Ranshel Point

I am an island in a land of giants.

Not enough people are ever worried about these giants, these tempermental, fickle creatures who traipse about at night.

Each step rattles me to my core. Each pillaging wracks my soul with tears. Each sloppy slaughter churns my stomach.

I suppose it’s all just as well that they cannot see me. God, I hope they really can’t see me.

Every time I look up at them, do you know what I see? Not their knees, round and knotty, not their distended guts, not their concrete arms.

I see their ankles. Green, like the rest of them. Fortuitous like great wide oaks. Protectorates of some onry unworthy king.

Their size would frighten me less if they didn’t spend so much time engaging in acts of destruction and mayhem. All that is left in this world, all they have managed to let alone, is me. Me, the island. They walk around and about me, sparking up tidal waves that cleanse my shores of the blood. But they just don’t notice me. And that is alright so far, that keeps me alive for a bit.

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