Dylan crouched behind a dusty game controller on the living room floor, his tiny heart pounding. The air vibrated with the low hum of James’s music, a distant giant’s pulse. He’d been scavenging for days in this colossal house, but every move felt like a gamble. His stomach growled, reminding him of the crumbs he’d spotted earlier on the coffee table across the room—a risky trek through open terrain. *Safer to stay here,* he thought, glancing at the shadowed corners of the living room. But then his eyes caught a glint of something better: a plate on the table, piled with cheesy pizza, its greasy glow a beacon in the dim light.
“Food like that doesn’t last long around here,” Dylan muttered to himself, gripping the jagged edge of a pen cap he used as a makeshift spear. “Gotta move fast.”
The living room stretched like a canyon, its carpet fibers a tangled forest under his boots. He darted from cover to cover—a stray sock, a toppled soda can—each step a calculated risk. The table loomed ahead, its wooden leg a sheer cliff. Dylan slung a coil of thread over his shoulder, hooked it around a splinter, and began to climb, his arms burning with the effort. “Almost there,” he panted, hauling himself onto the tabletop.
The pizza was glorious up close, a steaming landscape of molten cheese and crust. Dylan scrambled over to the plate, his boots sticking slightly to the greasy surface. He tore off a chunk of cheese, savoring the warm, tangy bite. “Worth the trip,” he said, grinning, as he took another mouthful.
A sudden *creak* froze him mid-chew. He whipped around, eyes darting to the doorway. There stood James, his massive frame filling the space, textbook tucked under one arm. Dylan’s gaze shot upward, locking onto James’s eyes—dark, distracted, scanning the room. For a heart-stopping moment, Dylan thought he’d been spotted, but James’s focus settled on the pizza, not the tiny figure beside it.
“Oh, sweet, leftovers,” James rumbled, his voice a low quake. He lumbered forward, each step shaking the table.
Dylan dove behind a crumpled napkin, his pulse racing. “Not good, not good,” he whispered, peering out as James’s hand descended like a crane, scooping up the plate. The world tilted as James carried it to the couch and plopped down, the impact sending Dylan sprawling. He scrambled to his feet, only to see James lift a slice—the very slice Dylan had been eating from.
“No, no, no!” Dylan hissed, clinging to a ridge of crust as the pizza rose toward James’s face. The giant’s breath was a hot wind, his mouth a cavern opening wide. Dylan’s mind raced. Jump? Hide? Scream? None seemed like winning options as the slice tilted closer to oblivion.
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