Departures (Chapter 2)

Rafael never thought he’d feel so relieved to learn that he was about to die for free. But here he was anyway, exhaling in genuine catharsis. At this point, knowing the tortuous consequences that awaited him when (not if) his dealers caught up to him, this was basically his version of paradise.

            “It sounds g-good, ma’am. Thank you.”

            “There’s only one catch, of course. Since I’m handling your situation for free here, the actual choice of method for your euthanasia will be up to me. Hope you don’t mind.”
            “Y-Yes, Doctor,” Rafael instantly agreed, prepared to do or say whatever was required to make this happen.

            “Well, then, that’ll just about settle it. A deal’s a deal. All that’s left is for me to make up my mind. Come here now, little one,” Emma announced, suddenly reaching out for her puny soon-to-be-perished subject. In a flash, the giantess had scooped Rafael into her enormous hand, holding him up even closer before that imperious almost-godlike visage. She contemplatively pursed her lips, clicking her tongue, as she studied the helpless rock-bottom creature in her cupped palm. “To tell you the truth, Rafael, it’s not very often that I’m the one facing this decision. How… interesting that will be. Rest assured, I’m a woman of my word, so I will take care of you soon enough. But, I also see no reason to rush us along. This is the most important choice of your life, even if I’m the one making it for you, and I intend to give such an occasion the attention it deserves. Understand?”

            Rafael wasn’t sure he liked the idea of dragging out his execution any further than was necessary, but he also wasn’t about to complain, when Emma had taken pity on him like this. So long as the end she gave him was painless, as advertised, he ultimately didn’t care about whatever pageantry she provided. Because it would still be infinitely better than the gutsy agony that awaited him if one of his many enemies got to “take care of” him instead using pliers and a car battery.

            “Yes, ma’am,” he solemnly replied. “I’m ready.”

            “Good. Then let’s just explore a little and find out which way is the right one for you, shall we?” Emma merrily answered, as if she was a careers guidance counselor, rather than someone selecting how to snuff out a tiny human life with impunity.

Rafael already suspected that she was pleased by this opportunity, and her upbeat spirit now only increased his impression that she was deriving some kind of perverse satisfaction from killing him any way she chose, even for free. It turned out this gorgeous brainiac ultra-wealthy giantess may have been some kind of jolly closeted sadist. That realization momentarily chilled him to the bone. But then again, Rafael thought, he was no saint either. For all he cared, Emma could start villainously cackling or vigorously masturbating herself while she destroyed him, and it would probably still be a preferable demise to any other kind he might receive. So again he kept these unsettled grievances to himself, while the titanic doctor’s elegant fingers caged in around him.

This time, Emma balled those digits into a fist around Rafael, with only his head barely allowed to poke out the top of her enclosed hand like an undersized Pez dispenser. Then she started to squeeze. The pressure she applied was slow and controlled, since he was small enough that a being with her scale and strength could’ve popped his body like a grape inside half a second, if she wanted. But Emma really was intent upon taking their time here. Rafael grunted, squirming uselessly against her far-superior grip, while he felt the air deflated from his lungs and his joints beginning to strain, then go achily numb.

Tighter and tighter she held him. The sensation quickly went from bear hug to boa constrictor clench. Though far from the most intense pain Rafael had ever felt, it certainly wasn’t comfortable, either. This was the true price, he supposed, of coming to Emma’s clinic without any money. He was going to have to feel a little something after all when he died. Still, even that was fine by him, so long as it was quick. She’d only have to clamp her fist a tad harder – just one obliterating tweak – and he’d burst before he even felt the hurt. Maybe two more seconds, and it would all be over.

But then, just as Rafael was bracing himself for a harder clasp, the tension relented again, and Emma’s fingers spread apart without killing him or even breaking anything. He plopped sprawling back into the middle of her palm, panting and red-faced from the strain. At no point during that mock-assassination, seemingly only a test, did the giantess’s expression change from its serene softly-smiling neutrality.

“You’re very fragile, Rafael. Thin. Frail. Not very strong, either. You really have been through a lot. I can tell it’s not going to take much to finish you, once I decide how to do it. Maybe the easiest job I’ve had all week. That’s good to know,” Dr. Torres declared. While such words might’ve sounded cruel coming from anyone else, the woman spoke them with such factual calm, the same way she might sound while considering a less-than-prime cut of meat in a butcher shop, that Rafael couldn’t even care.

Suddenly, then, Emma’s opposite hand arose, and before her subject knew what was happening, she’d grabbed ahold of his diminutive head between the swirl-printed pads of her giant thumb and forefinger while he was still bowed in her palm. And though the flesh of those fingertips was soft and lotion-smooth, the texture hardly mattered once she commenced tightening that vice-grip to the same intensity she’d just cinched the rest of his body in her massive fist, until it felt like being stuck in a car compactor. Again Rafael sputtered and quivered, as the compression on his skull threatened to go beyond painless tolerance. He could hardly even see her face now, while those finger pads smushed hotly in from either side of his near-smothered little countenance.