The Giant's Fall

The blank white noise of terror gripped at the pit of the giant’s belly. For years had he terrorized the denizens of nearby villages, for years had he exploited his natural gift of greater size and stature to subjugate the peasants. For years had he fed off the plates of the tillers of the soil and grown old and fat, his family had grown in size and he had begotten limbless offspring, for they had adapted to a life of ease and lack of need to exercise one’s limbs to eke out a living.

With time, his sight failed, his muscles weakened, his nimble limbs grew limp. The villages at the extremity of his realm withdrew from his liege-ship. Gradually his radius of influence shrunk and the day came when it shriveled to nothing. The wronged peasants drew up their cudgels and the frenzied mob frothed towards the cave of the fallen subjugator.

Ebullient blood cascaded out the hillside, the giant putting up a last stand, a clamorous battle ensued. In a last bid, the giant, with pulsating, raging veins beat back the rebels, and then, exhausted, he fell like a huge oak tree being felled.

One fat green eyed peasant settled the others. With soothing oily words, he convinced them that he would be a good replacement for the giant. The farmers picked him up on their shoulders and declared him their new liege-lord. The oldest, frailest among them remembered the moment many decades ago when the fallen giant started out in much the same way as the scene that was playing out now.

With a frantic palpitating heart, he shouted out a warning, “Fools! Don’t you see, he is the same as your fallen foe lying before you.

The bearers smiled, “Fret not old one, young be we, but not foolish!” They hurried out of the cave and quickly ascended to the summit of the mount, and with one powerful heave, they ejected their green eyed brother over the edge.