The Mouse Vignettes · Scene 7
This may shock you: I used to think of myself as a nice little mouse girl, all in all. That was a long time ago—in a sense—but in some ways, I still do. It’s strange to lie here across the ruins of a metropolitan airport, a third of a mile long from paws to eartips, and reflect on that. Air traffic won’t recover for days after what that nice little mouse girl did!
This does feel like the moment of truth, though. How far am I willing to push this? Just because I’m breaking the square cube law doesn’t mean I can break everything without…well, without breaking everything. On the other paw, where can this possibly end, other than breaking everything?
(I know how that sounds. It’s not what you think. Well, it is, but—oh, just trust me. It’s complicated.)
I sit up, then push myself to my full height, and start walking forward, watching the effects my steps have on the ground. Remember earlier when I said that giants had to be tremendous before just standing and walking would have serious ground effects? I’m more than there. Each step is its own miniature earthquake, shaking—or even bringing down—buildings all around me that aren’t under my paws.
Of course, this city is all on high alert; I can see fighter jets screaming toward me, and while I think I’m prepared for them, it might just be more fun if I—
All at once I’m standing in a different city. I wince as I watch buildings all around me blow down for a block, more damage than I’d do by walking even though I’m perfectly still. I might be breaking the square-cube law but I’m not breaking the “two things in the same place at the same time” law, and I just displaced an awful lot of air.
What around here is—oh. Hmm. A stadium in the distance. I’m pretty sure there’s a game going on.
I remember that cute delivery driver from a few adventures ago, the feeling of him under my paw, and an idea comes to mind. I think my ears are blushing, just a little, but now that it’s there it’s not going to go away, is it?
I walk forward, around the city, judging my size compared to the stadium, growing as I move. Well—I’m not walking around the city as much as through it, I realize. It’s not intentional, but nothing’s over thirty or forty stories! It’s like walking through high weeds.
Yes, definitely a game. I can see it when I crouch, although honestly not too clearly. It’s more like an abstract moving pattern, much more in the stands than on the field. How to do this?
A quick look around, and I take a seat on a flat, level area. Well, I suppose it is—was—an industrial park, but relative to me that might as well all be gravel. All right: stretch one leg out by the stadium, following that conveniently-placed freeway. Raise one paw up, right over the stadium…yes, I’ve judged my size almost perfectly! Lower the paw down carefully, carefully, as little weight and pressure as I can manage…
Oh, my. That feeling—that—I’m feeling thousands of tiny little points of frantic movement against my paw pads—
Eyes rolling back, I manage to lower myself down prone, stretching out on my back across five or six blocks, without pushing my paw down too much onto the stadium. I glance briefly from side to side. Maybe seven blocks.
I press down just a little more, toes splaying. I think people are trying to climb up me to get out, and I can’t help but giggle at the feeling. It’s a breathy giggle, though. I’m—mmf. Mmmf. I’m wiggling against the ground, sinking in slightly. Slightly? Maybe another fifty or sixty feet? I don’t know how big I am now. I’m guessing less than a mile, but more than twice the size I’d been when I caught the plane.
Oh. I wiggle my toes, feeling all the effects in the crowd and the building, and this is just—almost—
I glance around again more desperately. Is that block near my hip a bus depot? I scrabble around, grabbing up a hand full of the tiny vehicles, and bring them between my legs.
For a moment I think about how silly this must look on satellite. I know this run is going to end soon—it has to have caught the wrong attention by now—but I think it’s going to be the big break. No pun intended, I swear.
I giggle, waving my free hand to imagined newscasters and spies, but then my eyes go wide, and I start bucking. It’s silly, but oh, very effective.