explained that on one side, the fairytale did not carry the values of the new society, and on the other the marvelous and fantastical was considered toxic for the minds of the youth that were to build socialism.

The persecution of the fairytale knew its peak in 1924, when Nadejda Krupskaïa , the companion of Lenine and the president of the Glavpolitprosvet, the Central Comity in charge of Political Education, demanded that all public libraries got rid of the books “with a negative emotional or ideological influence”, as well as the books that “did not conform the new pedagogic approach”. This included the fairytale books of Afanasiev. As the cultural historian Felix J. Oinas explains, in the beginning of the 20s several Soviet critics argued that the folklore was carrying the ideology of the dominant classes, which in turn led the proletarian literary organizations to receive very negatively folktales and fairy tales. A special section of the Proletkult for children even attacked fairy tales based on their “glorification of the tsars and tsarevitchs”, claiming that they were “reinforcing bourgeois ideals” and “causing unhealthy fantasies” in children. When the fairytale re-appeared in the middle of the 30s, it was because the Soviet political culture had decided to re-appropriate the Russian folklore for itself. Just like the Romantic nationalists of the pre-Revolutionnary era, this ideological turn aimed at melting the personal identity in a vaster, collective identity. And what was the best medium to do it? Cinema. Alexander Prokhorov, in his “Brief history of the Soviet cinema for children and teenagers”, explained that the cultural administrators of Staline changed their view on folk-culture, and the fairy tale became a legitimate cinema genre since it helped visualize the spirit of the miraculous reality proclaimed by the Stalinian culture. The end of the NEP, in 1928, also put an end to the importation of foreign movies, freeing the Soviet cinema from all competition - and of all commercial goals.

In 1934, during the first congress of Soviet writers, Samouil Marchak and Maxime Gorki insisted on the importance of childhood literature for the creation of a new Sovietic man, and in 1936 the Sovnarkom, the highest governemental authority, established two new studios out of the ancient Mejrabpomfilm: Soïuzdetfilm, for children movies, and Soïuzmutfilm, for cartoons. It is in this political and institutional context that the young moviemaker Alexandre Ro’ou (in English his name is spelled “Rou”) decided that, for his first film in 1937, he was to adapt a very famous fable, “Wish upon a Pike”. The success of this movie allowed here to adapt a fairytale, more complex on an ideological level: Vassilissa the Beautiful, in 1939. Through this movie he became the “founding father” of the genre of the cinematographic fairytale. It is in this movie that Baba Yaga made her first appearance in cinema, played by a man - Guéorgui Milliar. Throughout the next thirty years, Milliar would play Baba Yaga in three other movies of Ro’ou: in Morozko (1964), in “Fire, Water and Brass Pipes” (1968) and in “The Golden Horns” (1972).

In this article, the author will analyze the evolution of the character of Baba Yaga throughout these four movies - based on the social and political context. While always created by the same movie-maker, and played by the same actor, Baba Yaga is never the same character in these movies. Throughout the years she is slowly “domesticated”: from a macabre and intimidating force of nature, she becomes a vain hag, more superfical than wicked, from a relic of the past, she becomes a modern mascot. By analyzing the narrative and aesthetic choices causing this transformation, the author wants to analyze the allegories of each movie in their historical context.

I) Baba Yaga in the Stalinian era: Vassilissa the Beautiful (1939)

Vassilissa the Beautiful, a movie adaptation of the story “The Princess-Frog”, was conceived as much as an entertainment as a teaching tool. In the version of Ro’ou, Vassilissa is not a princess and Ivanouchka is not an idiot. The two are rather hard-working, intelligent, honest people. The brothers of Ivanouchka oppose the duo by the women their find as wives: an excentric aristocrat, and a gluttonous merchant’s daughter. The entire first part of the movie presents an allegory of the fight of the social classes. The brothers and the wives do nothing while Ivanouchka goes hunting and Vassilissa does the chores, and then they pretend to have done the honest workers job.

Baba Yaga only appears in the second half of the movie, when the wives burn the frog skin of Vassilissa, and the maiden is ravished by Zmeï Gorynytch. A title-card mentions “In the land of the Zmeï, Vassilissa the very beautiful was guarded by Baba Yaga”. Traditionally, the role of kidnapper in Russian fairytales is played by Kachtcheï the Immortal, who doesn’t appear in the movie - but the Zmeï here fills his role as “the rival of the male hero for the hand of the woman, usually a fiancée or a wife, sometimes his mother” and “the male counterpart of Baba Yaga”. So, as much in their home as in the magical land, Ivanouchka and Vassilissa must fight against oppressors that take away their goods and exploit their work. Jack Zipes noted that, according to the marxist reading of the fairytales, Baba Yaga symbolizes “the entire feodal system, where the greed and brutality of aristocracy are responsible for the hard living conditions. The murder of the witch is the symbol of the hatred felt by the peasants against this aristocracy, that hoards and oppresses.” However, in the Vassilissa movie of Ro’ou, Baba Yaga plays a more ambiguous role. Her skinny and nervous figure, the rags she wears, allows her to hide herself in nature. Her hunched back imitates the rocks, the way she spreads her arms and legs imitated tree branches. By fusing with the landscape, she can attack Ivanouchka without ever being seen by him. Often Ro’ou likes to superposition to allow Baba Yaga to appear and disappear suddenly. As a result she seems half-translucid in many scenes, suggesting that she is a force of nature - or even the personification of the forest.

The “magical” part of the movie plays on the contrast between the domain of Baba Yaga (the forest) and the domain of the Zmeï (the mountain). The two realms are heavily inspired by the expressionist cinema of Germany (especially the sets of the Cabinet of Doctor Caligari, in 1920), but couldn’t be further from each other. The world of the Yaga is the one of the dark forest, confusing and threatening, but deeply organic and human. The world of the Zmeï, however, is an industrialized, hyper-sanitized, geometrical world. A post-human world, or one devoid of humanity: a fascist world. Indeed, the historical context of the movie invites an allegorical reading: the Germano-Sovietic Pact was signed the 23rd of August 1939, and the movie was released the 13th of May 1940, one year before the Nazi invasion of the Soviet Union in june 1941. At the time, while Germany wasn’t an official enemy (and it is hard to imagine that Ro’ou selected this tale with a political purpose in mind). But the movie is a proof of the tension that existed at the time about the entire situation. Baba Yaga, who keeps turning and roaming around Vassilissa, reminds of the painting of occidental paintings, “Death near the Maiden”. It isn’t just the virginity of Russia (aka, the integrity of its frontiers) that are threatened - it is her very life that is at play.

Vassilissa, a girl who is obedient and modest when she is free, becomes proud and rebellious in captivity. She is a model of resistance that anounces the true female heroes of the Second World War in Russia, such as Zoïa Kosmodemianskaïa (made famous by the movie of Leo Arnchtam in 1944). Just like Zoïa, Vassilissa is ready to sacrifice herself for the good of others, and to follow her own principles. When Baba Yaga discovers the hat of Ivanouchka in her isba she aks Vassilissa “Where is he? You say nothing? If you say nothing, I will make you talk. Maybe fire will make you more talkative.” Vassilissa is only saved from torture by the arrival of Zmeï Gorynytch.

The analogy between the monster and the foreign invader is reinforced by the third cinematographic fairytale of Ro’ou, Kachtcheï (Koschei). Filmed in the Altaï and the Tadjikistan in 1944, and released the day of the victory (9th May 1945), the movie tells “how Koschei the Immortal fell onto Russia like a thunder clap in a peaceful sky, burned out houses and our bread, massacred the population and took away thousands of women”. Even if the historical facts cannot allow us to read “Vassilissa” as a simple allegory of the war to come, the images still carry the possibility of an upcoming conflict. We can read it in the presentation of Vassilissa as a resistant-model, as much as in the glorification of the elements of folk-culture (aka, part of Russian culture). The movie is also preceeded by a prologue in which three bards introduce the tale by playing gousli (gusli), a traditional musical instrument. When Ivanouchka goes searching for Vassilissa, the text says “He wandered for a long time throughout his native earth” - even the typography of the title-cards reminds the medieval books. All these elements create throughout this movie a new “nationalist vocabulary”, and so unite a nation threatened by an external force. As Prokhorov explains, “The movies of Ro’ou, just like the kolkhoz musical comedies of Ivan Pyr’ev, were answered an official demand of art inspired by the narodnost (popular spirit/folk spirit)”, an art that “allowed the entire Soviet community to stay in touch with their popular spirit, as the metaphysical source of the communal strength”. The internationalism of the first years of the Soviet Union was slowly breaking down in front of this romantic and deeply essentialist view of the nation.

II) Baba Yaga throughout the Thaw: Morozko (1964), Fire, Water and Brass Pipes (1968) and The Golden Horns (1972)

The period that followed the war was once again difficult for the fairytales, and all those that studied folk-culture. Félix Oinas explains: “After the war, the Russian folklorists knew another series of trials, perhaps the most difficult of them all. The era of the ideological dictatorship of Jdanov, nicknamed Jdanovchtchina, started in 1946, and quickly became an anti-West witch hunt”. Vladimir Propp had just published “The historical roots of the fairy tale”, which was heavily criticize due to containing numerous quotes of Western folklorists, as well as comparativist ideas, not to say cosmopolite ones. In 1947, Soïzudetfilm was re-organized and became the Gorki studo: the studio however did not have any order or demand for children movie. In 1952, the situation led Constantin Simonov and Fedor Parfenov to publish an open letter in the Literaturnaïa gazeta “Let’s resurrect the cinematography for children”. However it was only in 1957, after the death of Staline and the succession of Khrouchtchev, that the minister of culture finally commissioned an augmentation of children movie production. In 1961, the Gork studio was named “Gorki central Studio of cinema for children and the youth”.

When Ro’ou produced Morozko, in 1964, it was in conditions very different and yet paradoxically very similar to the ones in which Vassilissa the Beautiful was produced. The first novelty was the use of color: the second half of the movie takes place in winter, which forces a restrained color palette, even in the makeup and costumes - it is limited to the red and pale blue of the traditional Russian paintings. The appearance of color makes the Baba Yaga younger, as well as more visible in the landscape - but it doesn’t make her more lively. When Ivan discovers the isba in the middle of the forest, and when said isba obeys his order for it to turn towards him, he is sincerely surprised. Baba Yaga gets out of the house yawning, and she asks grumpily “What do you want? Why, unexpected, uncalled, did you dare turn the cabin and wake up the crone?”. It is almost as if everyone in the story was forced in their part of the story against their will. If the Yaga of Vassilissa was jumping from tree-top to tree-top, but the Yaga of Morozko keeps complaining about back problems and she asks Ivanouchka to leave her alone. She only does magic because Ivanouchka forces her to, and her speech is filled with affective diminutives ending in -tchik. Ivanouchka, in the end, doesn’t need to vanquish Baba Yaga, he rather has to convince her to help.

The male equivalent of Baba Yaga, Morozko (Grandfather Forest / General Winter) turns out to be just as harmless as the witch. When he sees Nasten’ka, abandoned by her family to die of cold in the forest, he immediately comes to her help. The role of the two magical characters (Morozko and Baba Yaga) in the life of the young protagonists is limited to the one of a godfather or godmother. The equivalence of these two relationships is highlighted by a sequence which puts in parallel Morozko putting warm clothes on Nasten’ka and Baba Yaga doing the same for Ivanouchka. Another parallel can be found in the way the protagonists call their helpers: Ivanouchka calls Baba Yaga “Yagusia” or “Babulia-yagulia”, while Nastenka calls with affection Morozko “Morozouchka-batiouchka”. From villains, Morozko and Baba Yaga are transformed into helpers, the Donors of the Vladimir Propp’s functions.

The most important consequence of this transformation is the new nature of the “source of Evil”. Evil doesn’t come anymore from what is supernatural, but it rather comes from what is too natural: the flaws of ordinary humans. It is the jealousy of Nasten’ka stepmother and the boasting of Ivanouchka that cause their initial separation and the unbalance that Baba Yaga and Morozko try to remedy to. The qualities preached by Morozko are very close to the ones glorified by “Vassilissa the Beautiful”: hard-work, modesty, and intelligence. What is different is the goal of these virtues: the seriousness and gravity of “Vassilissa the Beautiful” is gone. In Morozko the characters are funny and light-hearted. Ro’ou was trying in “Vassilissa” to animate the visual popular culture, inherited from the lubok and illustrated movies. But in Morozko it all becomes a great show, a smooth surface without any depth. When Ivanouchka leaves his birth-house to go seek his fortune, he passes by a group of young girls that dance and sing when seeing him - these are traditional dances and songs, but the aesthetic is much closer to the one of a technicolor musical than a medieval fantasy.

“Fire, Water and Brass Pipes”, filmed by Ro’ou four years later, in 1968, goes even further in the idea of a show or entertainment. Caracterized by saturated colors and random explosions of music and dance, the movie is aiming at the audiovisual variety show at the cost of the stylistic coherence. This excess alos manifests at the narrative level: while Morozko reunited two distinct fairy tales (Morozko and Ivan-with-the-bear-head), “Fire, Water and Brass Pipes” is a sort of remix of elements taken from numerous myths, cultures and legends (not even all Russian!). The skeleton of the plot is roughly the same: as usual, Kachtcheï kidnaps the beloved of Ivanouchka, and he must undergo a series of trials to get her back. These trials, symbolized by the fire, water and brass pipes of the title, are so many occasions to introduce very different elements, ranging from Greek philosophers to the god Neptune.

In this movie, Ro’ou also modifies the traditional structure of his cinematic fairytales in another way: instead of beginning by the human drama which starts the plot, he begins by the presentation of the magical beings. It is in this “prologue” that we have a full humanization of Baba Yaga: she becomes a mother, and is shown to be able to feel empathy and sorrow. The movie opens with Baba Yaga flying through the sky, rushing to the wedding of her daughter with Koschei the Immortal (also played by Milliar). When she arrives, she is humiliated twice. First, she fails to land properly, implying she can’t move as she used to. Then, nobody recognizes her at the court except for her own daughter and Koschei. This is quite revealing that in this context she introduces herself not as Baba Yaga, but as a relative of the happy couple: she joyfully says (rhyming in Russian), “I am the mother of the bride, Koschei the Immortal is my son-in-law”. This image of Baba Yaga as a mother is not taken out of nowhere: already in the story of Afanassiev called “Baba Yaga and Small-One”, the witch had forty-and-one daughters, that died by her hand. In the movie of Ro’ou, a new importance is given to her maternity as well as to her physical problems (she handles her mortar badly, she falls every time she tries to dance): it all indicates that maybe the life of a witch can be affected by the flow of time. This Baba Yaga is implied to have always been as she is now: she lived a period of youth, and now she is aging. So her life can have a beginning... and an end, like the life of all mortals.

The prologue that presents the maternity of Baba Yaga also has a role in the narrative of the movie: it explains why the Yaga is so willingly helping Vasia (the new name of Ivanouchka). Indeed, when Zmeï Gorynytch offers Koschei a magical apple that makes him young again, he sends away his bride, deeming her too old for him, causing a public humiliation. By helping Vasia defeating Koschei and freeing his beloved (Alionouchka), Baba Yaga is actually avenging her own daughter. She needs Vasia as much as Vasia needs her.

The Golden Horns, made in 1972, thirty-tree years after Vassilissa the Beautiful, was the last movie of Ro’ou that uses the character of the Baba Yaga. After being reduced to a second role in Morozko and “Fire, Water and Brass Pipes”, she finally regains a prominent role. Queen of the forest, she has no rival except for the deer with golden horns - as she complains to a group of hunter, the deer keeps undoing all of her traps and ruining her projects. She doesn’t have back problems anymore, and she is healthy enough to dance and sing. Indeed, throughout the movie she keeps insisting that she is still young. In the beginning of the story she is playing cards with a friend, Duraleï. When he accuses her of cheating and calls her “old hag”, she throws him away from the isba and she says to herself “He dares to call me hag, me, who everybody says has a young soul!”. The Baba Yaga of The Golden Horns isn’t wicked, but she is vain - she is a pretentious old woman that spends hours in front of her mirror. The three young lechïï that serve her constantly flirt with her, and calls her by the diminutive “Babou-yagusen’ka”, and the witch herself flirts with a group of hunter-robbers. Baba Yaga even has a musical number, a song throughout which she turns her hand-mirror into a guitar and sings “I can’t see her enough, Yaga the Fair / Oh my love, me, me me!”.

Beyond the changes brought to the very image of Baba Yaga, Golden Horns is different from the previous movies in two main aspects. The first: the question of the relationship between genders. In Golden Horns, it isn’t a young man who tries to save his beloved from the hands of Baba Yaga or Kachtcheï. It is rather a mother, Evdokia, who tries to save her children. The final conflict is one between two women: one a mother, the other (the Yaga) an old maid. As a result the values of the more are much more conservative in nature. The song of the young girls in the prologue, with the title-cards, compare Russia to a mother. “Always happy, and a bit sad / So is Russia, my mother. / Like the fairytale, intemporal and kind / So is Russia, my mother”. It is this same Russian earth that protects Evdokia in the final battle against Baba Yaga. As the Yaga takes weapons, Evdokia remembers a small bag of soil her neighbor gave her. “Native earth, protect me!” she screams as she throws the soil towards Baba Yaga. These two sequences insist on the sacred nature of the Russian land, “mother” of the people and symbol of maternity itself. The movie implies that it is Evdokia’s maternity that makes her invincible, and that it is the vanity (the “wrong use of her gender”) that dooms Baba Yaga. The absence of a father figure also helps the manifestation of more conservative political messages. It is possible to read Evdokia as a feminist figure: she is independant, and she goes searching for her two daughters without fear. She is intelligent and strong: she isn’t even shocked when she learns she must battle Baba Yaga in a sword-fight. However, she is continuously guided and helped by masculine figure in positions of authority: the Sun, the Wind, and Golden Horns. Golden Horns also offers the perfect example of a theory brought by Evgueni Margolit and summarized by Prokhorov: “Soviet cinema expressed the ideal community of the future as a land of children, where the government filled the role of the strong, order-giving father of the people”. Evdokia, the figure of the mother, is thus treated like a child by the figures of the Father.

In conclusion, this movie offers a new definition of the political action. Like in most fairytales, the movie starts with a transgression: the twin girls of Evdokia, Machen’ka and Dachen’ka, disobey their mother’s instructions and go too far in the forest. What they cannot know is that two wicked spirits trap them, and use them to start a revolution against the Baba Yaga’s tyranny. The movie ends with a tribunal, formed by the small children-wood spirits, alongside the former friend of Baba Yaga, Duraleï. Through a vote, they decide to punish Baba Yaga by banishing her to the swamp. The events of this tale must thus be understood in a wider context, that is seen at the beginning of the movie: this movie represents a shift of powers in the forest, and is the triumph of the humble people, of the simple folks against the monarchy.

Conclusion

In “Vassilissa the Beautiful” (1939), made before the movie, Ro’ou tries for the first time to give a cinematographic shape to the world of the folktales. Taking inspiration from the iconography of the lubok, of the illustrated book, and of the German expressionism, he creates a ciaroscuro universe filled with heavily connotated characters, all either wholly good or wholly evil. Baba Yaga, in this universe, like in the one of fairytales, according to the interpretation of Propp, is a liminal character, the guardian of the frontier between the known and the unknown. Often camouflaging herself in the forest and the rocks that surround the isba, she embodies the dark side of the nature. In a movie whose goal is to enrich the nationalist vocabulary of a land threatened by an external force, Baba Yaga becomes a problematic figure, at the same meant to be “one of us”, since she is part of the Slavic folklore, but also “one of them” since she is unpredictable and hostile.

In the three movies realized by Ro’ou one after the other during the period known as the “Thaw”, the Baba Yaga of Vassilissa is domesticated, becomes a satire, her fangs are removed to make people laugh. While these movies keep feeding from the imagery of Russian nationalism, and keep trying to maintain the authority of the State, they are aimed at being more of an entertainment than a mystical communion with the soul of the people. By giving to Baba Yaga a biography - children, love interests, a passion for clothes and other fashions - these movies remove her from the mythological world, and give her a place in the contemporary world. It is how she becomes, at the time of the Olympic games of 1980, a cult figure, a legitimate rival to Micha the bear-cub for the title of Soviet mascot.

#the yaga journal #baba yaga #russian fairytales #alexander rou #soviet movies #fairytale movies #censorship of fairytales #literary censorship #banning of fairytales #russian folktales #vasilisa the beautiful #the golden horns #morozko #fire water and brass pipes #georgy millyar #baba-yaga

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ratcatcher0325 · 2 years

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A Fraction of Justice (Size Switch AU)

What if Alexander and Natalie suddenly switched sizes?

This is just a fun little one off to explore these two and their dynamic a bit more. I promised you guys this, forever ago, for hitting a new follower milestone and now it’s finally here!

I have to thank a million times over @not-a-space-alien, @kitn-underfoot, @sizechaun, & @littlescaryinternetguy for beta reading for me and giving me some amazing feedback!

**Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list**

This is a size switch AU story of Alexander, a well-dressed, silver-tongued miniature person, who’s highly intelligent (perhaps, too much for his own good). He has aspirations of becoming the world’s tiniest lawyer. When he meets Natalie, will she help or hinder his progress?

Set in a universe where miniature people (around 5 inches tall) are kept as pets for the rich, this story follows one very tiny, academically minded man, who, after enduring abuse at the hands of the ignorant humans around him, becomes hell bent on finding a way to fight this oppression through the legal system. Will his case win out? He has to get humans to listen first. When he finds himself out allied with one, will she finally be the first to hear his message?

A mixture of fluff and angst, mature (Language, adult themes and violence) but SFW. This story uses the pet trope as a means to explore themes of overcoming trauma and fighting back against abuse, as well as learning to love oneself.

Word Count: 9,264 Read Time: Approx. 70 mins

CW: adult language, angst, fear play, dehumanization, non-sexual nudity

Tag list: @gatlily; @grbene; @patrocolus3; @beautifulunknowntrash; @titan-god-420; @andraimeide; @themarlo; @cup-o-chai; @lucentbliss; @raccoontoaster, @tolsizedlove; @not-a-space-alien; @thegodmother007; @honey-olive; @kitn-underfoot; @bittykimmy13; @littlescaryinternetguy; @pr-fae; @theangelofdusk; @sizechaun; @rubeau-art; @awkwardgtace; @jae-from-discord; @narrans;

_____________________

A Fraction of Justice: Not all that Blisters (Size Switch AU)

[Alexander’s POV]

I was lying prone on my stomach, deep in a tantalizing sleep. It was, in fact, some of the best sleep I’d gotten in some time. Natalie and I had been burning the candle at both ends helping her prepare for an upcoming exam. While she had retired to her bedroom around 3 am, I’d insisted on staying in the living room, surrounded by open tomes, and a tablet for doing research. I’d wanted to master one last sample case study before getting some rest myself.

Evidently, I’d passed out in that endeavor, no doubt splayed out on my stomach, lying on top of her open textbook. Not much for a bed in the comfort department, but nevertheless, come dawn, I was out cold. On a different morning than this one, I could imagine a better rested Natalie rubbing the sleep from her eyes and shuffling into the living room, ignited with inviting, golden, morning sun, only to wake me with her bemused chuckling, finding me unconscious, curled up on the surface of her book.

Instead, this morning was distinctly different.

There were no peals of uncontrolled laughter or the caressing of giant fingers on the crown of my head to wake me from my dreamless sleep. No, I was bolted awake, instead, as I shuffled my leg slightly. One small shift of my weight and I was greeted with a sudden, heart stopping CRASH of a hardback colliding with the wood floor beneath. Had I been more awake, I would have questioned how on earth the shifting of my meager few ounces could have possibly made such a reaction happen. Since my brain did not have the capacity for such critical thinking in its unexpected and sudden state of consciousness, I instead grunted, snapping open my eyes as I pressed my palms into the ground beneath me, and lifted my head.

Like encountering a sudden step down when walking, my hands were jarred by feeling a variance of textures beneath them. Instead of the consistent, flat surface of the page I was expecting, my hands rested on the rough edges of paper, and the fabric of the couch, which seemed suddenly much more pliable beneath my weight than I’d previously remembered. Similarly, as feeling returned to the rest of my body, I was shocked to find myself lying on what felt like all manner of other books and fabric.

Incapable of understanding what I was feeling, my eyes adjusted to the painfully bright light of the unfiltered morning sun. I squinted, shielding my sensitive irises and blinking rapidly. Slowly, the world came into sharp focus.

Why is the arm of the couch so close? I could’ve sworn when I’d surrendered to sleep I’d been at least two feet (in human measurements) from the wall it created compared to my little body. Now, my nose was so near to bumping it I could feel the tickle of its fibers on the sensitive nerve endings. In fact, as I raised my trunk to greet this corner of the living room (the same space in which I’d first found myself when Natalie had accidentally brought me inside) everything seemed somehow different? Smaller? Was I experiencing delirium from pushing myself too hard these last few days? Tucking my left leg under me to try and sit up, I felt all manner of obstacles shifting beneath my weight. That’s the first time I looked down. I couldn’t believe what my eyes were undeniably showing me.

I was not just lying on the singular textbook. No. The pages that used to stretch on and on around me, each about four times as large as my whole body, were now dwarfed by my outstretched palms. Two hands side by side could cover the surface of a page with ease. My heart stopped. No way!!! This couldn’t be possible. It was simply, logically, out of the question. Wasn’t it?!? Beneath my legs, other books, the tablet, the cushions of the couch, all of these were touched by my outstretched form. My entirely nude form.

Then, down below on the surface of the textbook, a wrinkled scrap of multicolored fabric caught my eye. Reaching down, I pinched it between a thumb and forefinger, raising it to eye level. Adrenaline coursed through my nervous system as blood pounded in between my ears. It was undeniable. I laid it out in the palm of my hand. It was ripped apart along all the seams, but the front was still somewhat in tact. That damn unicorn decal, sickeningly cheery as ever, was now half the size of my thumbnail.

Somehow, inextricably I was…. Human sized.

My heart soared as I bounded to my feet, rocked by this completely different perspective. Everything was so pathetically small. As I stood, I couldn’t help ducking my head, as though I was large enough to collide with the ceiling itself.

To any human, I was now unremarkably normal. To me, I felt like a giant. Furniture that had once towered over me like empty monuments of wood, fabric and metal to the prestige and supposed superiority of humankind, now seemed laughably unimpressive. As I turned my head, I could take in so much more of the room at once, with effortless ease. Gazing back down at the mess of clutter left scattered across the couch, I bent at the waist and with a thrilling rush, actually picked up a book for the first time in my life.

Cradling its spine in my right hand, I leafed through pages with nothing but a tiny bit of pressure from my fingers. My face felt warm as my heart thundered away. The tome I couldn’t have pushed an inch if I’d put my back into it, was now an insignificant weight in my palm. I felt a catch in my throat. Was this what it felt like to occupy a world that was built to accommodate you?

I turned over my shoulder to look at the potted rose bush, still sitting before the window by the front door, just as Natalie had set it down that day I was tangled in its branches. Setting the book down, I limped over until I was standing before it. The whole plant that I had once hidden inside of, now barely came up past my thighs. It was disorienting seeing these things from such a different perspective. So many tiny details of the plant faded and blurred from this new vantage point. I made my way back to the couch, sitting down on it properly for the first time in my life, I picked up a book again. Still thrilled by the sensation of being able to do so.

Before I could delve too much more into my emotions, however, the sound of an alarm clock blaring from across the apartment pricked my ears. Natalie! For a moment I’d forgotten her completely. But now, I realized with embarrassment, I was sitting, stark naked in her home. I needed to alert her to this miraculous change!

I wouldn’t begin to batter my brain with the impossible implications of how this had come to be…. Not yet. I would indulge in the pure ecstasy of it having happened first. Tucking the book under one arm, clutching the pathetic little scrap of fabric that had once fit over my whole body and snatching up a throw pillow to cover myself, I took steps towards Natalie’s bedroom.

The vertigo of walking through this space was akin to arriving on land after weeks at sea. The disorientation was nausea inducing. My body, mind, and senses were all adjusting to a very different world all at once. I caught my shoulder on the threshold of the kitchen from the living room, as I heard Natalie snooze her voice activated alarm. Well, I couldn’t hear her voice but the tinny buzzing had ceased. I stopped for a moment before the pantry door, pushing it open with light pressure from the back of my hand.

The motion-censored light ignited with a distinguishable click as I stood there, gawking at the very same structure I had fought so dutifully to climb, injuries and all. Where I had been found by her. Loomed over by her. Picked up and manhandled. Where I had bit her and she’d dropped me. All of that had taken place in this cramped, dusty little hole of a pantry? No wonder she’d chuckled when she watched me cling for dear life to the edge of the shelf that, at the time, felt so impossibly high. Now, that same white wooden slat didn’t even rise past my shin. I palmed the stupid little doll shirt again, utterly amazed.

Shaking it off, I ventured forward, toward Natalie’s room. Pressing into her partially closed door, I whispered sharply, unsure if she’d tried to go back to sleep, “Natalie! You wont believe this!” It was still loud enough that it should have caught her half conscious attention.

Pushing the door open, I could now see into the room: the comforter undulating in peaks and valleys that would have been climbable only last night. But as I scanned the full breadth of the mattress, I saw no shock of dark, wavy hair. No olive arms or feet peeking out from between the cascading sheets. The bed, as far as I could tell, appeared to be empty.

“N-Natalie? Are you awake?” Perhaps she was in the bathroom? I didn’t want to startle her if she needed her privacy. I was, after all, now the size of a human man just standing, barely covered in her most private space. I wondered with a thundering heart what it would be like to behold her, human to human. Would she be shorter than me? Given the average differences between male and female bodies, it was highly likely. The thought made me chuckle in spite of myself. Still, when I turned to look, the bathroom light was off and the door was only cracked by a quarter. My brow furrowed. Where was she? I called out again, suddenly worried for a reason I couldn’t clearly articulate.

*************

I groaned, feeling pissed and immediately in a ticked off mood. How could someone so little be so fucking loud all of a sudden?

Up until a few minutes ago, I’d been totally conked out, warm and so, so comfortable in bed. When my alarm went off, I didn’t even bother opening my eyes. The world could wait. I needed sleep, goddammit! I’d just settled back in to catch some more Z’s when Alexander started vying for my attention.

Last I knew, he’d been in the living room. It’d made me sad to go to bed without him near but I knew what picking fights over stuff like that would get me, so I shut up about it. I wanted to spare myself the earful. After retiring to bed, I’d just assumed he’d fallen asleep on the couch. Come morning, I was looking forward to sleeping in for a little longer before waking him up with the smells of breakfast.

Instead, here he was whispering louder than I thought possible for someone with the lung capacity of a mouse. Also, how had he managed to crawl into my bed to be so near me in the first place? That was the only reason I could explain to myself why his voice seemed to be so much louder than I was used to. I wondered, with a sluggish mind, if the comforter had trailed close enough to the floor and he’d climbed up. Honestly? That’s impressive, little man! You just really wanna be close to me all of a sudden? That thought made me happy. But then his voice seemed to boom directly overhead, which, how? I clamped my eyes shut, rolling over and groaning. Be quiet, Alexander!

“Natalie?? Natalie where— oh….”

Before I could ask him nicely to shut the fuck up if it wasn’t an emergency, cold air rushed all around me and light suddenly flooded in, as though the roof had been ripped off of the building. What the fuck?!

Utterly confused, I shot up, eyes adjusting from their groggy state. When my vision came to, all I could see looming over me, backlit from the sun filtering in through my windows behind was… a… a… MONSTER!!!

It was something… vaguely person shaped but too big…. much much too big for that to be possible. My mind was unable to reason, unable to problem solve or think rationally. I could not comprehend that the familiar voice I’d just heard and this monstrosity, this silhouetted something were one and the same.

The second I laid eyes on whatever it was, I screamed at the top of my lungs and scrambled to get as far away as I possibly could. Barely able to rise to my feet on the surface of the confusingly unsteady sheets, I suddenly realized it wasn’t just the monster that was huge.. so was my bed! My attempts to stand resulted in me taking in the oceanic scale of my mattress, which seemed to stretch onward all around me: the wrinkles in the sheets, like undulating but motionless waves.

I trembled, also recognizing that I was completely naked, the folds of my pajamas now rising and falling beneath my feet. I was shivering from head to toe, but wether that was from cold or pure fear, I couldn’t tell. My limbs were quaking against my will, as I felt a tightening in my chest. It was nearly impossible for me to focus on any one thing for any period of time, my head was on fire and my eyes twitched, trying to take in the sheer monstrous scale of everything around me. My bedroom ceiling soared above me in some atmospheric blur, the walls Ising in the distance like some man-made Grand Canyon. I shook my head wishing I could block all of this out. As my heart thundered against my ribcage, I couldn’t take this feeling of being trapped and in mortal danger like some frightened little animal, I scrambled as fast as I could, falling all over myself, when I heard a voice, distant but all too loud, crash into my ear drums.

“Woah, woah Natalie! Calm down! It’s just me…” as the words rattled my skull, an inky shadow like some carnivorous bird of prey circling overhead, cast out the light above me as a palm came crashing down directly in my path. I tried my best to halt and turn on my heel but ended up colliding directly with the wall of flesh.

Caught with nowhere to run, I pressed into his palm, pathetically attempting to cover myself as I craned my neck high, high above, while the voice continued, “…It’s Alexander.” I could feel his chuckle reverberate through his palm that I was now stuck to like an insect on flypaper, “You don’t recognize me?”

My heart stuck in my throat. It was him. Those piercing blue eyes were unmistakable. But he was huge!!! So completely, overwhelmingly huge! His bare chest rose and fell to the tide of his breathing. I couldn’t wrap my brain around how big each of those lungs had to be. He was almost silhouetted by the light from the window but I could see his sharp jaw, his cascading bangs, his furrowed brow and tense lips. Fuck, fuck fuck! I was so small now, so defenseless and vulnerable. For so long Alexander had wanted to tear me limb from limb for condescending to and manhandling him. Well… now he could if he wanted to. I shook from head to toe, trapped with nowhere to run.

*******

She cowered against me. I had no idea what to do with her. She was clearly quite frightened. Welcome to every day of my entire life. I’d had this fantasy a million times in my rage-addled brain: I’d pored over just how to get back at her for the million infuriating moments she’d made for me in my time here. Let’s see how you’d like it being bandied about and dropped and trapped and prodded all day long. For going on decades now, I had thirsted for power over those who’d mistreated me.

My gaze fixed on her outstretched hand, pressing firmly into the flesh of my palm. Bending a bit at the waist, I reached towards her with inquisitive fingers. She screamed when I pinched her wrist between finger and thumb, but I hardly noticed. I was fixated on the limb I now held captive. So small. Is this what I had been? Is this what I looked like to them? To humankind? With bones so tiny and delicate it looked like a stiff wind could break them? Her entire cranium was no larger than the pad of my index. Her outstretched hand, one I had been held in countless times, now hardly stretching over a nail bed. I heard nothing but the blood pounding in my own ears as I marveled at how inexplicably strange this all was.

“ALEXANDER! PLEASE!! You’re hurting me!!” I snapped to, looking down to see I still had her wrist trapped between my fingers, and that in my analysis of her newfound form, I had, absentmindedly, lifted her off of the surface of the bed. She weighed practically nothing at all! She was twisting and writhing, face a bright red, her toes desperately searching for the ground just fractions of a millimeter out of reach. She was staring directly at me. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and in that moment, staring at the form of this woman that I held aloft with the greatest of ease, I felt a weight drop into the pit of my stomach.

What am I doing??? Blood rushing to my face I lowered her down, gently releasing my grip. She snatched her hand away immediately, cradling her wrist in her other hand. She stared daggers into the fabric of the sheets before her.

“Natalie, I—“

But before I could begin my apology, her face twisted into a grimace and she suddenly started to cry and shout. "P-please, if you’re going to hurt me just do it quickly… I know you’re angry. You’re always so fucking angry. Well, looks like you got what you wanted… s-so, have at it, enjoy your… p-power over me…”

My heart of stone softened. “I don’t want to hurt you. Natalie?” With a trembling finger, I touched the tip of her chin. She jumped and I sought her eyes. “I promise I don’t want to hurt you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I frightened you.”

Her eyes shimmered with still more tears. “D-did you do this, somehow? Make us trade places? To show me how awful it is??” Her voice was shaking as she asked the question.

I felt a twinge in my chest, but I couldn’t name the precise feeling. "No! No!! I have no idea how this happened! I swear to you. You’re giving me far more credit than I deserve. I’ve studied law not quantum physics… well, I’ve studied a little… just a few theorems….” I saw the slightest twitch out of the corner of my eye as she dipped her head, clearly, disinterested. I swallowed, recovering, while I reached for her pajama shirt and draped it around her bare shoulders. She was nowhere close to fitting in it now, “Ahem, anyway…. I’ve no hypothesis as to how this happened. It seems impossible. Perhaps it is some strange hallucination. But in any case, I’m not planning to harm you. Have you been infuriating, at times, during our journey together so far? Yes. But you managed, in spite of yourself, to keep me alive so…. That’s the least I can do for you. After all, it’s only fair!”

************

Way to be fucking encouraging. Was I supposed to be thankful he’d decided I deserved to live? I found I did believe him when he said he wasn’t trying to hurt me. That was at least one less thing to lose my mind over. I pulled the thick, scratchy fabric tighter around me. How had he survived like this for all of his life? It’d been approximately ten minutes and I was ready to throw myself off the edge of the bed. I wiped my tear stained cheeks with the back of my hand. Maybe this was all just a bad dream and I’d wake up any second and we could laugh about this while he lounged in my cupped palm.

“You’re still upset.” It was a statement not a question. I clenched my jaw, straightening my spine and glaring up at him.

“Yes, you emotionally immature dumbass, I’m still upset. Whoopdie fuckin’ do, you can open doors and pick up books now. Great for fucking you. Meanwhile, my entire world has been ripped away from me and turned upside down.” He said nothing, but the lines on his face told me everything he was thinking. This was what he’d been ranting and railing about non-stop since I’d found him in the pantry. I sighed, acquiescing, “I’m sorr—“

“I’m sorry. Truly. I’m very rarely wrong, so I mean it genuinely. I was so wrapped up in my own improved circumstances, it was hard to remember the fear that you must be experiencing. I’m sorry, Natalie, for frightening you.” His face flushed suddenly. He cleared his throat, before extending a finger towards me, the underside turned upwards. I stiffened. The digit stopped just short of my personal space, “Forgive me for my ignorance?” It was my turn to blush, I reached out with a cautious hand and squeezed the tip of his proffered finger.

“You’re forgiven. For now.” My hand rested on his finger. I could feel the thrum of his pulse, strong, steady. That made my own heart quicken its pace. Each ridge in the pad was distinct. It was overwhelming at this size how much more detailed every minuscule thing became!!

***************

I exhaled air from my nostrils, incapable of keeping my baffled thought from being spoken aloud, “Was I really this small to you?” She had been staring at the stark contrast of her outstretched hand over just the tip of my finger, but now cast her flustered gaze askance.

“Y-yes. You were so….” Sh stumbled, trying to find the words.

“…Infinitesimally delicate…” I breathed.

“I was just gonna say cute… but… yeah.” Now she was the one laughing. I stared at her with a curious, questioning gaze, “How the fuck did you have the courage to bite me at this size?? You’re fucking terrifying.” She shoved playfully at my finger. I couldn’t deny the smirk playing on my lips

“You deserved it.” I meant that in earnest.

“I know.” She replied with equal conviction.

“I deserve it too after the fright I gave you. Eye for an eye as they say….” Half joking, half in earnest truth, I brought my upturned index finger to just before her lap, “You can return the favor now, if you’d like…”

She burst into immediate laughter, “What the fuck??? I’m not gonna bite you!” She crossed her arms and cocked an eyebrow as she continued to chuckle, “What do you take me for? A dirty little rat who can’t control his animal instincts?”

“You’re still on that, are you? You do realize I could, now, easily take that as an invitation to imprison you in a glass bowl!”

She scoffed, rising to her feet, the fabric of her pajama shirt she was using to cover herself tucked beneath her arms, thrusting her chin defiantly in the air, “You wouldn’t have the balls!”

It was my turn to raise a brow, I was certainly never one to back down from a challenge.

“Is that so?” As she opened her mouth to quip back, I quickly gripped her torso, fabric and all, between a thumb and forefinger, lifting her into the air, as I straightened my spine and stood, holding her just before my eyes, “I tend to take questions of my ability rather seriously, Ms. Marquez.” My gaze met hers, and I immediately felt a wave of adrenaline crash through me.

Instead of the confident smile of the woman I’d come to know who always seemed to hit back when it came to verbal swordplay, her eyes were almost popping out of their sockets, her heart was thundering wildly against my thumb, her whole body trembled as she squirmed uncomfortably. She was so… small. I was hardly applying any pressure at all, yet she was utterly powerless to break my grip. As she struggled, she made the mistake of peering past my fingers, taking in just how high off the ground she currently was. She immediately cried out, fighting with all her might against me.

***************

THIS WAS TERRIFYING. All in a breathtaking rush, I went from relying on my own two feet, to being whisked into the air, pressure all around my ribcage as I found myself suddenly, before his eye. An eye that was as big as my whole head. I could count every sandy eyelash, every slight wrinkle around the corners. I could feel his breath on me. This was far and above too much for me to handle. Why wouldn’t he let me go? Didn’t he see how scared I was? I couldn’t help remembering, with a pang of guilt, how many times he’d protested against my fingers, heart fluttering against my skin, and I’d simply laughed at him. I had no clue it felt like this.

I continued to push and writhe. In my desperate attempt to free myself, I caught the mattress out of the corner of my eye. I did a double take. It looked like I was suspended on the very ledge of a ten story building! A building which happened to be made of a male chest, abs and hips, in one impossible wall before me. My head was pounding as I struggled to get oxygen to my lungs. I couldn't help it, I was starting to hyperventilate. I squirmed even more, tears pricking my eyes as all this went completely ignored. What was wrong with him? My vision dipped to black and that was the final straw.

“P-put me down! P-please! Put me down, NOW!”

“Don’t worry, I won’t drop—“ it was almost a light chuckle, as if my reaction was somehow funny to him.

“ALEXANDER PUT ME DOWN RIGHT NOW!!!!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. He did as he was told without a moment’s hesitation, crouching before the edge of the mattress, his chin resting on the bedspread. I collapsed, my legs like Jell-O. I couldn’t breathe.

“Natalie, you seem to be taking this rather hard, are you quite alright?” Fingers seemed to grow in size as they bore down closer and closer.

“D-DON’T! Don’t touch m-me! I need… I need a minute, please!” I was curled up into a ball, running my fingernails along my scalp like some pet bird ripping out its own feathers from stress. That’s all I was now, wasn’t I? I shuddered.

This was never something I’d had to really think about. It’s not like I ever had to worry about being in this situation. But now? As tears cascaded down my cheeks, and my breath caught in my throat I finally, really understood the source of Alexander’s anger. I was breaking after fifteen minutes, yet he’d lived his whole life this way. I hastily wiped my face with the thick scratchy shirt, each of its stitches incredibly distinct.

Through watery eyes, I looked up at the man who had once wrapped himself easily around my thumb, now towering above me, his head propped up on a fist. His striking blue eyes shimmered, his brow furrowed with concern. For once in his life he was silent. He blinked rapidly when my eyes met his. “I… I didn’t know being picked up felt… like that. No wonder you chewed me out for it every time….” He shifted his arm slightly and I could feel the ricochet effect through the surface of the mattress, to me. It made my heart skip a beat. Even his absent-minded motion was impossible for me to ignore. Tears swelled in my eyes again as I began to feel utterly overwhelmed by it all.

I opened my mouth to continue when he suddenly blurted out, “I’m rather famished. Are you?” I blinked, shaking my head. This wasn’t what I was expecting him to say. It definitely pulled me out of my sad sack, pity party.

“W-what?” I mumbled.

“I’m hungry. I assume you are, too. I don’t exactly have much… Well, to be precise, any culinary experience… I thought, perhaps, you might be willing to tutor me?” I couldn’t help but notice the subtle change in the color of his cheeks. He ran a hand through his cascading hair. My shoulders relaxed from my ears a little as my heart soared. Awwwww, he was trying, for me! He was doing his best to comfort me.

“Okay, but… it’s not my fault if you fuck it up because you won’t listen to me or follow directions.” I teased.

“I am a great follower of directions when I choose to be, thank you!”

“Oh, so up until this point you’ve been ignoring me and pissing me off by choice?” I felt a weight lifting off of my shoulders. Everything was far from fine, but it was okay to have a moment of fun. For the first time since I’d woken up, this felt… familiar.

“If you have to ask me, I evidently was doing a very poor job of making that explicitly clear.” He smirked, his eyes bright. I’d never seen eyes quite that blue before. It was like they glowed. He paused for a moment, I could see a new idea flashing behind his gaze, “I’ve no desire to hurt you, Natalie. You’ve now found yourself in a stress-inducing, highly demoralizing position. Far be it from me to add to that any further. You have been rather irritatingly flippant towards me in the past, but I am not so emotionally compromised that I intend to seek revenge for past wrongs. You know what it’s like now, and I think that’s more than enough. I don’t want you to fear me, despite all appearances and history to the contrary, I am capable of some degree of compassion.” I swallowed. I had no idea what to even say. I just sort of stared, wide-eyed as he stood to his full height. I found it necessary to swallow again.

Towering like a skyscraper, his half naked form dominated my whole point of view. Had I noticed he was ripped before? I didn’t think I’d noticed he was ripped before. Suddenly finding myself choking, I turned away, face burning hot.

“Ah…” He clicked his tongue, I still couldn’t bear to look up, “I… er… I need something to wear… May I—“

“Yup, uh huh… have an old pair of sweatpants in the bottom right drawer… Feel free to—“

“R-right, um, yes… I’ll just… walk over there…” He pushed himself away from the bed, and started to turn towards the dresser. Oh! Oh my god, he had a pillow for the front… but not the… I bit my lip and buried my head in my arms. I heard the scrape of wood as a drawer was opened, then a rustle of fabric. Not soon after, I could actually hear his individual footfalls on the carpet, like some giant out of a children’s cartoon.

He cleared his throat and I could tell he was standing before me again, “I, uh, I’m decent…” I swept the hair from my eyes as I craned my neck upwards. I almost burst out laughing. He’d managed to grab, not the pair I was thinking, but my stupid ass sweats from high school with bedazzled flowers. Without him having to turn around I knew stamped across the ass was the word “SEXY” in all caps. They were a white elephant gift and, sue me, I was a sentimental bitch. But I wouldn't be caught dead actually wearing them.

“Don’t, don’t you start…Natalie! Why? Why do you insist on continuing to insult me with the worst possible fashion choices one could possibly fathom in the darkest recesses of their mind??” They barely fit him, seeming to suffocate his waist. His face was bright red.

“Oh get over it, you big baby. At least you have something on, I’m just swimming in this!” I raised my arms to undulate the pajama shirt fabric.

“Be careful what you ask for, I’m sure you have the rest of those doll clothes lying around here, somewhere….”

I raised my hands defensively, shaking my head, “I yield the remainder of my time, your Honor.” Lawyer jokes. I was making lawyer jokes now? How else would he manage to ruin me???

***********

I laid the flat of my hand against the mess of sheets just before her reduced corpus. I watched as she sucked in a hesitant breath just as my skipping heart pounded out of its syncopated rhythm. Would she allow me to hold her? What an utterly remarkable reversal, me, holding someone between my cupped hands?? I never fathomed it could be possible. We stared at each other, neither breathing a word. Finally, determinedly, with that firm brow and cocked chin that she always displayed when she’d made up her mind about something, she tucked the fabric under her arm, and, took steps towards my hand. I smiled as the t-shirt was dragged behind her, looking like some pooling and elaborate train of a designer dress.

Gingerly, I pinched the fabric with my free, right hand, relieving her of the burden of dragging it herself. That’s when the flat of her bare foot pressed into my warm and waiting flesh and I almost gasped for air. What an almost indescribable feeling, to be a vessel for someone’s whole self. As much as it set part of my cerebrum on fire, I could begin to understand why humans wanted me trapped between their fingers so often. It was an experience unlike any other, tinged with uncertainty, strangely intimate, altogether wonderful. Rather quickly she found her way to sitting in the center of my palm, and I lifted her up to my eye-line. “Perhaps we can try this again?” I kept my voice low and soft.

“Perhaps we can.” She flashed her eyes up at me like some double confirmation. I stayed staring at the tiny woman nestled in my palm, buried under a mound of fabric: her hair, messy from sleep, cascading all around her. She reached out a hand, no bigger than my finger nail, and placed it firmly on the tip of my nose. I practically flinched. I didn’t know how I felt about all this sudden intimacy. I would have railed against such things before. She seemed to be encouraging it. What to make of that?

“This is… weird, right?” She broke the silence.

I cleared my throat trying my damndest not to move, “It certainly is unorthodox.”

“Food?” She guided me back to the task at hand.

“Yes, yes.” I took measured steps toward the kitchen, eyes glued to her. I knew being handled while walking could be a nauseating experience. She seemed fine, if not a bit overwhelmed by the sight of her own home towering around her.

Soon, I found myself before a cutting board, littered with vegetables, Natalie perched upon my bare shoulder. Why was I nervous hefting this kitchen knife? How hard could it possibly be?

“Dice it.” She commanded, matter-of-factly.

“… Mmm, yes, of course… I’m going to… do that… now…” Did I sound as utterly lacking in confidence as I felt?

Rich laughter poured from her small body, “You don’t know what dicing is??? You know property laws dating back to the late 70s, by heart, and you don’t know how to dice a tomato??” She was howling with laughter.

“Well! You make it sound—“ My cheeks flushed as I mumbled.

“Shut up , shut up, shut up, oh my fucking god this is funny. Put me on the cutting board. C’mon, chop, chop, the water’s gonna boil over by the time you get this done.” She was awfully demanding for one so little.

I couldn’t help rolling my eyes. How was she still pulling my strings like a puppet when I was ten times her size? Just because she was small, didn’t mean she still couldn’t find a way to get under my skin. I let her slide out of my loose fist and onto the board with a rotund, ruby red tomato, measuring the majority of her height, placed at its center.

“Okay… Alexander pay attention! You’re gonna cut it in half here.” I did so, seemingly much more nervous about her proximity to the knife in my hand than she appeared to be. “Then put the other half over there for now. Now, cut it along the curve like this.” She gestured broadly, using her whole body to demonstrate her meaning. I’ll admit, even while she was using me as the butt of her joke, her fully embodied commitment was rather endearing. We carried on like this. I managed to cut myself with the knife… twice. She told me it was because I lacked proper form. I wasn’t aware such a thing existed. She had me sautéing and basting and boiling in no time (not without almost constant laughter on her part). At one point she’d tried to convince me to don a frilly apron of hers with garish looking chickens and eggs patterned throughout, citing its convenient front pocket, but I managed to set a boundary on that one. After all, she could no longer force me to wear anything! I sort of relished in that freedom. I tried to ignore the rhinestones of my current pant situation as they sparkled in the oven overhead light.

After a period of pure torment that apparently was cooking, while I wiped sweat from my brow and nursed my cut fingers, we finally, blessedly, sat down to eat. “That was…. altogether unpleasant.” I groaned.

“Really? I had a great time!” She was stuffing her mouth, unapologetically. The action made me smile for some reason.

“Well of course you had a fine experience you didn’t have to do anything.” I teased.

“Dude, if I hadn’t Ratatouille’d the situation we’d be eating char for lunch.” She spat back. I stared at her numbly, “Ratatouille? You know? The Disney movie? With the rat? And the guy? The rat’s a chef?? Not ringin’ any bells for ya?”

“Sounds like a profoundly stupid film.” I was just being honest.

She stuck her tongue out at me. I shook my head.

“Whatever, when we switch back, I’m gonna make you watch a ton of Disney stuff just to laugh as you bitch about it.” She returned to her meal, unbothered by the sentence that hung in the air like a hangman’s noose in my mind’s eye. The food that had tasted heavenly on my tongue, now turned to bitter ash. My complexion waned.

“T-Turn back?” I practically choked on the words.

“Well, yeah. I mean whatever this is, it’s gotta be temporary right? If this was, like, a thing, you’d be hearing about it on the news. I mean, who knows? Maybe this is just one really fucking weird dream. Or we took acid and forgot? I dunno, I’m just saying, it’s not like this is forever….”

I swallowed but tasted nothing, feeling the pulse in my neck quicken. “Natalie, I understand this is…. Much less advantageous for you… but… I can’t go back. I’ve dreamt of nothing more than leading my life with dignity and… respect. I can walk out in the world with both, now.”

She stared at me, blinking once, “I don’t know that it’ll be up to us…” She mumbled under her breath, her words so quiet I had to strain to hear, “But… I… Come on, you know I can’t live like this.” Well, I’ve done it against my will my whole life, what makes you so special? “I mean.. I know it’s not really fair of me to complain to you, of all people, it’s just… I mean, Alexander, I have a family.” A knot stuck in my throat.

“Well, like you said, maybe we’ll have no say in the matter.” I forced a tasteless bite just to avoid the conversation. We didn’t speak for the rest of the meal, both of us suddenly weighed down by our respective heavy consciences, neither of us wanting to lose our autonomy.

Cleaning up was far more successful than the cooking had been, but there was no longer any banter. She sat where I had placed her, atop the microwave. She regarded the things nearby: the loaf of bread, the bag of clementines, a haphazardly re-wrapped portion of a chocolate bar, with utter disgust. All of these things, things that she had once been able to pick up with ease, were now looming over her, like stoic mockeries of her own pitiful size. I was painfully familiar with such a feeling. I felt badly for her, I truly did.

Once the kitchen was spotless, no easy feat given its usual calamitous clutter, I sort of stood there leaning against the counter, unsure what to do next. She was the one to break the silence, “Thanks for cleaning up. This is the best this kitchen’s looked in years…” She was trying her best to offer an olive branch.

“It was nothing. You know, I might be able to help with the rest of the apartment too, if you’ll let me.”

**********************

If I’d felt overwhelmed by cleaning before, the task seemed (and probably was) near to impossible now. I shrugged my shoulders. “My trash heap is your playground, go fuckin’ nuts.” I wasn’t one to turn down free help. As long as this isn’t how it’s always gonna be. Every time the panic-inducing thought slipped in, I chased it away. It’s just for now. It HAS to be just for now. I knew Alexander well enough by now to know that like a mouse with a cookie, giving him a challenge or a puzzle to solve was like a drug. He was beside himself. Was it normal to look at this giant of a man and still think he was laughably adorable?

We whiled away the rest of the afternoon and evening cleaning and reorganizing every nook and cranny. Well, he did most of that. To an absolutely asinine degree. He used a tape measure to make sure each book on the shelf was the same distance from the edge. He organized all my records by genre and release date. He rearranged my plants based on the trajectory of the sun through my windows. He even took the time to meticulously fold every item of clothing I had stuffed in my dresser.

Meanwhile, I managed to find something to entertain myself at each stage. I dug out an old handheld video game system, that had once easily fit between two cupped hands and now was a challenge just to hit the buttons. He chuckled softly at the beeps and tinny music coming from the outdated machine. I marveled at trying to use my computer now stretching on, the size of a movie theater screen. I tried writing my own name with a pencil and paper, only to come away with a page full of graphite squiggles and pretty sore arms.

By the time the work was done, it was well past midnight and we were both exhausted. His bangs pestered his eyes as he collapsed on the floor by the bed, having set me down on the edge, I peered down at him while he caught his breath. He leaned his head back and rolled toward me, peering up at where I sat. Seeing those bright blue eyes gazing up at me over brows and messy curtained hair, I felt my spine straighten. If I squinted, it was almost like he was little again, craning his neck to meet my gaze. His voice warm and all-consuming, broke me of my thoughts.

“Is it time to retire for the night? I, for one, am exhausted and my leg is killing me.” He grumbled, I nodded. I’d forgotten about his unhealed injury. He’d been going without complaint all day and I couldn’t exactly see it from my limited vantage point, I’d forgotten that he was still hurt. “Do you need anything?” I shook my head no. He started for the door, “Goodnight, then—“ Where was he going?

“Wait!” My tone sounded a little too small and needy for my liking. I cleared my throat, “Uh, I mean… Don’t you think we should sleep near each other just, you know, in case?” I saw his lips press into a thin line. Being reminded of the sheer possibility that he could wake up without this new body seemed to distress him greatly, so much so, that I felt guilty for bringing it up. Still, I didn’t want to be left all alone in this giant bed all by myself. Alexander may have loved his personal space, but I kind of wanted to be looked after right now. He nodded curtly, as he took steps towards the bed. He hesitated for a moment, clearly unsure how to make this less intimate than it already clearly was. I shuffled over to the pillow on the opposite side. He did his best to slip under the sheets without disturbing the mattress too much.

Then, much to my fascination and delight, I found myself lying on my side, face to face, eye to eye with him. I reached out and with a chilly hand, pressed my palm into the bridge of his nose. He blinked, while sucking in air. I couldn’t help smiling. “No matter how big you are, you’ll always be my little nightmare…” a smirk curved his lips as his left hand shifted from where it lay on the bed. Slowly, cautiously, a finger tip approached, and very lightly brushed my hair aside. Where his fingertip touched, my skin was abuzz with electricity. My heart skipped a beat and I held my breath. As though he were waking from a dream and suddenly found himself an inch from my body, his eyes widened and he mumbled, “G-goodnight, Natalie” and then promptly rolled over. I shook my head to hide my smile. This poor boy needed to learn it was okay to express feelings other than pure rage.

I rolled over to face him, and speaking to the back of his head, I wished him a goodnight, before drifting off to sleep.

I awoke softly at first, seemingly on my own for no particular reason. I could feel the slight draft of air tickle my body as I shuffled a bit in bed. That’s when I heard it. Almost impossible to place at first, so soft it almost blended with the mechanical drone of the air-conditioning, the sound of someone crying. Not someone, of course, Alexander.

I knew before I even opened my eyes. My heart sank. Feeling a tightening in my own throat, I met the pristine morning light with heavy, sleep-ridden eyelids. Rolling over my shoulder in my perfectly proportioned bed, I saw him, curled up against the farthest corner of my pillow, hunched over, his shoulders hitching with each wracking sob. As I adjusted myself in bed to see him, I watched his spine tense, as he froze, casting a glance behind him. The face I saw was the most pitiable, splotchy and tear-stained countenance of a man who’d lost everything in the stroke of one unexplainable night. When he landed his gaze on me, his eyes brimmed with fresh tears, as he painfully choked out these few words:

“I was so close. I had everything I’ve ever wanted for a day. One pathetic day. And now… I’m… back to nothing.” Without hesitation or self consciousness, he rose to standing and crossed to me, I quickly gathered him in my hands and held him close to my heart. I stroked his trembling shoulders with the pad of my thumb.

“Don’t talk like that. It’s not true.”

He scoffed, pushing himself away from my skin to look me dead in the eye, “Oh really? How should I talk about it then? Shall I rejoice in being dependent on people forever? Shall I jump for joy that I will never be taken seriously? That I have no control over my own destiny? The world is actively hostile to people like me. I’ve no means to self-actualize like this. Not because I’m not capable, but because your society won’t give me the chance. But, no, you’re right, let me see if I can arrange for a fireworks display to celebrate this momentou—“ Gingerly, I placed the pad of my index finger over his lips.

“Hush! Alexander? You aren’t nothing. You’re dead wrong about that. You, my little nightmare, are everything to me. Do you realize I would be flunking out of law school right now if it weren’t for you? Hell, you just spent the last twenty-four hours taking care of me when I needed it most. You inspire me every day to work harder and rise to my fullest potential. And yeah, okay, sure, you may need a little help getting around and you’re never gonna suck less at cooking, I’m sorry to break it to you, but you are brilliant…. And I know I don’t have to tell you that twice. I’m pretty sure you enjoy telling me as often as you can manage. If anyone is going to wrangle life into submission and take control of his own future, it's you. Little or no…” I trailed off as I watched his shoulders rise and fall as he chuckled and shook his head, bitterly. What had I said wrong? My face burned.

“Is that all I am? A pocket-sized aide, turned miniature tutor?” When his gaze returned to mine, his eyes were blazing blue.

“You know that’s not what I meant…”

“Isn’t it though? All you humans care about is what I can do and be for you. How I can entertain you and fulfill some niche set of tasks—“

“Now, hang on. I admit, that was a poor choice of words. But give me a little more credit, here. I’m not like that shitty lawyer you had to put up with from before. I understand empathy and, maybe in spite of your low opinion of me, I can learn from my mistakes, okay?”

He sighed, squirming a bit inside my hand. He cast his gaze askance while he blinked once, twice, three times, considering my argument, “I just… I’m so beleaguered by this approximation of my worth to what duties I perform.” He squeezed the flesh of my palm in frustration.

“I understand that, completely,” I encouraged, while he simply scoffed in response, “Well, I mean I know I don’t get it, exactly, but I can empathize, okay? Stop trying to make me out to be the bad guy when I’m trying, here. I just want you to know that I… I… don’t… you know, I don’t, uh… hate you…” I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling quite flushed, “What I mean is, I’m not out to get you. I’m grateful for all the ways you help me, but I don’t expect it and I’m doing everything I can think of to help you in return. I know you think I’m a fucking idiot, and, I dunno, maybe I am in some ways, but I’m an idiot who’s got your back. You’re not getting rid of me that easily. I’ll still be here even after you piss me off for the five thousandth time this week.” He cracked a ghost of a smile at that. There you are behind that prickly exterior.

“You humans are extremely difficult to train. I hope you can appreciate what an uphill climb it was to even arrive at this destination,” He leaned back, allowing his weight to be supported by my curled fingers, an act of relaxation he almost never indulged in. I felt my heart skip a beat as I felt the warmth of his body ignite the sensitive nerves on my fingertips. He continued, “I suppose I don’t hold you in utter contempt, either. Perhaps having some support won’t be as burdensome and infuriating as I previously hypothesized.” He swept his bangs from his eyes, “While most of your earlier statement was, frankly, offensive, you were correct in your assertion: I am rather brilliant aren’t I?” He flashed me a winning smile and arched his brow.

“Oh fuck off! You’re not guilt tripping me and fishing for compliments at the same time! No, I’m not playing your stupid game! God, you’re such a little nightmare! I mean you’ve been through a lot, I know, but, jeez, Alexander! You don’t know how to turn it off, do you?”

“Even at night, the sun shows itself by the glow of the moon…”

“Oh my fucking god, you’re unbearable! Forget I said anything at all to try and cheer you up. Now I’ve gotta suffer through the consequences of my own actions! Ay, dios mio, what have I done?” I placed the tip of my index finger on his bent, left knee and shook it ever so slightly. Enough to demonstrate my pretend frustration without actually jostling his body.

He was beaming by the time I finished, “I’ll make sure you’re spared when the revolution comes. You turned out to be less wholly insufferable than I’d first surmised, Ms. Marquez.”

“And that’s as close to a compliment as I’m going to get from you, I am sure.” He laughed. I adored that little laugh. “Let’s go back to sleep and ignore the world for a few more hours, how does that sound?”

“Honestly? Rather ideal.”

“May I hold you in my hand for you to rest in?” I felt his hands reflexively tighten on the skin of my palm. He thought for a moment before releasing a breath he had been holding.

“Yes, you may.”

For the first time since I’d known him, he allowed me to hold him closely, head resting on the pad of my finger, as he curled up over my beating heart. As I closed my eyes and began to drift, I heard a muffled voice.

“I suppose I’m really not getting rid of you am I?”

“Not unless you kill me… Wait…Don’t, don’t get any ideas, okay? Somehow of anyone I feel like you could figure out how to kill a human and get away with it.”

He laughed, wriggling to get more comfortable in my featherlight grip, “Hm. I suppose I’ll let you live to see the light of another day…Goodnight, Natalie.” And then, I could have sworn I felt just the smallest amount of pressure and dampness against my finger. Almost as if a pair of tiny lips were kissing it goodnight. But maybe it was just wishful thinking.

After the day we’d had, who knew just what was real anymore?

#What if lady smol and man big?#A Fraction of Justice #oc:alexander #oc:natalie #g/t related #g/t community #g/t au #giant/tiny #g/t writing #size switch au #gt community

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