1912. New York City, New York, USA.
"There... My parents and brother died that day. People in town always thought it was something with the horse, that it bolted and killed them. It was an accident, sir." I tried to not look the German in the eyes.
"Please, Miss MacKenzie," He said. His english sounded weird and foreign. He introduced himself as Johann Clas. He wore a grey suit that looked worn and old. His eyes were brown. Dark brown facial hair coded his mouth, neatly trimmed but stained at the edges by whatever he ate this morning. He never took his pen off the paper he was scribbling into. He just kept scribbling and scribbling. "Call me, Johann. My work at the USMS requires a more thorough explanation of what happened on the day of October 1st 1900. What really caused the accident?"
I murmured the answer. "Giants."
"Beg pardon, I didn't quite hear you-"
"Giants, sir." I looked up. I didn't have time for this nor could I spare the effort. This took away from time I could be working or anything else. I'm all I have in the world anymore. God dash it all. I thought. I decided to tell the story.
"You won't believe me, sir, but this is what happened..."
* * * * *
Early October meant Mother and Father had to prepare for the coming winter. We were expected to help of course, so my brother and I were in the back of the cart when we rode into town.
I was excited. Only ten years old, I always loved going on trips to town, even if it were just to purchase some goods at the general store. Sometimes Father or Mother would buy candy, sometimes not. With Grandfather back at the homestead, it was a rare treat I'd enjoy because I got to see things I normally could not.
Our homestead was too far away for regular visits to town, which now I feel my parents rather enjoyed. They didn't like people. Or having to deal with them, and the little homestead suited that need quite well.
We arrived in town, and none of us spoke. We took in the sight of the little Eastern Montana town, which to us was a big city back then.
"What is going?" Mother asked. I didn't hear her at first, my attention focused at seeing all the people. My blood rushed, my ears barely paying any attention to Mother or Father.
We rounded about a corner. Father slowed down, and he started to glance at all the people on rooftops. They were staring off in some direction, the same direction we were going.
"I don't know," Father said. He sounded confused. "What are they looking at?"
"Thunder!" I said, leaping up to my parent's seat. "I just heard thunder! Its going to be storm, isn't? But What happened to all the clouds?"
Then we turned onto the main street, and we saw why people were staring. Like scared sheep or deer, they all froze at the sight of something they should've known better than stay close to. Frozen in fear, not quite sure what to do next.
But what we saw lasted for an instance compared to them. My first sight of a giant was that of its fist crashing down and tearing apart the cart my family and I were riding in. I screamed. I felt wet. There were splinters.
My skin then felt so very dry and cold. I don't remember if there was pain. Perhaps youthful vigor gave me endurance. I didn't cry at the splinters or the scapes or blood. No. I cried and cried when I opened my eyes to see my mother's chest and head lifted into the sky. A giant's fist curled around her chest, taking it high into the air. Her dead legs were still on the ground, her intestines and the stench all around me.
Dead women don't scream, and my mother corpse didn't say a word.
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