He would have never actually wanted to sit on the boy on purpose, not that Giant who had never had an ill intention in his bones for any one living.
But these things happen some times.
Some people just wander around, not paying attention as they crush the poor scarab that tries to cross the sidewalk. Not even the crispy exhalation the defenseless insect makes as it departs from this world is enough for people to notice the trail of the splattered exoskeleton left between the shoe and the ground.
Just the same it is that no one ever worries about the mosquito that flew right into the windshield of a car that is cares more about getting in a hurry to wherever it is it wants to get to, first before others.
But the Giant did care about the boy. As clumsy as he could be, he certainly was not inconsiderate nor incapable of feeling moved by such an incident. And perhaps it was due to this feeling that he had been compelled to check the boy's belongings, as to understand better who this boy had been before being splattered between the stone at the side of the river and the Giant's behind.
His eyes opened wide, in amazement for the sketchbook he found inside the boy's backpack. A smile from ear to ear brightened his face when, among the many sketches drawn by the boy, there was one of the giant himself, seen from a distance and sitting on the very same rock in which he and the boy had shared at the same time for one single moment just before realizing of the consequences of his clumsiness...
The Giant got even happier as he also found out that there wasn´t just one sketch of him, but many others as well, and that when he flipped the sketchbook pages one by one it almost looked as if the drawn Giant would become alive on his own and moved between the pencil lines.
Such a showing of talent dedicated to him made The Giant feel even more embarrassed by the incident,
and decided to honor his late artist by returning the favor. So, with his huge bare hands, he got to it and started sketching on the sketchbook's remaining blank pages.
It wasn´t easy for him, doing that. He broke every single pencil the boy had in his backpack and tore more than one page due to the frustrated back and forth movements made with the kneaded eraser.
But he didn´t stop trying. The boy deserved his best effort possible.
About a week later he had filled the whole sketchbook with the boy's portraits. To the expert eye, it was obvious that the Giant would never become a renowned artist, but to the Giant himself, who had had such a hard task on doing it, was the greatest accomplishment of his entire life.
He then started flipping the pages, one after the other.
And just like that, the boy was alive again!
He would run!
And jump!
Then run again!
And jump one more time!
Once and again, and as many times as the Giant so wished to.
And every single time it would end with the Boy looking at the Giant from the pages, smiling and waving his hand from one side to the other.
As if he were saying to the Giant that he was forgiven, that they could be friends.
And the Giant would smile back.
