A description of the fantastical creature the giiant and its remote island
Once upon an hour, there was a town called Chocolate Lemon. No, not “Chocolate Lemon,” but chO-cO-laht leh-mOne. This town only lasted for an hour in our time, but for millions of years in the time of the giiants. And no, that was not a typo: they are called giiants. Why? I’ll tell you why. Unlike the giants you know, giiants not only have (had, I should say) two eyes, but also two i’s.
This town was not unusual in any way you would think. It was occupied by giiants: small, wiry creatures that always floated an inch off of the ground. This town was on an island in the middle of the sea, the farthest away it could possibly be from wherever you live. From above, the island looked like a French horn, its coils wrapping in and around itself like intestines. On the kind of triangle-shaped part, the mouthpiece of the horn, lived the prime ministers, six of them to be exact. To be a prime minister, you had to be in your prime. You had to be in the prime of your career and the prime of your life. The prime of your life was hard to predict, but for most giiants it was around 30. Due to this prime predicament, the prime ministers were always changing. One could never remember more than three of the names of the current prime ministers, let alone all of them.
Now, you may recall earlier that I said that the land of the giiants only lasted for an hour in our time. That is completely true. In fact, this story is all about how Chocolate Lemon came to an end. You might have just gasped and wiped a tear from your eye, for you think that endings are very sad indeed. If you are that kind of person, I suggest you stop reading this story right now.
It all started in a children’s school on the east side of the island. The students were listening to a very important safety lesson on zombie apocalypses when a young giiant raised her hand.
“What is it, Gary?” said the teacher. “Is it a question about zombie apocalypses?”
“No.” Gary shook her head sadly. She was going to ask why giiants had two eyes.
“Ok,” said the teacher. “Let’s get back to our lesson. Let’s run through the drill one more time . . . ” She turned around to face the wall, and then suddenly jumped back around and yelled, “Zombie attack!”
“Ahhh!” all the kids screamed and crawled under their desks.
“Good, good, good . . .” said the teacher, scanning the rows of huddling children. She came across a boy kneeling outside of his desk, struggling to get his rather large head under it. “Suzie . . .” she said warningly to the cowering boy. “The zombies have eaten you by now. Go sit in the timeout chair.”
Suzie stood up and walked over to a wooden chair in the corner, sitting down on it with a thud.
“Wait!” he said, raising his hand. “How will I be able to get under my desk quickly when the zombies come?”
The teacher thought for a bit, processing it. She knew it would make no difference to Suzie, for it took him so long to get his head under the desk. Suddenly, she had an idea.
“Class,” she said, “from now on, we’ll have our whole class under our desks. You have time to get under now so that when the zombies come, you’ll be ready.”
The kids all groaned and crawled under their desks. They hated being under the desks because their heads always got smushed against the top. On the ground they’d be fine, but their floating inch pushed them up just enough to be squished.
One good thing about lessons under the desk is that there were no lessons. The teacher’s desk was the kind of desk where the part where the chair goes is open, but the part in front of your legs is closed off. The teacher taught lessons upon lessons from under that desk, but nobody could see or hear her. To pass the time, the students talked, knowing that the teacher couldn’t hear them behind the thick desk.
“Hey,” said Gary to the boy next to her named Lily. “Do you know why we have two eyes?”
“Dunno,” said Lily. “To see stuff I guess.”
“Want one of mine?” said Gary, popping out one of her eyes. This might sound kind of gruesome to you, but for giiants it was normal. Their eyes popped on and off cleanly and painlessly, so they popped them off all of the time. They took them off to go to sleep or during a scary movie.
“Sure,” said Lily, taking it and sticking it on his forehead. Now he understood what the strange blank space above his eyes was for.
Well, that sweet little classroom scene was, as they say, the beginning of the end. Gary’s one-eyed fad became the look of the year. EVERYONE was doing it.
Soon, a new dump was created in the middle of town solely for throwing away unneeded eyeballs. Sadly, Lily’s three-eyed statement was short-lived, and eventually, even he got rid of his two extra eyeballs.
It was three years and two days after that scene when the giiants not only took away their extra eyes, but also their extra i’s.
Later that year (in giant time), the issue of having only one eye was brought up between the prime ministers. They were evenly divided on the issue, which brought up the issue of hiring another prime minister to make an odd number so that this would not happen again. This brought up the issue of whether seven or even six prime ministers were too many, which brought up the issue of the disastrously huge population of giants in Chocolate Lemon. This brought up the issue of expanding into another country, which brought up the issue of possible war. This brought up the issue of Chocolate Lemon not actually having a military, which brought up the issue of . . . well, you get the picture.
It was years (in giant time) until the prime ministers finally got back to the topic of one-eyedness. By then the prime ministers were different, and they decided that one-eyedness would become a regular part of giant culture. “Why do we need two?” they said. “One is plenty!” They also brought up the issue of foreheads being useless, but by the time they would’ve resolved that, the giants were long gone.
Now the extra eye was being popped out when babies were born, just like how umbilical cords are cut out when human babies are born.
In the year of the end of the giants, a huge issue came along that not even the prime ministers could solve. The number of eyeballs in the dump was so great that they had overflowed all over the town, into the streets and into the schools, and even into people’s homes. Finally, there was only one thing to do.
The giants fled to places all over the world. No one would take in these strange, one-eyed creatures, so they lived in the wild. Over deserts, jungles, mountains, and plains they wandered, trying to find a place to call home.
Over the years, evolution changed the giants to fit their one-eyed preferences. To compensate for their only being one of them, their eyes grew MUCH larger and moved to the middle of their foreheads. Their bodies grew bigger and bigger to make up for their one eye. Their weight made them no longer able to float, so to compensate for both this and their width, the giants grew to be taller than anything else on Earth.
Oh, and another thing had changed. Now when humans saw them, they wouldn’t say, “What a weird little one-eyed creature.” They would scream, “CYCLOPS!”
A million years after the giants left Chocolate Lemon, the zombies invaded the little island. There were no giants, but there were millions of eyeballs for them to feast on. After they ran out
of eyeballs though, they were hungry again for human flesh.
I’m not pointing any fingers, but don’t you think it’s funny that sailors lost at sea are always last seen right near Chocolate Lemon?