"Ewww," said Mala, the curly haired girl, to her brother Jake. She pointed accusingly at the bowl of guacamole below. "Did you see that?" she asked. Her older, nearly teenage, brother can only shrug. "A little bug fell into the dip."
"Nu-huh," her brother disagreed after having looked into the green mush and not seen so much as a speck in it.
"Yeah-huh," Mala argues. "It fell in right there." She points to the center of the dish.
Below
A finger-tip the size of an architectural dome hovers over you where your tiny head pokes out of the guacamole. It is so colossal and so close that the crests and trenches that form the finger print look to be furrows wide and deep enough to trap your body within them. The sight is as paralyzing as an eclipse and the shadow cast on you by the giant child's digit also compares to one. When it draws away you breath a sigh of relief and begin to unhook your parachute. 'Time to get out of here before I wind up on a chip.'
Above
"See," the girl said withdrawing her finger as if that proved the point.
Her brother Jake's freckled face grinned as he grabbed for a chip. "There's nothing in there and I'm gonna prove it."
"Yucky," the girl said recoiling on the other side of the picnic table. "Don't do it, I told you there's an itty-bitty bug in there."
Jake just smiled, incited all the more by his sister's revulsion, as he brought the corn-chip toward the bowl. He even made sure to aim it exactly where she'd pointed.
Below
The massive chip sinks deep into the the guacamole projecting you up for a moment upon a green gooey wave. When you come to rest you see the chip standing tall and triangular out of the dip like the fin of some megalithic shark. Then the sea of avocado below begins to rumble as the chip lifts you, along with a 100 tons of guacamole, out of the bowl. When it spins, you barely recognize the boy's mouth for what it is because of its size, the lips themselves would stretch many city blocks and you could probably fit townhouses in the cracks between his teeth.
In one last desperate attempt, you seek to signal the boy waving some of your white parachute in the air. "DON'T EAT ME!" you scream, knowing it will do even less good at your size, but unable to resist the building panic. The eyes far above register nothing, and below his mouth opens to a reveal a great dark vacuum that dominates your entire visage. You realize suddenly and with increasing dread that at your size it would be very possible for you to survive any chewing due to your extreme tininess. His mashing teeth might very well drive you body into one of the cracks between them unharmed or perhaps mortally injured and slowly bleeding to death. The thought of living your days out between his molars in constant fear of groping tongue and probing tooth-picks terrifies you now even more than the idea of being chewed to a pulp. The nightmare image drives out of your little lungs a truly wordless scream of helpless terror.
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