It is simply true that life is big and we are small and we have to find ways of managing that discrepancy and the resulting tension.
Excuse me, can I help you?
Are you lost?
Of course he might be mad, I thought, perhaps too late, as I attempt to ascertain the degree to which I’m already committed, already trapped. How much wriggle room is there?
Whose voice is that? The voice that says, get out, extricate yourself, don’t be a fool, you’re challenging the wrong person.
But it’s not one voice – it’s a whole chorus. The usual suspects.
He turns.
He’s much too big.
Too big for me.
A glowering hulk.
This is the stuff of being torn apart limb from limb. Trampled. Gore all over the place. Smashed flesh. Pulverised bones. Trampled into the earth until what used to be me is indistinguishable from the dust.
I just wondered if . . .
He turns from me as if sniffing the winds.
I take a breath and prepare for flight.
He returns his gaze to me like he’s checking out my cellular activity.
I stop breathing.
He takes a step towards me.
He’s as big as a block of flats.
I’m rooted to the spot.
Petrified.
In awe.
In a rush of panic and excitement questions flash and ricochet through my mind. I have to find out about him before it’s too late. I have to find out why he exists. What his story is. I have to get him on the TV news.
Then into the darkness, a darkness that’s full of glaring lights and harsh voices. Have I fainted? Systems overwhelmed, I’ve cut out. When I come to I can find no bruises, no broken bones. Nothing. Merely curled up, foetus like on the rough broken ground, all soft flesh and fragile bones, eyes inches from footprints the size of football pitches.