This piece is about a giant who falls over on a city landscape and the cascading media coverage.
The giant fell backwards along with a high rise building. People in the distance caught the glance of the crumbling. During the giant’s impact there were poor souls working inside the high rise, observing the fragmentation of concrete walls. When destruction is unexpected it makes reality seem unreal and banality of not believing one’s eyes clings true as the impending death, at last it happens to us all. Giant’s blood covered the exterior and the insiders never knew. The remote observers were frozen with mouths opened, congregating the odd components of the city scene. The giant lied still amidst the dusty city ruins.
“Is anyone filming this?” a dude asked. Strangely appropriate.
Twitter was overflowing with speculation about the giant and who’s fall led to the death of thousands of people. Most of the speculation seemed to be based on pop-cultural phenomenon, like was the giant some extraterrestrial or perhaps a spawn of a weird experiment, or could it be... that it came from another dimension? These theories were not picked up by the mainstream media. From the helicopter the giant seemed like a caucasian male tourist, just huge. He was wearing cargo shorts and a black t-shirt displaying a famous beer brand which was pixelated in some media. Still, the stock of the said beer skyrocketed, unlike the dormant giant who seemed passed out. A pair of giant sunglasses was crushed in the fall. A cap had fallen off his head and absolutely smashed the entrance to a bank. Just the cost of cleaning up the street blood was estimated to be pricey but auspicious rain cleaned most of it away. A twitter influencer, or a self-proclaimed “stalwart journalist”, by the name of Mikey who coincidentally resided in the same city asked the tough question of “is this thing alive?” and went into the zone with a live feed abled through his action cam.
Mikey put on his helmet with the cam on top, tightened the velcro for the elbow pads and made sure no backpack straps would get in his way. Godspeed and the van door slid shut. The livestream watched him ascend a pile of debris. Rain had ceased but thick grey clouds were still looming. In between the intact high rise buildings were the emergency services and in between them were the media and above was the circulating helicopter. The body of the giant just laid there.
“They say he ordered tequila shots for the girls but they declined so he had to drink them all”, a journalist told Mikey. He stinked of alcohol and the giant actually looked like someone who enjoyed his tequila. Another journalist told him a rumour about a regular sized person who looked just like the giant, spotted in a drunk cell in Bangkok. Mikey approached the giant and could still sense his drunk breathing, it surprised him that everyone around was so calm.
“When you’ve worked in the industry for 30 years there are no surprises anymore”, a veteran reporter told Mikey and his stream followers. A collaborative effort managed to loot the giant’s pockets and it contained the same items as in Mikey’s pockets: a phone and keys. Mikey looked upon the giant version of his phone running the streaming software and displaying the chat between his followers. He picked up his phone from his pocket and saw the messages again but on a smaller screen. That was odd, he thought. Yet the facts were even more obvious once the drunk cell prisoner woke up - he, in an interview, told everyone he was the giant and fell backwards on a bender and was of course remorseful about the deaths.
“I’ve seen footage”, one guy wrote in the chat and linked to a video clip from last night showcasing the drunk man falling backwards on the streets of Bangkok. Mikey wondered about the giant’s key and if there was a corresponding giant’s version of his house. People looked it up online for him and they found out there was, although absurd it simply had never come into mainstream knowledge. The windows of the elevating skyscrapers looked like eyes. Did they look that way because they were designed that way or that he simply just perceived it that way? No matter, he felt small. The giant woke up and groaned and wanted something for his hangover.
This piece is about an explorer traversing down a forgotten golden structure.
A ritualistic dance performed by primordial creatures were depicted on the walls and the pattern of psychic and mystic lucidity spun down the dark corridors. De Vega carefully and curiously further down with his torchlight. This golden structure was hidden down below, forgotten and gorgeous with spider web, dust and moss. He wanted it and could not curb his appreciation. Every sliver of configuration was intricate, to the point where De Vega could not even comprehend how a mind could craft such beauty which made him, of course, appreciate it even more. The largest question at hand was how to reap something tangible and lasting out of this desire to claim ownership of the structure. Deeper within the inner chambers, a golden city was revealed. In the dark there were four towering Mesoamerican pyramids aligned around a mandala which were covered in the primordial pattern. Every part, even the dust, was radiantly reciprocating the torchlight with a golden blink. The centre of the mandala was a lowered altar which was surrounded by a constellation of thirty golden sculptures of nude men, stuck in a pose of running away. The twinkling dust was floating above their terrified faces. Upon the altar stood a totemic statue decorated with four lunatic faces pointing in different directions. De Vega inspected the statue with a touch of his fingertip which swapped the external nature - the pyramids were now of stone and the sculptures were alive in flesh and blood. They were shouting in a proto-variant of the extinct language of Chicbcha, and although their idiosyncratic accent, De Vega got the syntax. They wanted him to fulfil a deed of beauty, to be integrated in all that he had seen in there. His fingertip was difficult to move and was emitting a golden radiance. His reactive flailing caused the surrounding to absorb the gold, almost like a cloth absorbing liquid. The fate was to be compounded into the structure and he had no longer than a day until the cycle would be complete, they told him. Terrified De Vega failed to notice how the air carried the gold-transmuting dust.
He assumed that the statue he touched could somehow reverse this change and grabbed it was heading for the exit. The thirty natives were fearful of his torchlight, believing it possessed a Godlike quality and kept their distance. The transmutation followed his path, and so did the natives desperately shouting behind him. To him it seemed to signify that he was on the right track but as he turned around he could see their eyes filled with sadness and fear. The construct would crumble to pieces if he left, finally he heard them. De Vega did not know their God, but he did know divine beauty and asked himself if he had committed to selfish destruction. A sigh and a gulp, he turned and looked his worried followers in the eyes. His torchlight was shut and heard the darkness shriek. The heart was pounding and the silhouettes were approaching. Firms grasp reached his limbs. As he was transmuting he could only imagine how beautifully he was arranged there in the dark. The sculptures unitedly sang a song that incorporated the echo of the chambers as syncopation. Golden dust got to De Vega’s lungs and he solidified slowly coughing and choking.