Introduction: welcome to the second part of my series on the day the monsters came. The introduction for this is the same as the one for yesterday’s story, so if you want more information go back and read that. If not, enjoy.
Sweat was dripping into Ishmael’s eyes, stinging them as he gasped for air. His legs were burning, and he couldn’t help wondering whether being fit was worth all this effort. Then, as he bent forward gasping for air, he spotted his belly protruding out from under his t-shirt. It was a stark reminder of why he was up here.
‘Morning’, a jogger shot past him, lightly climbing the hill as if it was the easiest thing in the world.
‘Cunt’, the world slipped out before he could stop himself, escaping between his heavy breaths. Panicking, he looked up, scared they’d heard. If they had, they ignored it, choosing to power off instead, getting ever closer to that heavenly peak.
‘Why can’t you do that?’ His brain cruelly taunted him, ‘too tired? Scared of a little pain? If you don’t want to be fat, fucking run.’
They weren’t the most inspirational words, but they worked. For a few seconds, he threw his legs forwards, frantically scrambling upwards, desperate to reach the top of the hill and bring this hell to an end.
It wasn’t to be.
Ishmael’s legs crumbled underneath him, sending him slumping to the floor, pathetically rolling over as his lungs begged for air.
‘Fuck’, he muttered, every part of him hurting. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!’ Ishmael sat-up, his sodden shirt sticking to him as he stared despondently over the city. At least the view was incredible, even if he wasn’t technically at the top.
The whole city was spread out before him, going from the green of the country to the grey brick of buildings and finally out to the shining blue of the sea. With the sun beating down on him and that beauty in front of him, what did it matter that he had a bit of a belly? Wouldn’t it be better to get off this hill and go find a nice beer garden with a cold pint? He could even grab a chocolate bar on the way. It was a Friday afternoon after all, what was wrong with enjoying yourself?
He knew exactly what he was doing, but he let it happen anyway. It was the story of his diet. Starts and stops. Lots of beginnings, a handful of middles, but never a glimpse of the end. There was always an excuse that stopped him getting there.
Looking out over the city, he thought about all the people out there getting on with their days. Every little car that drove past down below had at least one person in it. All the streets had someone walking along them, lost in their thoughts and completely unaware of his existence. Odds were they’d never think of him, not once in their entire life. What did it matter if he was fifteen stone or sixteen stone when you thought about it like that?
That argument proved to be the winner, and with a sigh of relief, he pulled himself to his feet, looking over the city once more before planning on making his way back down the hill.
It was it at that moment that he saw it. Something was rising out of the ocean, something that even viewed from miles and miles away was clearly huge. Huge and monstrous.
He looked around, desperately searching for someone, anyone to confirm what he was seeing. The jogger was long gone, though. He was alone, stuck on the side of a hill looking out at something that he couldn’t believe.
By the time he looked back, the hulking beast had reached the shore, where it’s massive size was confirmed. Far off buildings that would have towered over any other living creature were dwarfed next to it, and he could only watch in horror as a giant tail swung around, crunching through one like it was made of sand. Involuntarily, he let out a yelp and began bouncing up and down. He had to do something, didn’t he? What could he do?
As Ishmael watched, he realised there was nothing he could do. He could only stand there, watching on, as the world burned.