Samedi

Weldon stayed up all night, typing away, working on his vision. He’d had a few false starts but the foundation was good, and with some minor revisions he was in good shape. He spun slowly in his chair, stretching, looking out the window. The sun was coming up, outside of the view from his balcony, tingeing the sky rose and salmon. He reached for the keyboard, paused, then pulled back and got out of his chair. 

The blood rushed into his derriere. He’d been sitting so long, his knees were stiff and his ankles cracked impressively as he staggered to the kitchen. Nothing but two bottles of Perrier in the fridge and half a carton of house special egg foo yung. Weldon pursed his lips and made a note on the fridge: “Buy Some Merde!” 

He ran his fingers through his hair and stalked out to the balcony. Despite there being all of Paris on display for him, the city felt empty without the lovely muse towering next to him. He missed her, but he knew that it was good to have someone to miss. 

The story was coming along. It was about a giantess, but he turned the trope on its head. It wasn’t a sexy story: it came long after the sexiness went away. He wrote about a giantess growing old by herself in the mountains. When she was young there had been a village in the valley, and the men from the village would visit her, gratifying themselves at her expense, leaving her gifts. Now she was old and the men didn’t come around anymore. The boys grew up and moved away so the village dried up and died. But this was the giantess’s home: she still looked at her reflection in the lake when she did her hair. She knew herself, she loved herself, but she detested a world that told her she only had worth as long as men wanted to fuck her. Weldon rolled his shoulders and went back to his typewriter to finish it up. As soon as he wrote the last word, he felt her.

Weldon turned around, expecting to see his muse standing behind him. But there was no one there. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes, thinking it was just his tired mind playing tricks on him.

But then he felt her presence again, stronger this time. He closed his eyes and focused, trying to sense where she was. He felt a pull towards the balcony, and he rushed outside.

And there she was, standing tall and magnificent, the giantess he had written about in his story. She was looking down at him, her face weathered with age but still beautiful. Weldon gasped in amazement.

“I heard your story,” the giantess said, her voice deep and rumbling like thunder. “And I wanted to see the man who wrote it.”

Weldon stumbled backwards, overwhelmed by the presence of this creature that he had only imagined in his mind. “You’re real,” he whispered.

The giantess chuckled. “Of course I’m real. And so are all the other stories you’ve written, all the characters you’ve created. We exist in a different realm, but we are real nonetheless.”

Weldon couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “But why are you here? Why did you come to me?”

The giantess looked down at him, her eyes kind and wise. “Because your story gave me hope. It reminded me that I am more than just a body to be used and discarded. I am a person with my own worth and my own value, even if the world doesn’t see it that way.”

Weldon felt a lump form in his throat. He had never imagined that his words could have such an impact on someone else’s life, especially someone as extraordinary as the giantess. “I’m so glad,” he managed to say.

The giantess smiled down at him. “Thank you, Weldon. You have given me a gift that I will always treasure.”

And with that, she turned and walked away, her massive footsteps echoing across the city. Weldon watched her go, feeling a sense of awe and wonder that he would never forget. He went back inside, sat down at his typewriter, and began to write again, with a newfound sense of purpose and inspiration.

Written in collaboration with ChatGPT