Giant

One morning, just before dawn, a giant appeared. Immense, his feet were planted on opposite ends of a central block, halting traffic, breaking water mains, and generally causing chaos. His body stretched towards the sky and his face was bearded with clouds. He stood utterly still.

As soon as he landed (emerged? materialized?) people came rushing out of apartments, townhouses, corner stores, gas stations, and high rises, using their hands to shade their eyes from the rising sun and pointing upwards with exclamations of wonder. Early morning commuters abandoned their cars, and walked into the giant’s shadow, absorbed in the spectacle. By the time the giant had been looming for a half-hour, there was a large throng of people congregating around the giant's feet and scattered around the area.

It was at this point that I arrived, having been enjoying my early morning walk. Approaching, I saw that children had begun to clamor up the massive feet, using his vine-like body hair to gain purchase. A few had already made it to the toes, and they jumped from one to the other, squealing with delight.

As I passed groups of people, I listened in on their conversations with great interest.

“So, what do you think it is?”

“What do mean?”

“I mean, what the hell is it?”

“Looks like a giant, far as I can tell.”

“Well of course it’s a giant, but it has to be something else, doesn’t it?”

“I’m not sure I get your drift, seems to me to just be a giant, not much more, not much less.”

“My god, you are one ignorant son-of-a-bitch. Think about it, now. A giant appears, out of nowhere, and you’re trying to tell me that there aint much more to it than what we’re looking at?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, and I’m not sure I like your tone.”

“Alright, calm down. I’m just saying, it seems likely to mean something. Just not quite sure what.”

Leaving them behind, I entered a high-rise adjacent to, and now dwarfed by, the city’s visitor. The elevator whined as it carried me to the observation deck, and as I stepped out I saw that many had come up with the same idea. The rooftop balcony was packed; people were being pressed into the guardrails, gently shoving one another. Some were looking through the coin operated telescopes, while others took pictures. The thing that struck me the hardest was the commotion, the tremors of excitement that moved through the crowd.

A grappling hook, apparently thrown with great skill, shot off the roof, hit the giant’s right bicep, bounced off, and was pulled back. Another attempt was made, this time sinking in near the elbow. The rope was pulled, and held firm. A cheer went upwards, and I watched as several brave young men covered in climbing gear began the long climb upwards.

I was afraid that they giant might react to such abuse, tearing through the city and its people like some crazed destroyer. He never moved, though. He still hasn’t.
By noon they had reached the right shoulder. Through the telescope I watched as they hugged one another, posing to be photographed, and then hammered a hastily made flag into the skin of the mountain-slope.

A father near me, holding his two children on his shoulders, nudged them both and looked skywards. “Isn’t that something,” he said.

***

By spring of the next year, the line between the giant and the city had begun to fade. Graffiti artists had covered his feet and calves with abstract designs and twisted letters, symbols marking their turf. The homeless had begun to hollow deep lacunae into his flesh, where they would burrow for warmth and shelter. Rope ladders allowed them to come and go. At night you could see their fires, and the giant glowed from a thousand points. It was like our own miniature night-sky, complete with stars that never moved.

By this point I generally avoided the giant’s proximity, due to the increasing unpredictability of various cults and secret societies, all who competed for the most desirable body-parts, claiming to be the giant’s true disciples. Of the two largest groups, each laid claim to a shoulder, and they fought to be the first to reach the ultimate pinnacle of the giant’s head. They would wage sneak attacks on one another, sometimes loosing ground sometimes gaining, and the local news would cover each development with feral intensity, eyes rabid and sensational.

One of these groups, the Just and Chosen Followers of the Great Leviathan, would use hang-gliders to soar by their opponents, snatching them and flinging them to the ground.

Their enemies, the Sons of the Great Statue, were more fundamental and less eccentric, and would take every chance to pick off any unwary and sky-lit heretics with their long rifles. They would stand around throughout the day and night, drinking homemade liquor, watching for enemy soldiers, often pausing to worship the great being on which they lived.

The actions of all these groups appalled local religious leaders. Every day one would pass picket groups and protesters rallying against the town's new idol.

One day, as I was passing through the area due to some pressing business, I passed an old man, wearing a veteran’s jacket and grey sweatpants, who was standing on a wooden crate in the giant's shadow. He cried, "Worship not this foul beast! A false lord, sent here as a test. And our city has failed - we have lost our way, loving the creature just because it is near. We forget the silent things, and now only the wailing of sirens remains. Come back to the flock, or face a damned and miserable existence."

At this point a woman passed by, well-dressed and professional. She looked at the old man, looked away to the giant, and looked back again. She spoke, her face quizzical. "Well, he’s comforting, you know? I like having him there every morning when I get up."

The street speaker didn't respond.

***

After a few years the homeless had been expelled, the extremists kicked out, and the business world had moved in. They used corrosive agents to melt away all flesh and organs, leaving the skeleton standing bare except for small tatters of tendons and sinews which would flap in the wind. The entire skeleton was coated with metal, and then other structures were welded or grafted onto the frame.

The giant ceased to seem a creature, stepping back to join the other metal carcasses which pierced the sky. The giant’s shape ceased to be organic, becoming apartments and offices, penthouses and nightclubs, where the wealthy would come to play. The parts of the skeleton that could not support additional weight were turned into billboards, so that his shape became a mishmash of gleaming teeth and slender bodies. New visitors to the city could not see the outline of a giant in those structures, and most people stopped talking of the giant at all.

One day, as I was walking against the wind, clothed in the thickness of winter garments, I wandered into the most curious conversation. A beggar, who was barely clothed at all yet did not seem to notice the weather, was standing on the sidewalk, his head looking up at where the giant used to stand.

“Hey buddy, you cold?” I asked.

“More hungry than cold.”

I passed him some money, and stood with him for a moment, gazing at the skyline. Turning away, I looked at him. “So what are you looking at?”

“I guess the city, I kind of hate it sometimes.”

“Now why would you say a thing like that?”

“Because it makes everything inside of it a part of it. Like that giant, I used to love looking at that giant, fucking loved it. Now it’s gone. Eaten.”

“Well you have to admit, that wasn’t exactly the most normal of circumstances. What happened to the giant was different, an aberration or something.”

He turned to me, and he looked like he wanted to scream or cry. His face turned red, and the muscles of his neck stood out like wires. He motioned with his arm, pointed at the skyline, and whispered, “Don’t you see man? They were all giants once. It’s just that no one remembers.”