(TATB) Ch 2: Story Of The Past, A Choice To Regret!

(SYDNEY)

I stood beside my father, who was slumped over, exhausted and hungry, his once-strong frame now weakened by days of starvation. I could do nothing but watch him suffer, powerless as the life drained out of him. We were trapped—trapped in a cage of glass, forged by Brobdingnagian hands.

All around us were thousands upon thousands of Lilliputians, so many that I couldn't even begin to count them all. The sheer number was overwhelming, a sea of faces that blurred together in their misery.

My father and I had only been in this cage for a few days, but it was already easy to distinguish the newcomers from those who had been here for much longer. The fresh captives still had a glimmer of hope in their eyes, a spark of belief that someone would come to rescue us. After all, it was illegal for both Brobdingnagians and Gulliverians to capture and sell Lilliputians. They clung to the idea that the law would protect them, that justice would prevail.

But as time passed, that hope would inevitably fade. The once-hopeful expressions would harden into apathy, faces growing blank as the reality of our situation set in. Those who had been here for weeks or months no longer waited for rescue; they simply waited for death. The light in their eyes dimmed, replaced by a hollow resignation that terrified me.

I couldn't help but wonder what kind of face I was making as I looked out through the glass at the Brobdingnagian who now held our lives in his hands. He was an old man, his features lined with age, yet there was nothing gentle about him. To him, we were nothing more than possessions, items to be bought and sold, our lives reduced to mere commodities.

I glanced at my reflection in the glass, searching for any sign of that same apathy I had seen in the others. Was I already losing hope? Was the desperation in my heart beginning to show on my face? The thought chilled me to the bone. I didn't want to end up like the others, waiting for death in this prison of glass.

But as I looked at my father, weak and fading beside me, I realized I was already on that path. The hope I had clung to was slipping through my fingers, and I didn't know how to hold onto it any longer. We were trapped, and no one was coming to save us.

And in that moment, staring into the cold, unfeeling eyes of our captor, I understood that survival wouldn't come from waiting for rescue. It would have to come from within—from finding the strength to fight, even in the face of overwhelming odds. But as I stood there, my father's labored breaths the only sound I could hear, I wondered if I had that strength left in me at all.

"Father!" I yelled as I caught him just before he collapsed, his body going limp in my arms. His breath came in shallow gasps, his skin clammy and pale. I could hear the faint moans of pain escaping his lips, a sound that sent a stab of fear through my heart.

"Hold on," I whispered, my voice trembling as I tried to steady him, lowering him gently to the ground. His eyes were half-closed, his strength almost completely gone. The days of starvation were taking their toll, and I knew that if something didn't change soon, I would lose him.

In this cage, the Brobdingnagian only fed us once a week. It was always the same—a massive chunk of food, big enough to feed thousands of us Lilliputians, thrown carelessly into the tank. But that food never reached us, the ones who needed it most. The gangsters who ruled the tank, self-proclaimed kings of this glass prison, controlled everything. They took what they wanted and left the rest of us to fight over the scraps.

If you wanted to eat, you had to submit to them, follow their rules, and become one of their lackeys. For some, that was the only option. Hunger and desperation drove many to their side, willing to do whatever it took to survive another day. But my father and I—we wanted nothing to do with them. We couldn't bring ourselves to join their ranks, to become part of the violence and cruelty that kept them in power.

But now, as I held my father's frail body in my arms, the bitter taste of reality hit me. We were starving. And it wasn't just my father—I could feel the weakness in my own limbs, the lightheadedness that came with days of barely eating. We couldn't go on like this much longer.

I looked down at my father, his face lined with pain, and the thought crept into my mind like a poison. What if we joined them? Just long enough to get some food, to regain our strength. I knew my father would never agree—he'd rather starve than submit to those men. But was it worth holding onto our pride if it meant we wouldn't survive?

"Dammit," I muttered under my breath, the frustration boiling over. How did things get so bad? We were once free, living our lives, and now we were reduced to this—trapped, starving, and at the mercy of monsters. How had it come to this?

I could still remember the day it all changed, the day our hidden city was exposed to the horrors of the world beyond. It had been a bright, sunny day, the kind that makes you feel like nothing could go wrong. But then, in an instant, everything was swallowed by darkness, a shadow so immense it blotted out the sun itself.

A massive earthquake shook the ground beneath our feet as the sky was torn apart by a colossal force. That's when I saw it—a woman's face, impossibly large, crashing down into the heart of our city. The impact alone obliterated countless buildings, reducing them to rubble beneath her flesh. But the worst was yet to come.

The fall had knocked the Brob unconscious, and her breath, now uncontrolled, became a deadly force of nature. Each exhale was like a hurricane, blowing away everything in its path, while each inhale sucked anything and everything towards her gaping, cavernous mouth.

I was given a front-row seat to the nightmare, an up-close and personal view of the massive pink monstrosity that was her lips. Those lips, larger than any structure we had ever built, parted slightly, revealing the enormous white objects within-teeth, each one capable of splitting mountains in half with their weight alone. And between them, I saw the yawning chasm of her mouth, a place where no Lilliputian could hope to survive.

I watched in horror as Lilliputians, swept up by the force of her breath, were pulled toward that open maw. They were powerless against the wind, their tiny bodies hurtling toward certain death. Some were swallowed whole, disappearing into the dark abyss of her mouth, where they would be killed by the swaying of her massive tongue, crushed to a pulp by the impact of her teeth, or drowned in the ocean of saliva that filled the space. Each fate was more horrific than the last.

There was only one reason my father and I survived that day. Amidst the chaos, we had managed to find a sturdy piece of rubble, a slab of concrete that had somehow held together even as the city crumbled around it. We huddled behind it, the only thing standing between us and the deadly breath of the Brob.

But not everyone was as fortunate. My mother... she wasn't so lucky. I remember looking around frantically for her, searching the debris and the swirling winds for any sign of her. But she was gone-taken by the storm that was the Brob's breath, just like so many others.

When the woman finally came to, the damage had already been done. She blinked, disoriented at first, but it didn't take long for her to notice the tiny city spread out beneath her, now reduced to ruins. What remained of our home was no more than a scattered collection of debris and rubble, and those of us who survived the initial catastrophe were left at the mercy of her massive hands.

She began to gather us up, her fingers -each one larger than the tallest of our buildings-sweeping across the ground.

Her touch was far from gentle; those unlucky enough to be caught directly in her grasp were crushed into nothing more than a bloody pulp. The rest of us, the "lucky" ones, were scooped up and held captive in the palm of her hand. My father and I were among them.

For days, she kept us in a jar, like some kind of twisted collection, and the worst part was the uncertainty. We didn't know what she planned to do with us, whether she would crush us, toss us aside, or keep us as pets. But in the end, the reality was even more cruel-she sold us. She sold us to the old man outside, exchanging our lives for a handful of coins. She took everything from us-our home, our family, our dignity-and didn't even have the decency to end our suffering. Instead, she handed us off to a fate that was, in some ways, worse than death.

I told my father she was still alive. I clung to that hope, even though deep down I knew the truth. We never saw her body get devoured, but it didn't matter. Whether she was dead or alive made no difference to us now. We were the ones left to suffer, trapped in this glass cage with no hope of escape. And even if, by some miracle, she was still out there, we probably wouldn't live long enough to see her again.

"Mom.." I whispered, the word slipping from my lips as I looked down at my father. He was barely conscious, his face pale and drawn from hunger. "Dad, don't worry, I'm going to get us some food," I said softly, wrapping my arms around him in a desperate embrace.

"Sydney," he murmured, his voice weak and strained. He didn't open his eyes, but he knew I was there, trying to comfort him even as I felt completely helpless.

I stood up, my mind racing as I walked toward the men who controlled everything in this cage. They were the ones who had taken charge, ruling over the rest of us like kings. If I could come up with some kind of bargain, anything to get my father the food he needed, l would do it. I would do anything to keep him alive, even if it meant sacrificing my own pride.

I turned quickly, my heart pounding in my chest, and saw a man standing beside my father. He was offering him a piece of bread. My father looked up, his eyes wide with surprise and gratitude, as he slowly took the bread from the stranger's hands.

"Thank you, young man," my father said, his voice choked with emotion. "Thank you so much."

The man smiled kindly. "It's no problem," he replied, his tone gentle and sincere.

I rushed back to my father, tears streaming down my face. The relief I felt was overwhelming-I no longer had to do something I would later regret. I no longer had to grovel before those men or trade my dignity for a scrap of food.

"Thank you..." I sobbed, barely able to get the words out. "Thank you so much. I don't know who you are, but I promise my father and I will repay you for this. Somehow, we'll repay you."

The man looked at me, his smile never faltering. "The name's Victor," he said, "and that's not necessary." He reached out and gently patted my shoulder, his touch reassuring. "Just take care of your father. That's all the thanks I need."

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