Your resolve is ironclad. You begin the treacherous journey out of the warm, safe cavern of your mother's bra. The world suddenly becomes cold and vast as you emerge onto the vast expanse of her shoulder. The fabric of her dress is a slick, steep incline, but you scurry down it with practiced speed, a tiny spider on a mission.
Reaching the strap of her dress, you use it as a bridge to cross over to her arm. The skin here is softer, the terrain rolling and unfamiliar. You can feel the subtle flex of her muscles beneath you as she moves. Her pulse beats faintly through the veins in her forearm, a slower, deeper rhythm than the frantic beat of your own heart.
You position yourself on the back of her hand, clinging to the fine hairs like ropes on a rigging. The timing has to be perfect. You watch through the gaps between her fingers as she retrieves her wallet. Here it comes. She extends her hand, holding a sleek, silver credit card out towards Gia. The world lurches as her hand moves forward. This is your chance. You brace yourself, coiling your tiny muscles, preparing for the death-defying leap from the familiar territory of your mother onto the plastic plains of the credit card, and the new world it leads to.
The world becomes a blur of motion. You launch yourself from the edge of the credit card, a microscopic daredevil performing the ultimate stunt. For a heart-stopping second, you are airborne, soaring through the vast, cavernous space between the two giantesses. The air currents threaten to send you spiraling into the abyss below, but you tuck and roll, aiming true.
You land with a soft *thump* on the vast, warm plain of Gia's hand. Her skin is softer than your mother's, with a faint, sticky residue from handling syrups. The scent of vanilla and sugar is overwhelming. You freeze, holding your breath, hoping you haven't been felt.
"Oh! Thank you!" Gia says, her voice booming directly overhead. You feel the vibrations of her speech travel up your legs. She takes the card, her fingers curling around it, inadvertently trapping you in a cage of warm flesh. The pressure is immense, but not crushing. You are pinned between her thumb and forefinger.
She fumbles with the card reader, her clumsy motions jostling you violently. "Stupid thing... why won't it..." she mutters. In her frustration, she adjusts her grip, and her thumb slides over you. The sheer weight of her digit presses down, grinding you into the skin of her palm. The air is forced from your lungs, and for a terrifying moment, you think this is the end!