It was needless to say that our heroes were barely taller than the baby’s foot, and thus she exerted much power over them. When she pounded on her wooden blocks, the earth shook. When she banged on the bars of her crib, their ears hurt.
The baby stripped our heroes of their clothing, as is one of the first curiosities a child has with their toys. As she was unfamiliar with male anatomy, she poked and prodded at our hero. She thought his anus was peculiar, and inserted her finger in there; our hero felt his insides might have burst, had she not tired of this exercise and put him in a milkmaid’s dress.
The baby slapped our heroes around in a fictional bucolic town, threw them into buildings, and ran them over with trains, which the giantess noted to her husband were not part of the countryside, and were fortunately made of very light plastic.
The baby grabbed the soldier, dressed in a shepherd’s outfit, put her gums over his head, and kept him in there, choking him. She then, in her children’s curiosity, took her mother’s scissors, and, satisfying another of a child’s curiosities, cut his head off, his blood released in spurts, which delighted her. She spilled blood all over the carpet, then returned the headless soldier to his crook by his sheep, and then fell asleep on the blood, in which state she urinated an ocean into her diaper, and defecated a mountain, which mountains of many mushed peas our heroes unfortunately had to waft.
Our heroes acted quickly. They fled from their posts, and then cut pieces of the baby’s diaper, dipping them into the bottle of whiskey the giant left behind, and poured whiskey into the bottle of milk. They then, with much disagreement among them, held onto a sewing needle left behind.
The baby awoke and, feeling hunger, groped for her milk. She became very drunk and stumbled through her wooden blocks and kicked aside her toy sheep, and found she barely had the mental faculties to manipulate any of our heroes. She cried; the giantess visited her, but found nothing wrong. She stumbled across her toys again, found she was still too inebriated and her head too dizzy, and cried again, but the giantess was reading a book. She cried herself to exhaustion, and laid on her back, staring at the ceiling with a blank expression.
Our heroes heated the end of the needle such that its sharp tip was red with heat. At the last minute, the mage, the businesswoman and the minotaur refused to go through with the ordeal. Our hero and the soldier bravely took the needle, climbed onto the baby’s chest, leapt onto her face, and plunged the needle through her eye. The baby wailed even louder, but the giantess had arrived at a very good part of the novel.
When the giantess did answer the baby’s pleas, she found the toy sheep scattered on the floor, impeding her entrance. She grabbed the lot of them and placed them on a nearby cabinet, not perceiving that our heroes clung to the undersides of these sheep. The giantess called the doctor; the doctor could do nothing for the baby’s sight; the giantess now had the surprisingly fun task of ordering eyepatches for her daughter.
Our heroes rejoiced, though our heroines felt intense guilt. However, during their celebration, they had noticed the wyrm, who ate at the tree’s roots and seemed content with gum, had climbed up and arrived into the palace, a worm compared to its inhabitants, and, after much looking around, aware of its inferiority, crawled and entered the daughter through an entrance, where the warmth would allow it to grow fat and birth its own young.
Though the baby had humiliated them, they endeavored to save her life. They climbed into the baby’s closet and knocked down one of the coat hangers. Through great effort of their own they straightened the wire of the hanger into a single spear. They marched with the spear towards the baby’s diaper, when the giantess entered the room, the eyepatch delivered same day.
She would have ended their lives had she not seen these ants try to speak. She put them to her ears, but found she could not hear them; she invented there a paper funnel in which their voices could be amplified. However, this did not work the other way around, and her voice was too loud to be understood, so she ingeniously used a toothpick to communicate with them.
Our heroes explained the situation to her, and so the mother, ignorant of any superior alternative, took the coat hanger and artfully, and with skill, and with patience that comes with being a mother, entered her daughter and fished out the wyrm. She kept the ants as her confidantes, and fed them very large pies, and gave them very large pitchers of mead, which, they lamented, the healer would have been very pleased with. She made beds out of her gloves and blankets out of her handkerchiefs, though it was very difficult to sleep, for something about the domestic setting caused a beast with two backs to appear, with the mage and minotaur conspicuously absent.
© 2025 Jay Lee