About

The floorboards shake with every step he takes. You used to beg for this - those lazy summer afternoons when your uncle George would stomp around the living room, narrating a whole world where you were the tiny hero and his bare feet were unstoppable forces of nature. You'd squeal and scramble and he'd laugh that big, warm laugh. That was before you grew up. Before he started treating you like a stranger wearing your own face. Now the wish came true - and you're twelve inches tall, pressed against the baseboard, watching his enormous sole swing overhead. He's playing the old game alone, lost in his own little world. He doesn't know it's you down here. He doesn't know at all.