Tinker woke to the day like every other day, for all remained the same here in the Land of Giants. Basically, everything remained giant…and she remained small. Her dainty bare toes met the cold china of her mother’s teacup, her tiny arms stretched above her tiny head matted in intricate little dark curls, and she let out a cute wisp of a yawn. She stood and carefully climbed out of her mini bed and made her ant-like steps across her mother’s grand ebony desk.
Her mother’s books towered over her like skyscrapers, and stacks of printed newspaper fountained across the desk. She ignored the familiar sights of her home, for there was no need to gawk when all there was to gawk at was here. Laid out for her on a thin blanket of newspaper was her breakfast: a simple house-sized ripe grape from her mother’s garden and a tall shot glass of mead. She ate quickly and soon was full before an even noticeable bite of the grape was done and could only manage half a drop of the mead.
She moved on to the smallest saucepan from her mother’s kitchen, filled with warm water. Standing at the edge of which the pan reached just above her chest, she delicately removed the mix-match of sewed patches of clothes that made up most of her wardrobe. She moved to climb up the side of the saucepan, the effort of humiliatingly difficult for her, and finally made it to the soothing depths of the bath.
Now, Tinker was a human of sixteen years and though kids her age would usually be in school, seeing that most of them were over sixty feet taller than her meant that going to school was an endeavor with more dangers than a bombardment of boredom she’d heard was the norm on a day at Westerlo College. But that didn’t stop her from creeping through the crevasses that housed mice and other insects. That was what she was…a mere insect.
Her lips thinned as she thought of the insignificance of her existence, how crushable, how forgettable her presence on a world where literally everything was larger than life. Though what did she hope would happen? Perhaps one day she’ll hit an unreasonably late growth spurt? No, that was not how this world worked, but…she wanted it to. She needed it to.
She quickly finished her bath, dressed and hurried across the desk to one of the oldest inventions of Tinker’s earlier years. Just as her name suggests, Tinker considered herself quite the inventor. It was the thrill of forming solutions to a world full of problems that was enough to fill her days. The particular contraction was the simplest design in her opinion. There was the broom handle that was attached to the side of the desk with a trustworthy sticky chemical compound from the ingredients of Mother’s garden. There was the chipped china cup decorated with a rather hideous painting of a calico cat stringed to the handmade pulley of old shoelaces that travelled up the length of the broom. Tinker reached the cup, pulled the cardboard door to step inside. Then she moved the old shoelaces to her right and began dragging them, and as a result, the cup went up.
Once she reached the top of the lift, she stepped out of the cup onto the bookshelf that ran the length of Mother’s study. She walked along the shelf to the hole in its side that opened to the rest of the house. She walked along the wooden bridge that was screwed into all its walls. Passing those framed sunlit memories of her childhood, like her first saucepan bath or her first taste of Mother’s seasonal grapes. Each grinning face glared back at her, which she gladly took in kind.
“Tinker, dear. Are you up?” The low rumble of her mother’s voice sounded from above.
Tinker cupped her mouth with her hands; “Yes, Mother!”
“Good. Please come up when you’re ready. I have a surprise for you,” said with a smile in a voice.
Tinker’s brow furrowed. A surprise? “Okay, Mother. Coming.”391Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5Mu9N30FGZ
Tinker gazed up at Mother. There she sat upon the grand window seat that overlooked the majesty of her garden, though that word hardly does it justice, for it was as vast as any farm…at least to her. She looked at Mother’s lined face; the folds of her pale skin in all the right places revealed her sweet nature that she was known for. Around her dark eyes, at the sides of her thin red lips, in the furrows of her forehead. Right now, she held her latest book to her long nose, from which her horn-rimmed glasses wiggled whenever she smiled, for it was the perfect day for a good read, the clouds outside looked grim and miserable.
Hearing the small steps of her daughter — for her hearing was excellent despite her age — she looked up…was that a slight pained look in her eye? “Aw, Tinker, my dear.” She placed her book down beside and stretched her hand to her. Tinker absently stepped off her ledge and onto her warm open palm, moving to sit down as Mother brought her hand closer to her face until they were nearly eye-level.
“How was your breakfast?”
“Quite nice actually; those grapes were growing well this year.”
“Indeed,” Mother breathed, ‘I simply can not wait to make my famous jam! And you will be my taste tester, yes?”
Tinker smiled; “Of course, Mother,” she eyed her curiously, for Mother usually more enthusiastic when jam season came around. Lots of jumping up and down ensued, but she had a rather subdued look, as if was distracted or something.
“Mother? You called me up?”
Mother touched her forehead; “Oh, silly me. I brought you up for a surprise, didn’t I?”
She slowly stood, and Tinker instantly grabbed her giant thumb to steady herself. She watched curiously as Mother moved around to her made bed, patting around while murmuring to herself. As she searched, the low rumble of the coming thunder sounded outside.
“Now, where did I put that thing? I swear I placed it right here-oh, yes! Here it is.” Mother lifted from behind her pillow a framed photo she had never seen before. With a small smile, Mother placed her down on the bed, gesturing to the frame; “Happy birthday, dear.”
Tinker stood cautiously. She approached the photo propped up on the pillow. A slither of unease working its way down her body. The misery outside agreed for it rumbled with every step she took. Mother was acting strange, but whatever for? She hadn’t acted like this even the day she revealed her true nature to her some years ago. It was only when she drew closer to the photo that she understood.
It was just a photo. It was a family captured in warm sunlight. There were a man and a woman standing by their quaint cottage with their arms around each other.
Tinker stared, the drone of her heart hammering in her mind. At first she thought it was a photo of some family she didn’t know, some neighbours in the next valley over. But then-her heart shattered. She noticed the blonde curls of the man, the shapely lips of the woman. The blue eyes staring out of the glossy surface weren’t strangers’. They were hers.
No, no. th-that’s impossible.
“Mother? What is this?” She slowly turned to glance at her averted eyes; “Who are they? Why are you showing them to me?”
She noted the slight tremble in her hands as she wrung them absently; her lips trembled as if to smile, but the smile died before it reached her eyes. Her jaw worked for a good minute before she spoke; “Honey, there has been something I’ve been meaning to tell you. I-I have been waiting until you were sixteen before…w-well.”
BOOM!
The walls of their home shook as thunder rolled outside and as she stared beyond the vastness of the garden where the clouds that carried that land shifted to raise the place she had stared from above all her life. The green land below…
“Humans,” she murmured, and Mother flinched involuntarily. Tinker turned back to the photo; her eyes hardened the longer she stared. Her breath struggled out of her in brief puffs at the look of blatant happiness on their faces. Her throat stung. They looked so normal. So much like… her. “They’re human, aren’t they?” Mother hesitated, opening and closing her mouth; her trembling hands worsened. She nodded slowly.
Tinker shook her head slowly; “No, no. You told me I was the only one left! That all the other humans were gone! How is that possible?!”
Mother said nothing.
Tinker was panting hard, her chest was tightening, her world was spinning; “Mother, what didn’t you tell me?”
Mother sighed as her face morphed into one of complete and utter resignation. She knelt down in front of her, a glint of unshed tears in her eyes; “Tinker, my dear. I think we should start at the beginning.” She leaned in over her, her shadow looming over the girl, soft yet enormous.391Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡN1b9Wf9AsM
So, it was true. Tinker was the last human, or at least she used to be. Mother explained the time long before when giants were the Big Bad in everyone’s story. She told of the savagery of her people, how they jumped down to the world below, their steps crushing all that crept beneath them. They developed a taste for humankind, feasting on their flesh for ages until a young man who wore a magical crown forged from a giant’s heart brought about their end with a single word.
“His name was Jake. He was a farmer’s boy,” Mother said, a sheen of shame clouding those dark eyes, “The tales of his adventures are both long and grim but he later saved his kingdom, Cloister, by killing the Chief of the giants with a magic bean.”
“A bean?” Tinker asked. It sounded quite incredulous.
“A bean,” she confirmed with a grave nod, “one that when sown would grow into enormous stalks that shot up for miles and miles into the sky. These stalks ripped the giant into pieces, putting an end to humans’ suffering. King Jake then sent us back up the beanstalk to our land, never to set foot on the world of man ever again.”
Tinker puzzled at this. Thoughts of blood, gore and screams of men rummaged in her mind; “I don’t understand. How does this relate to me?”
Mother paused for a time, perhaps to gather her thoughts; “I was among the giants who roamed the earth. I was young back then, and the ways of my people had not yet taken hold of me.”
She looked down at her, a wry smile forming on her smile, “I was an outsider because of it. I was too soft, they said. It mattered not, for I knew the wrong we wrecked on the humans, but it was in that last battle with the king, when all giants were prepared to upend all humans of the capital city that I finally did something about it.”
Mother explained how the giants had broken the gates of Cloister after a week’s siege. They trampled the king’s knights as they marched into the palace. She lingered at the back of the crowd, cowering back behind the broad leathery backs of her superiors, and as a result, it was she who witnessed the mad rush of the fleeing people. And among them…were her parents.
“What were their names?” Tinker interjected, a note of urgency entering her voice. She needed to put a name to the faces that stared out from its glossy window next to her.
“June and Beck,” Mother answered. Her eyes lingered on their smiling faces though the lines of her face deepened; “They were wonderful humans. Courageous and fierce in their protection. They…didn’t make it and so they left behind you.”
“So you took me?”
Mother gazed at her with a slight pleading look;“I did.”
Tinker turned her back on her, her arms wrapped around her middle; “You kept me here. In a place where I don’t belong. You-stole me from them.”
“Tinker, darling, please.”
But Tinker would not hear another word. She ran. Away from Mother and away from her love.
She didn’t see the tears fall down her face…391Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXzc9ivooT9
Tinker made it to the garden, where she sat under the shade of a giant sunflower, fiddling with the wet blades of grass. Past the thinning drizzle of rain, she stared at the clouds beyond. Seeing as Mother’s home was at the near edge of the land, she could see the clouds that held it up.
How many times had she dreamt of jumping down? Of letting the clouds so strong carry her down to a world she had never seen?
How many times had Mother refused her? How many times had she filled her mind with every horrible thing that could happen to her?
“You could get eaten by wolves,” she said.“The cold could kill you,” she said. “You could starve to death,” she said.
And yet all along, she knew the truth! Tinker unknowingly strangled the grass in her hands until red welts appeared on her hand. How could she?! She felt herself tremble at the weight of her anger.
I’ll show her. I’ll show she can’t control my life anymore.
How? She was thousands of miles above her world. If she jumped, she would die. She would never see the world she dreamt of. Not from all the way up here.
At that, she felt her anger bleed out of her. Her shoulders slumped, and she folded into herself. Tears stung her eyes as she buried her head between her knees and, soon enough, heaving sobs wrecked her body. Poor Tinker. Her dreams were too small for a world so large.
But then, the ground rumbled beneath her, and she forced herself to look up. Overhead, Mother looked down at her with notable redness around her dark eyes.
She sighed heavily; “Come with me, my dear. There is one last thing I need to show you.”
She turned away, walking deeper into the maze of her garden. Unfortunately for her, Tinker had a problem with curiosity, good for an inventor, not so good when you wanted to be angry, and so she followed.
Mother led her to the very edge of the land until the clouds were so close, she could feel the mist leave droplets on her face. But she kept going so that Tinker could see her shadow looming. Tinker swallowed hard; “Mother? Where are you going?”
“Come, Tinker. It’s just ahead,” her voice called.
Tinker ran towards her voice, her clothes so wet they stuck to her skin. There. Kneeling where earth met cloud was Mother, and next was a root that shot through the ground. Around its base were moulds of dirt, and she noticed the root didn’t grow up but down. As she drew closer, she slowly recognised the thin, winding stems with pods growing from them as tall as she was. A beanstalk.
Mother nodded at her look; “That is a beanstalk. The beanstalk.”
“You mean the one from the story. The one that leads down to…to.”
“To the human world.”
Tinker was confused. Why was Mother showing her this?
Mother gave her hand, and Tinker climbed up. She lifted her up till they were face to face; “I want you to understand something, Tinker. Everything I did, I did for you. I only meant to protect you.”
Tinker looked away; “Protection means nothing if I don’t belong.”
Mother looked pained, but she continued, “I know I’ve been selfish. I am so sorry for keeping you here. But I will give you your choice back.” She lifted her other hand and dropped a small sack in front of her.
“It has all you need. Your clothes, tools, some snacks…as small as I could get them at least.”
Tinker eyed the sack, the beanstalk and finally the sad eyes of Mother. It was then she remembered all the years of her childhood. The games they played, the stories they shared, and every little auspicious moment.
“Tinker, whatever you choose…you will always be my daughter.”
Though her heart ached and her tears burned, she made her choice long before anyone gave her a chance. And so she left her sack-she had no need of it- and gave Mother her last kiss goodbye…
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and then Add to home screen.