Published in “Tapestry of Tales and Poetry” by the Writers of Brant. 2025
The security system is on, and the Library is officially closed. It’s a little after nine, and getting dark on this hot August night. I check the front door one final time to ensure it’s locked, and cross the street to the parking lot, where my lonely car awaits.
I turn the MP3 player on, and Keiji Haino’s electric guitar seeks unattainable resolutions through chaos, drilling electricity into my third eye. I’m pumped for my 22-minute drive to my nondescript one-bedroom apartment. The chaotic music jolts my senses to a heightened state of awareness.
My awareness is quickly tested when a unicyclist, sitting backwards and looking over his shoulder, recklessly darts in and out of busy traffic and right in front of…my car! I slam the brakes and shake my head as I watch him continue his dangerous journey. I open my window and scream at his fading visage, “You’re going to get killed! Idiot!” I close my window, satisfied.
Something weird always happens on these drives home.
&&&
After my adventure with the unicyclist, now the lights in my rear-view mirror are getting brighter and filling my vision with white light. The car behind is too close and is going to rear-end me! I prepare to bump from car to car, like a silver ball in a pinball machine. I look ahead…sweating…anticipating. The jolt doesn’t come.
I look in my rear-view, and he’s so close to my bumper that I can’t see his headlights. My attempt to stay focused is middling. I sense him, centimetres, if not millimetres, from me. One more millimetre, and my car will spiral out of control into the busy intersection, as a 16-wheeler approaches at 110 kilometres an hour…
Why are the other drivers not reacting to this dangerous maniac? Where are the cops to save me from this tailgater? I look in the rear-view mirror again, and…and…a shiver goes down my spine as the driver’s face comes into clear focus. There is no deviation from your average dangerous driver, but something is “off”. He exudes no emotion…he’s blank…dangerously blank.
I try in vain to get my attention focused on the traffic. I’m shocked I haven’t spiralled into an approaching 36-wheeler going at 120 kilometres an hour…
This is too much!!! He’s still millimetres from me, and now…I can’t believe it! He’s flashing his high beams! This has gone on long enough! I have to teach him a lesson.
I start braking far in advance of the approaching red light, and come to a complete stop 20 feet behind the car in front. I chuckle nervously. He hasn’t hit me…yet. I drive up to the car in front and wait for the light to change. Hopefully, he’ll heed the lesson and smarten up. I look in my rear-view mirror and…
What the…???
He didn’t drive to the light with me; instead, he got out of the car and is walking towards me, and he’s…he’s…he’s getting bigger. Are my eyes deceiving me? He’s getting larger with each step and must be over seven feet tall.
The traffic moves, and I follow suit. My hands are shaking. I glance in the rear-view to see if my eyes have deceived me.
No.
He’s still walking towards me and getting larger with each stride. He’s gaining ground! I look around desperately, hoping for assistance. The police? The army? Anyone? Why does no one else notice this exponentially growing modern-day King Kong? The driver who was behind the Giant’s car calmly went into the right lane and continued his journey, blithely ignoring the 15-foot giant walking down the street. Where’s the panic? The sirens??
Oh no.
I’m approaching a red light. The Giant will catch up to me. He’s still growing. I misjudge my stop and have to slam on my brakes to avoid sending the car in front spiralling into a semi-truck speeding at over 125 kilometres an hour…
I slump behind the wheel and look to my left.
A giant eyeball with red veins fills my driver’s window with venomous rage. The eyeball is fuming…the red veins float like angry worms. I close my eyes and anticipate the end…this is it…killed by Gulliver’s Tailgater.
* honk honk *
The honking startles my senses. The light has turned green. The giant stretches to his full 50-foot frame and steps over two lanes of traffic. I stare at his 60-foot frame disappearing over the horizon. The honking increases in anger, and it’s directed toward me…not at the 65-foot giant. My body vibrates from head to toe, and I continue my journey.
The shaking of my body ebbs as I rejoin the rhythm of the road. I must have been dreaming. How could it possibly be real? I probe my brain for a logical explanation. How could no one else notice a 70-foot raging giant stomping down the street at 9:15 on a hot Thursday evening? What about the unicyclist? Was he part of the dream? Am I still dreaming?
I no longer see the 75-foot giant.
&&&
I’m in my nondescript one-bedroom apartment and grab my “special” pills, sit down in my favourite chair and close my eyes. No more fighting with tailgaters, I need to chill out! I need to rise above! Relax.
* breathe *
Why am I sweating profusely? Uneasiness has crept into my emotional basket. I try to relax.
* breathe *
Why are my eyes not opening? Something’s going on.
* breathe *
This uneasy feeling
will send me
to the grave,
when will
this distraught soul
be saved?
Hmm…not bad. Wait! That’s the right idea! Write! The first thing I need to do is open my eyes. Why are they shut so tight? I eventually pry them open and turn towards the glass balcony door overlooking the backyard from my 2nd-floor apartment.
A red-veined, raging, fuming eyeball fills my balcony door.
My body shakes violently. This can’t be real. It has to be a dream. My mind moves a million miles an hour trying to wake itself from this nightmare. Wake up! The bloodshot, wormy eyeball is still staring daggers into me.
I conclude that whether it’s reality or a dream, I need to confront the giant. The thought of pleading for my life flits through my mind. We are talking about an 85-foot giant! He could squish me between his fingers, like an inconvenient insect.
The angry, raging, maniacal bloodshot eyeball follows me as I put my shoes on. I don’t look at him. I don’t need to. I know he’s there.
I leave my apartment, confused as to why there are no sirens, no screaming, no panic in the streets…even though a 105-foot giant is in a backyard surrounded by 75 apartments?
What the hell? I look in all directions, and it doesn’t change the fact that there is no giant. I’ve lost my mind. There truly is something wrong with me.
No…I’m just dreaming. I’ll wake up soon.
&&&
I return to my apartment and grab more pills. I need to relax! A feeling of dread shoots through my body. I didn’t look towards the balcony when I came in. A cold chill shoots through every nerve…every cell…every pore. I look out my balcony door…
…and the bloodshot, raging eyeball is staring at me! I’m quivering and prostrate on the ground. Am I praying? I don’t believe in a “god”. Do I? I don’t know what to believe…I hope I’m dreaming!
I pick myself up from the ground, put my shoes on, and head down to discuss this situation with the Giant. I’m holding the script of the drama, and I peek a few pages ahead. I know the next plot twist.
There will be no giant in the backyard.
When I get to the backyard, I look in all directions, and, as expected, there is no 120-foot giant here. I return to my apartment and know what I will find. A raging eyeball staring at me through the balcony door, followed by a giant-free zone in the 25 seconds it takes me to get to the backyard. I follow the script (of my dream?) and go back and forth six more times.
When will I wake from this dream? This play? There are no sirens…nothing but eerie silence. How can I be the only person who sees a 130-foot giant at 10 o’clock, in the suburbs, on a hot Thursday night? Impossible…therefore, I must be dreaming.
I start screaming. That will end the dream. I scream as loud as I can…then louder. The giant is opening the balcony door with the tip of his little finger. I scream louder. Why am I not waking up???
He is attempting to squeeze his finger through the balcony door. It’s stuck. The giant’s finger is stuck in the door. I stop screaming and stare as he tries unsuccessfully to wiggle it free.
We’re at an impasse.
I take a step towards the finger. What am I doing? Why am I not calling 911?! I’m not thinking straight. If it’s NOT a dream…call 911! If it’s a dream…call 911! Instead…
I take another step towards the finger. The finger is motionless, watching my every move. I’m four feet from the finger. One small step, and I’ll be able to touch the tip of the finger. (Call 911!)
I lift my right foot and take the final step. All of a sudden…Oh My God!!!
&&&
“That was quite the night,” Neighbour 207 told New Neighbour 206. “He was a friendly sort, but didn’t say much. Anyway, I’m watching ‘Crazy Rich Asians’ – do you like that show? I love it. Anyhow…this screaming comes from 206….and it was…I never heard screaming like that before. It was like something from a horror movie! I’m not afraid to tell you, I was scared…it was terrifying! I heard sirens, and I knew they were coming to 206. I saw them break into his apartment, and I couldn’t help myself. I peeked into 206 and saw him shaking, pointing to the balcony door and screaming, ‘Don’t you see it? The giant finger? It’s right there. He was tailgating me! The finger! The finger!’ It was crazy! Never seen anything like it. Don’t want to ever again! I heard he was hallucinating that a 150-foot giant was in our backyard, and its finger was stuck in his balcony door. The giant was also a unicyclist and a tailgater! Imagine that!”
The lady from 207 leaned in closer to New Neighbour 206 and whispered conspiratorially, “I knew he wasn’t one of us.”
December 26, 2018
Re-Written: July & August, 2025.