(TATB) Ch 13: Surviving The Past, The Moving Future!

(A Few Hours Before Ch 12) 

(Holly)

I sat with my knees pressed to my chest on the smooth, rounded floor of the vial, staring up at the massive face that filled the horizon beyond the glass. Her face. The Brob. Her huge blue eyes, her overwhelming presence. Every movement she made caused tiny vibrations that traveled through the glass and into my bones. I hated her already—her and every Brob that ever existed.

I always knew this day would come. No matter how much I prayed to avoid it, I knew it was inevitable. Sooner or later, I'd end up here, at the mercy of one of them, a despicable Brob who could wipe us out with a flick of her finger, intentionally or not. My heart thumped in my chest like it was trying to break free. But no matter how scared I felt, I refused to let it show. I wouldn't give her the satisfaction.

Instead, I turned my gaze to the back of the vial, to the one person who had always given me strength: Meara. Even now, just seeing her calm presence helped me keep myself together. But as I looked closer, my stomach twisted. There she was, crouched beside Victor. Him. Again.

"Victor," I muttered under my breath, the word sour in my mouth.

I could never get a read on him, which was strange because I was good at reading people. It was my talent, my thing. Most people were open books to me, their emotions easy to see and decipher. But Victor? He was a locked vault, no hints, no cracks to peer through. Maybe that's why I couldn't trust him—because I couldn't figure him out, and I hated not knowing.

What made it worse, of course, was Meara. Her fascination with him. It didn't make sense. And it wasn't just fascination—it was something deeper. She trusted him, maybe even admired him. That stung in a way I didn't want to admit.

I clenched my fists, my mind drifting back to the first time I met Meara. Back before she saved me, back when I was still naïve enough to think I had some control over my life.

I used to work for one of those Brob body-cleaning companies. You know the type—Lilliputians hired to clean the nooks and crannies Brobs didn't even realize needed cleaning. It was dangerous work, but the money was good, good enough to get me through college. At least, that's what I told myself.

I'll never forget my last job. Cleaning a Brob girl's mouth. She was some rich kid, her family rolling in money, which was pretty typical. Only the wealthiest Brobs could afford services like ours. I remember the overwhelming heat, the humidity, the endless rows of white, rock-hard teeth. And the tongue—God, the tongue. That pink monster waiting at the bottom of her abyss of a mouth, a trap ready to claim any unlucky soul who fell.

We were always careful, harnessed to the Brob's teeth with cables before we went in. But careful wasn't enough. The equipment hadn't been checked properly before use—not that anyone cared about Lilliputian safety protocols. Most of the cables snapped mid-job.

I can still hear the screams. My team, my colleagues, they didn't stand a chance. They fell into the Brob girl's mouth, crashing onto her tastebuds, their bodies breaking against her tongue. Some died on impact. Others survived just long enough to drown in the waves of her saliva.

And she didn't even notice. That's the part that gets me. The Brob, this high school kid, she didn't even realize she was swallowing a dozen people alive. And even if she had noticed, would she have cared? Probably not.

I was the only one left, dangling by a single cable, forced to watch as everyone I worked with died. I hung there for hours, exhausted and terrified, waiting for the tongue to rise up and end me too.

Eventually, someone rescued me, though "rescued" is a strong word. The company blamed the accident on me, said I'd been careless. Instead of compensation or an apology, they sold me into slavery to cover their tracks. It was laughable, really. These so-called gods, these Brobs, so powerful they could crush us with a sneeze, and yet they'd rather ruin my life than take responsibility for their mistakes.

That's how I ended up in the hands of that old Brob man, whose face I'll never forget. And that's when things got worse. Being trafficked wasn't bad enough—I also had to deal with the Lilliputian men who saw me as nothing more than an object.

Meara saved me. Without hesitation, she pulled me into her group, protected me. I owe her everything.

So why? Why is she always with him?

I glared at Victor, my frustration bubbling over. He was leaning back, looking completely at ease, like he didn't have a care in the world. Meanwhile, the rest of us were trapped in this nightmare.

"So why..." I muttered, my voice rising, "why is she always with him!"

A few people glanced at me, startled.

"And why is that guy so relaxed?" I snapped, louder this time. I glared at Victor again, who was now stretching, looking like he'd just woken up from a nap.

Of course, he just had to act like nothing could faze him. Typical.

***

(Back in Regular Time) 

(Skylar)

I sat at my desk, staring down at the Lilliputians scattered before me. My nerves were eating me alive. I couldn't help it. They were so small, so fragile, and here I was, towering over them like some kind of giant monster. I felt my hands twitch, and I quickly pressed my palms flat against the desk to stop myself from fidgeting. They didn't need to see me looking nervous.

For a moment, my eyes drifted back to the three I'd found on my Q-tip. God, I really hoped I hadn't hurt them. I still didn't know how they'd ended up there in the first place, but that was a problem for later. First, I needed to figure out how to make them feel safe.

"Okay," I whispered, the sound barely louder than my own thoughts. I winced, even at that. My normal speaking voice probably sounded like a roar to them. I cleared my throat softly and tried again, even quieter this time. "Okay."

I leaned in closer, resting my elbows on the desk. From this angle, I could see their tiny forms a little more clearly. They were moving, at least. That was a good sign. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself down.

"My name is Skylar Arden," I began, my voice as soft and low as I could make it. It felt strange talking like this, but I didn't want to hurt their ears. "And I want you to know, I'm not going to hurt you. Not ever."

I paused for a moment, trying to gauge their reactions. It was hard to tell how they felt—how could I, when they were so small that I couldn't even see their faces properly? But I kept going.

"In fact, I want to help you," I continued, forcing a small, awkward smile. "I know this... situation isn't ideal, but I hope we can make the best of it. I hope you'll feel safe here."

I shifted back slightly, giving them more space. "Here's the thing. I think we have a chance to start over—together. You can build something here, in this room. Your own little civilization, with everything you need to live and thrive. Because to me, you're not just specks or tiny people. You're people. And you deserve to be happy."

I stopped again, letting my words sink in. My heart was pounding. Did I sound stupid? Patronizing? I couldn't tell.

"There's only one thing I ask in return," I said, sitting up straighter. "It's not much, I promise. Just one rule. The space I give you—the area where you'll live—you can't leave it. At all. Not ever."

I looked down at them, trying to look serious but not intimidating. "It's not because I don't trust you or anything. It's just... I don't want to accidentally hurt you. You're so small, and I'm so—well, I'm not. If something happened, I'd never forgive myself."

The desk fell quiet for a moment, and I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. "I wish this could be more of a conversation than a speech," I said, trying to lighten the mood. "But, well, I don't exactly have one of those fancy earpieces or voice devices that'd let me hear you. Yet. I'll work on that, though. I promise."

I looked down at them again, my face softening. "So, uh... any questions?"

It felt a little ridiculous, talking like this to people I couldn't hear or understand. But I meant every word I said. I just hoped they believed me. I wanted to make this work. I wanted them to trust me. And maybe, if I was lucky, I could earn their trust one day.