Bigger Than Life

Chapter 5: Paul

(OVER 300 READS!! WHAT!!! i'm glad u guys like this thing i put together! now that paul is finally introduced, it'll be easier for me to write for... and theres a few more characters to come!i hope u enjoy!)

All this fear and build-up, all this stomping around and being way too fucking huge, and he's ASKING you if you're OK? Hell no. Fuck this guy.

"NO I am NOT OKAY!" You snapped, your exhaustion turning quickly to frustration, "What do you want from me? Just get it out in the open, right now. What are you going to do to me? Tell me so I can start preparing myself."
You were too tired for mind games. If he was going to kill you, you wanted to know right then and there. No bullshitting.

The giant furrowed his eyebrows and tightened his lips. Was he mad? Hurt?
"I..." he started, his voice quieter, and more controlled, "I-I mean I dunno yet? I guess it depends on what you WANT me to do, little friend."
He lowered you away from himself, as if he was frightened you were going to yell at him again. Cowardly as it seemed, it could be an act, for sure. You couldn't be too careful. You clenched your hands into fists.

"I WANT you to stop existing. I WANT my life to make sense again. I WANT to go home and get the therapy I need for hallucinating all of this. You are not real!," You shouted, earning a wince, "Giants aren't real! I must be in a coma. This has to be a dream. I can't... this can't be happening."

His deep blue eyes blinked expectantly. But when he realized you'd finished your rant, he said the only response he could come up with.

"Okay... so... for your sake, I hope this isn't happening. BUT, if it IS happening, we should share our names just in case. Riiiight?"
You didn't respond.
He chuckled to full the awkward silence, and rested one fingertip on your shoulder as if to remind you he was still there.
"I guess I'll start! My name is Paul Matthew Bunyan. Paul was one of the Lord's disciples, I think, and Matthew wrote the bible. I think."

Can't blame him for being rusty on his Christian history. He is over a hundred years old, isn't he? I'm not quite sure. My son made him.

You pushed his finger away.
"Fine. My name is (Y/N)."

His name sounded strikingly familiar. Paul Bunyan... you felt as if you'd heard of him before, but you just couldn't put your finger on any specific memory. Maybe you were thinking of someone similar... or someone different, with the same name. His appearance just failed to click with anything in your head.

Yes, that'd be my fault. When we drove the monsters off of Earth, he wiped them from humanity's collective memory, too. I think they call it the Mendela Effect? Humans love putting arbitrary names on things they can't explain.

Paul smiled, and you realized that he had two buck teeth. Like a beaver!
"Well its nice to meet you, Y/N!!!" He exclaimed, loud enough to make you need to cover your ears, "I love that name! I think I went to school with a kid named Y/N!"
He jerked his hand upwards without meaning to, making you go airborne for a few seconds too long before you landed on the edge of his hand. Against your better judgement, you looked down.

A fall from this height would severely injure you, if it didn't kill you first.

He gasped, realizing he'd almost dropped you. "Eep!" He yelped. He cupped his hand to his chest protectively, bringing you along with it.

He smelled like fresh, natural pine. It was stronger than a car's air freshener, but not at all hard on the olfactory. You couldn't help but notice, now that you were pressed flush against his flannel shirt. He was careful not to squeeze your bad arm as you felt him seemingly walk to a different location. Before his pleasantly clean smell grew suffocating, he opened up his hand and sat you down on a hard, rough surface.

You observed your surroundings with wide, fascinated eyes.

Being inside the cabin was somehow more breathtaking than being outside of it. It was VERY small, all one single room, but the craftsmanship of the windows, beams, and furniture was impressive for someone with fingers bigger than the average person's own legs.
You were sitting upon a crude table, sanded down to near smoothness (because his fingers can only sense so much). Facing the doorway out, there was a wide open window on your right, and an enormous bed on your left. The bed's sheets were made of the same fabric as his shirt, which led you to wonder if there was a giant fabric store in this crazy world you were in. In the far left corner, across from the bed, there was a wood burning stove, with various pots and tools piled up on the floor beside it.

The detail was incredible. You could see every little grain in the wood, all the rings of every plank's respective age. You felt microscopic in this modest little cabin. You could get lost just looking for an exit.

Looking just behind yourself, you saw something that might have disturbed you if Paul wasn't as friendly as he had been.
A huge cutting board, knife, and fork.

If he wasn't going to eat you, what WAS he going to eat?

Almost like you were sharing a wavelength, Paul asked you a question.
"Are you hungry, Y/N?" he inquired, sitting down on the bed beside you.

"I don't know," You replied, "Are you?"

Paul leaned back against the wall and twiddled his thumbs on his belly. He was bashful about answering, which made you a bit nervous. The question reentered your mind.
If he's not going to eat you, what is he going to eat?
You realized with an anxious shiver then that he never SPECIFIED he wasn't the type to eat people. You got the chills just thinking about the possibility you might be one of the lucky ones who got stranded out here.

Or one of the unlucky ones. He hasn't answered yet. Perhaps he's looking for a protein rich lunch.

God, did you hate that little nagging voice.

You heard the giant gulp dryly.
"Well..." he started, "Yeah. I didn't eat breakfast. I am kinda hungry."

You noticed he had his gaze fixed on the stove and cooking supplies.
Yikes.