The Perfect Pedicure?
Your Life......Smaller
chapter 12
by
copier
· original author:
tfwnogiantgf
After brushing nonstop with the immense hair strand, you felt ready to break apart.
The familiar voice boomed above, like a declaration from the heavens: "...And so, 178212 + 184112 = 192212... If, like, you ignore a whole bunch of digits at the end, who probably weren't pulling their weight to begin with. Wait... Hold up, was this literature class, or science class? We were talking about how hard it is for plants to photosynthesize smoothies, frappes, and lattes, and then, like -"
Somewhere along the line - either minutes or hours in, you lost track of time - it reached time for your home-schooling. December decided to just start teaching in the middle of your work. For the sake of sanity, you had long relegated the titanic teacher's lessons to a background ambiance. It was just a part of the atmosphere, along with the rumbling every time she flexed a toe, or the swooshing of her hair and fingers through the skies above.
Trying to follow her logic provided very little comfort or distraction from the agony surging through your body. But it was done now. Entire stadiums of red polish - endless, unbroken polish - lay below you, behind you, all around you... And that was just on the tip of December's smallest toenail.
Over the horizon, her other toes rested in order, like a great mountain chain made from the curves of her dermis and keratin. The ceiling light gave them a warm, lambent sheen.
This was the fruit of your labors. Nearly breaking your back moving up and down each digit... Getting aches all over... Staining yourself with the crimson liquid several times... Getting caught in the place where the nails met her skin, which was like an immense canyon... Knocked across by her fidgets and itches... Once, falling off one of the "mountains" as her foot sweat built up - only saving yourself by grabbing a minuscule wrinkle between her toes... Occasionally having her blow on her nails to dry them, only to send you flying...
All this labor, a quest across gigantic landscapes, and this was the result: your older sister's nail polish looked MARGINALLY nicer than if she did it herself. The difference was hard to see even at your stature. It'd probably last for a few days before needing a new coat.
Still, you had to congratulate yourself for a job well done.
The nails' owner finished the lesson off thusly: "...And that's why this Socrates guy was the first late-night comedy show host. His trial was the original celebrity court scandal!" The planetoid-like face above leaned in closer, the speed of her movement sending you off-guard. Even her blinking created great winds, the lashes making a harsh noise as each follicle brushed together. "Oh, wow!" Her hands jumped to her mouth. "Wowwowow, this looks sooooo nice!"
December reached her hands over, each line in the palm large enough to consume you. A sickening shake knocked you over. She grabbed under her arches, and wiggled each gigantic toe in childish delight. You were swung back and forth, losing your sense of perspective. She actually twisted the foot you were on around some times, just to better examine your flawless work. Not only did the stadium of nail you were on shake like crazy; in the distance, the mountainous other toes stretched in and out, flexing with the greatest of ease, as if the world itself was changing shapes at December's whim. When she brought the other foot up, the dirt specks coating her sole were even bigger than you.
She slammed both feet to the floor, with the force of meteors. Fortunately, your hold on her was strong. Not to mention, the polish was sticky, and easy to hold onto. It still winded you, but you weren't hurt at all. There was the positive. That, and your sister's earnest smile. She lifted the layered magnifying glasses to spot you. Her gigantic lips spread out, her eyes lit up - colossal, but with no traces of mockery or judgement.
Total carelessness, maybe. Dangerous lack of regard, sure. But no malice.
"Thank you! I love them."
She gave the most gigantic thumbs-up you'd ever seen in your life. You couldn't do much but give it back. Knowing your voice would be too faint, you signed: "Did you expect any less?"
The young woman laughed, her voice ringing out from every direction. "Yeah! I kinda thought you'd mess up my nails and give up!"
At this, you couldn't help but wonder: "Why did you want me to paint them, then? Just so you'd have an excuse to get mad at me?"
She put her finger up, making a whizzing noise through the air. "Ah, you caught me! This was part of your secret education."
You gazed over the expanse of a face for a moment, puzzled. Your sister beamed with pride, just like when she discovered how to operate the toaster.
She said, "Moving your arms in circles like that builds up strength and good posture. So you've been training this whole time you were painting! I got the idea from a movie. It was all, 'wax on, wax off' and I thought - yeah, that could work!"
She smiled brighter, bearing her pearly teeth, as if expecting you to congratulate and thank her. The red polish on your body felt heavy and wet.
"...So," you started signing after a silence, "Mr. Miyagi gave you the idea to make me paint your toenails."
She nodded, the wind pressure from her blonde locks nearly blowing you off the toenail platform.
You continued: "And you expect me to... learn karate from this."
Another booming nod.
Almost worried, you asked: "Who am I supposed to fight with using karate at this size?"
The giant smile shrunk. Her "thinking" face came on to replace it - finger under her lip, gazing to the side blankly. Even when it was wider than twenty stadiums, you could recognize it. You could practically smell smoke as the wheels in her head turned to decipher her own logic. A look of panic struck her face as she grabbed her hair, pulling it as if it would make her brain go faster. "Uh, it's... Not about fighting or winning. It's... er..." Her face twisted sideways, before pointing to the distant ceiling. "About finding inner peace... and inner strength... and, uh, balance. Yes." She moved to a solemn expression, eyes shut in reverence. "Very spiritual stuff. Philosophical. You will learn in time, small padawan."
Well. That explained everything. She didn't mean any harm, so you tried to laugh it off. But after all the effort it took to get just to this point, you were just exhausted.
"Whatever, though! They look nice, that's what matters. I'll go out in sandals and tell everyone how great you are at painting. Ooh, maybe we can rent you out as a polisher!" She got up, taking a step forward - it felt like the whole world rose and fell, carrying you with it.
December stopped with one foot forward. "Whoops, forgot to take you off!"
She leaned over with a toothpick, the size of a tree trunk to you. It lodged between her index and thumb, and you were able to see the minuscule print it made on her skin as she moved it down. She placed it close enough for you to grab on to. That is, it would be close enough, if you could move your arms.
You squirmed, and forced with all muscles in your minuscule arms and legs. You wouldn't budge. Between gusts of wind from lectures and chats, and the movement of her hair, along with your attempts to move in closer during the gigantic steps, the nail polish around your body had dried. It merged with the rest of the nail's evenly-spread coat. You were trapped in the middle of your older sister's field of toenail polish.
Everything felt cold, even with the body heat around you. If only you had half-assed this... Or been more attentive of the stuff on your body...
She wagged the giant baton before your face impatiently. "Hey, come on, bro! I'm holding it close enough, what's up?" The ease with which she manipulated the rod was terrifying - it took only the tiniest twitch of her wrist for the whole pillar before you to fly around. Even a simple flick could snap this mighty trunk in two splinters.
You shouted: "I'm stuck here!", knowing she couldn't hear. Your neck couldn't move, forcing your gaze up to the looming face and miles of legs above.
The face looked puzzled for a second, before realizing what it meant. "Oooh. Stuck. That's bad!" She put on the thinking face again, tapping her foot. "I know. I've got some nail polish remover. Don't move!"
The request was easy enough to follow. Even with each horrific rise-and-fall motion from the steps, you had no way of resisting. All you could do was try to keep a positive mindset.
She opened a dresser, but paused. "Waitaminnut. I threw it all out when it dropped on my magazines and law school application." She twitched, shaking you. "Awww, I really really want to get out and show your work off, though! And if I scratch too hard, I'll ruin it all!" She looked to you, and shouted (some decibels too loudly): "What do I do? This is my most complex dilemma since Rouge's birthday in sixth grade!"
Recovering, you could only shrug - or attempt to, still stuck hard to her nail. Did she even know you were unable to answer?
The familiar voice boomed above, like a declaration from the heavens: "...And so, 178212 + 184112 = 192212... If, like, you ignore a whole bunch of digits at the end, who probably weren't pulling their weight to begin with. Wait... Hold up, was this literature class, or science class? We were talking about how hard it is for plants to photosynthesize smoothies, frappes, and lattes, and then, like -"
Somewhere along the line - either minutes or hours in, you lost track of time - it reached time for your home-schooling. December decided to just start teaching in the middle of your work. For the sake of sanity, you had long relegated the titanic teacher's lessons to a background ambiance. It was just a part of the atmosphere, along with the rumbling every time she flexed a toe, or the swooshing of her hair and fingers through the skies above.
Trying to follow her logic provided very little comfort or distraction from the agony surging through your body. But it was done now. Entire stadiums of red polish - endless, unbroken polish - lay below you, behind you, all around you... And that was just on the tip of December's smallest toenail.
Over the horizon, her other toes rested in order, like a great mountain chain made from the curves of her dermis and keratin. The ceiling light gave them a warm, lambent sheen.
This was the fruit of your labors. Nearly breaking your back moving up and down each digit... Getting aches all over... Staining yourself with the crimson liquid several times... Getting caught in the place where the nails met her skin, which was like an immense canyon... Knocked across by her fidgets and itches... Once, falling off one of the "mountains" as her foot sweat built up - only saving yourself by grabbing a minuscule wrinkle between her toes... Occasionally having her blow on her nails to dry them, only to send you flying...
All this labor, a quest across gigantic landscapes, and this was the result: your older sister's nail polish looked MARGINALLY nicer than if she did it herself. The difference was hard to see even at your stature. It'd probably last for a few days before needing a new coat.
Still, you had to congratulate yourself for a job well done.
The nails' owner finished the lesson off thusly: "...And that's why this Socrates guy was the first late-night comedy show host. His trial was the original celebrity court scandal!" The planetoid-like face above leaned in closer, the speed of her movement sending you off-guard. Even her blinking created great winds, the lashes making a harsh noise as each follicle brushed together. "Oh, wow!" Her hands jumped to her mouth. "Wowwowow, this looks sooooo nice!"
December reached her hands over, each line in the palm large enough to consume you. A sickening shake knocked you over. She grabbed under her arches, and wiggled each gigantic toe in childish delight. You were swung back and forth, losing your sense of perspective. She actually twisted the foot you were on around some times, just to better examine your flawless work. Not only did the stadium of nail you were on shake like crazy; in the distance, the mountainous other toes stretched in and out, flexing with the greatest of ease, as if the world itself was changing shapes at December's whim. When she brought the other foot up, the dirt specks coating her sole were even bigger than you.
She slammed both feet to the floor, with the force of meteors. Fortunately, your hold on her was strong. Not to mention, the polish was sticky, and easy to hold onto. It still winded you, but you weren't hurt at all. There was the positive. That, and your sister's earnest smile. She lifted the layered magnifying glasses to spot you. Her gigantic lips spread out, her eyes lit up - colossal, but with no traces of mockery or judgement.
Total carelessness, maybe. Dangerous lack of regard, sure. But no malice.
"Thank you! I love them."
She gave the most gigantic thumbs-up you'd ever seen in your life. You couldn't do much but give it back. Knowing your voice would be too faint, you signed: "Did you expect any less?"
The young woman laughed, her voice ringing out from every direction. "Yeah! I kinda thought you'd mess up my nails and give up!"
At this, you couldn't help but wonder: "Why did you want me to paint them, then? Just so you'd have an excuse to get mad at me?"
She put her finger up, making a whizzing noise through the air. "Ah, you caught me! This was part of your secret education."
You gazed over the expanse of a face for a moment, puzzled. Your sister beamed with pride, just like when she discovered how to operate the toaster.
She said, "Moving your arms in circles like that builds up strength and good posture. So you've been training this whole time you were painting! I got the idea from a movie. It was all, 'wax on, wax off' and I thought - yeah, that could work!"
She smiled brighter, bearing her pearly teeth, as if expecting you to congratulate and thank her. The red polish on your body felt heavy and wet.
"...So," you started signing after a silence, "Mr. Miyagi gave you the idea to make me paint your toenails."
She nodded, the wind pressure from her blonde locks nearly blowing you off the toenail platform.
You continued: "And you expect me to... learn karate from this."
Another booming nod.
Almost worried, you asked: "Who am I supposed to fight with using karate at this size?"
The giant smile shrunk. Her "thinking" face came on to replace it - finger under her lip, gazing to the side blankly. Even when it was wider than twenty stadiums, you could recognize it. You could practically smell smoke as the wheels in her head turned to decipher her own logic. A look of panic struck her face as she grabbed her hair, pulling it as if it would make her brain go faster. "Uh, it's... Not about fighting or winning. It's... er..." Her face twisted sideways, before pointing to the distant ceiling. "About finding inner peace... and inner strength... and, uh, balance. Yes." She moved to a solemn expression, eyes shut in reverence. "Very spiritual stuff. Philosophical. You will learn in time, small padawan."
Well. That explained everything. She didn't mean any harm, so you tried to laugh it off. But after all the effort it took to get just to this point, you were just exhausted.
"Whatever, though! They look nice, that's what matters. I'll go out in sandals and tell everyone how great you are at painting. Ooh, maybe we can rent you out as a polisher!" She got up, taking a step forward - it felt like the whole world rose and fell, carrying you with it.
December stopped with one foot forward. "Whoops, forgot to take you off!"
She leaned over with a toothpick, the size of a tree trunk to you. It lodged between her index and thumb, and you were able to see the minuscule print it made on her skin as she moved it down. She placed it close enough for you to grab on to. That is, it would be close enough, if you could move your arms.
You squirmed, and forced with all muscles in your minuscule arms and legs. You wouldn't budge. Between gusts of wind from lectures and chats, and the movement of her hair, along with your attempts to move in closer during the gigantic steps, the nail polish around your body had dried. It merged with the rest of the nail's evenly-spread coat. You were trapped in the middle of your older sister's field of toenail polish.
Everything felt cold, even with the body heat around you. If only you had half-assed this... Or been more attentive of the stuff on your body...
She wagged the giant baton before your face impatiently. "Hey, come on, bro! I'm holding it close enough, what's up?" The ease with which she manipulated the rod was terrifying - it took only the tiniest twitch of her wrist for the whole pillar before you to fly around. Even a simple flick could snap this mighty trunk in two splinters.
You shouted: "I'm stuck here!", knowing she couldn't hear. Your neck couldn't move, forcing your gaze up to the looming face and miles of legs above.
The face looked puzzled for a second, before realizing what it meant. "Oooh. Stuck. That's bad!" She put on the thinking face again, tapping her foot. "I know. I've got some nail polish remover. Don't move!"
The request was easy enough to follow. Even with each horrific rise-and-fall motion from the steps, you had no way of resisting. All you could do was try to keep a positive mindset.
She opened a dresser, but paused. "Waitaminnut. I threw it all out when it dropped on my magazines and law school application." She twitched, shaking you. "Awww, I really really want to get out and show your work off, though! And if I scratch too hard, I'll ruin it all!" She looked to you, and shouted (some decibels too loudly): "What do I do? This is my most complex dilemma since Rouge's birthday in sixth grade!"
Recovering, you could only shrug - or attempt to, still stuck hard to her nail. Did she even know you were unable to answer?
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June 6
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