the giant in the valley

Once upon a time, there was a lush valley where rabbits hopped and birdies tweeted. Where the sun shined nearly every day. Where babbling brooks welcomed woodland creatures to come and drink from them. Where flowers bloomed and trees provided shade for new lovers to rest and read books of poetry to one another.

This story doesn’t take place there.

It takes place in the next valley over.

Not quite as lovely, but still a right nice place to visit.

Though, truth be told, cellphone reception there is spotty at best.

The people of this valley — a simple folk, really — had a problem.

A giant of a problem.

The problem?

A giant.

His name is Tiny.

This clearly showed that his mother had quite a sense of humour. Even after having given birth to him. And despite not really having child-baring hips.

(His middle name is Ouchies.)

Tiny lived, by himself, a few miles away from the valley. But he would show up weekly.

Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever had a giant in your valley — except for my ex-girlfriends, know what I’m sayin’ — but they can cause some damage.

The valley folk were never happy to see, or hear, Tiny coming. From as far away as a mile, his mere foot steps would cause dishes to fall out of cupboards. And I don’t have to tell you, but him approaching could put a serious screwing into a game of Jenga.

The time he was obsessed with learning that Soulja Boy dance, the valleyinians were sure it marked the end of days.

No one really knew why Tiny came to the valley. Some suspected he was lonely. He’d occasionally buy items from the general store, with money he made from traveling town to town, where he did odd jobs as a top of tower fixer, lifter of big things, and social media consultant.

But every time Tiny would leave the valley, he’d accidentally step on three or four houses.

This, understandably, left the people irate.

One time he even stepped on the mayor.

People were mostly OK with that.

Still, one day, after Tiny sneezefarted and destroyed most of the west end of the town, the valleyites held a meeting. Everyone attended.

Except for the mayor.

It was going to be a while before he could attend meetings.

A looooooong while.

Many people spoke passionately. It was decided that something had to be done. They couldn’t let him continue to destroy their homes.

The vote in favour of taking a stand was 239-1.

The lone nay being the owner of the building supply store. He just giggled and rubbed his hands together.

They knew they had to do something. But what?

That was rhetorical.

I’m the narrator. I’ll tell your ass what happened.

It was decided, after much debate, and a break for some delicious huckleberry cupcakes, that three of the valley’s most persuasive men — Tom, Dick & Harry — would each try their luck at convincing Tiny to steer clear of their valley.

When all was settled, and the meeting was ready to adjourn, a pretty blond girl stood up in back.

“Excuse me…”

Everyone turned to look.

She continued, “I’m not sure if these things are going to work. What if I try talking to Tiny first? To find out why he comes here. To ask if we can make other arrangements.”

The valley peeps scoffed.

The men valley peeps especially.

Many things were shouted.

“Sit down!”

“Worry about finding a husband.”

“Make me a sammich!”

“Let the men handle it, sweetie.”

“It hurts when I pee!”

The pretty blond girl turned red. She sat back down. She mumbled something about Gloria Steinem being her godmother.

The chosen day arrived. It was a Saturday. Tiny almost always seemed to visit the valley on Saturdays.

That pattern held.

Tom waited for Tiny outside of town.

Tiny stopped when he saw his little greeting party.

“That’s far enough, big fella,” Tom began. “We’re going to have to ask you to no longer visit our valley.”

Tiny looked confused.

“We don’t want you around any more,” Tom added.

Tiny was visibly sad. A single tear formed in his giant eye.

You know, it was once said that giant tears are what filled the Great Lakes.

But the guy who said it had been licking toads, so no one paid much attention.

And it wasn’t even psychoactive toads, which, frankly, made it even more questionable.

“You’re destroying too many of our homes. We’ll pay you to stay away.”

That made Tiny angry.

“And which home is yours?” Tiny asked.

“I’m not telling you.”

Tiny stomped on a house.

Tom said nothing.

Tiny stomped on another house.

Then another.

Finally Tom mumbled, “White with black shutters.”

Tiny ripped a large tree out of the ground. He held it like a golf club and teed off on Tom’s house — which, of course, broke into many pieces.

“I think you hooked that one,” Tom said.

Tiny picked Tom up and ate him.

Then Tiny turned around and went home.

(Don’t worry, Tom survived. But you do NOT want to know how he made his escape…)

Dick saw himself as the most logical person in the valley. He was going to reason with the giant.

Tiny arrived the next Saturday morning.

Dick stood in his path.

“Tiny… Bro… Can we talk? I’m all about win-win situations. I like deals where both people can walk away happy. I think we can reach one of those deals today.”

“Which house is yours?” Tiny asked.

Dick hesitantly pointed to a little blue house with a peaked roof.

Tiny picked up the house, put it on it’s roof and spun it like a top. It’s pieces flew off in all directions.

“I don’t think I have insurance for that,” Dick noted.

Tiny pulled a thread from his shirt. He grabbed Dick and stood him on his head.

“Dude… there is no need for this. We can talk this out.”

Tiny wrapped the giant thread around Dick numerous times. Then he pulled on the end and it spun Dick down like a drill into the ground and out of sight.

When Dick finally stopped, he yelled up from the bottom of the hole, “I think I found gold! No. No. Wait. It’s just the concussion.”

When Harry’s week arrived, he decided he was taking no shit. Giant or not, he was making a stand.

When Tiny was approaching, Harry met him at the edge of town.

“Listen, you overgrown sack of crap–”

Tiny put up his hand to stop him.

“Which house is yours?” Tiny asked.

“Red with blue trim, but you better not–”

Tiny blew gently on the house and it fell to rubble.

“That’s it,” Harry raged. “I’m going to show you what–”

Tiny curled his index finger and flicked Harry off into the horizon.

“I wish I had tried kissing boooooooooooooooys…”

Tiny watched, impressed with the distance he had achieved.

Out of nowhere, the pretty blond girl from the meeting climbed up on the roof of the local S&M club. Well, one of the three clubs.

“Excuse me… Mr. Giant.”

Tiny pointed to himself questioningly.

“Yes, you,” she continued. “Could you come a little closer, please?”

Tiny was suspicious — and unsure if his deodorant was holding up — but he stepped in closer to the girl..

She looked up at him.

He looked down at her.

Then she suddenly hugged his leg.

Tiny was shocked. He didn’t know what to make of this. And then…

Tiny smiled.

And he let out a giant laugh, which turned into a contented sigh.

Like a “Ah ha ha ha haaaaaaaaaaaaaa” kinda deal.

The pretty blond girl kept hugging, and looked up at Tiny with a pretty blond girl smile.

“Wanna make out?” Tiny asked.

“One thing at a time, sailor.”

“Tease.”

And Tiny was happy. He agreed to stop stepping on people’s homes and narrowly-elected officials.

Tiny and the pretty blond girl would go for walks, and he’d pick her bouquets of trees.

The valleyfolkses would meet with Tiny at the edge of town and hang out and shoot the poop. They’d supply him with his favourite snack treats and the latest issues of Cosmo. (What? He liked the grooming tips.)

He’d help them with anything that needed doing.

And everyone was content.

So, children, the moral of this story is…

Even giants need hugs too.

And always use a licensed contractor to build your house.

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5 Responses

  1. I LOVE THIS STORY I LOVE IT I LOVE IT

  2. Wendryn says:

    Awwww…

    I especially liked that no one particularly minded when he stepped on the mayor. Hee!

  3. Felisa says:

    This made me smile this morning so I had to come back to it :)

    This kind of story telling is verrryyyy cute. It makes you cute as a button. Well, a MANLY button.

  4. kharlamovaa says:

    My favourite part was: “But what? That was rhetorical. I’m the narrator. I’ll tell your ass what happened.”

    HAH. Fave.

  5. Sid says:

    Peter DeWolf – the modern Roald Dahl for adults …

    I was going to suggest that you package it with “cute” cartoons and attempt to sell it as a kiddies book BUT the S&M joke would be wasted on them.

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