Obstaclēs

By Gregory E. Ransom

Growing up dwarfed by peers is a common problem, one faced by many and conquered by almost that number. In the grand scheme, it's a small predicament. But when your hometown is Humongopolis, smallness becomes a dilemma of giant proportions.

Meet Obstaclēs, a giant born without the most basic quality of his kind...size. Taking lonely nature walks and delaying bully beat downs gets old. Even his friendship with Griff, a fugitive from the Land of Men, isn't enough to make things right...even if Griff's hideout does double as an underground library.

Obstaclēs will have to hack through the Forest of Future Regret, span the Lake of Lost Souls, tangle with the lizard king, mix it up with Wasp Warriors, escape the Wendigo’s claws, and put the clamps on Changelings. Will Obstaclēs overcome? Or will the littlest giant let his deferred dream explode and embrace a fresh start?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Aug 19, 2015
• ISBN: 9781483436203

Book preview

OBSTACLĒS

GREGORY E. RANSOM

Copyright © 2015 Gregory E. Ransom.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

ISBN: 978-1-4834-3619-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-3621-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-3620-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015912650

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Map created by Vanessa Sigstad.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 12/22/2015

Contents

1   Code of Giants

2   Man with a Plan

3   Knock-Down, Drag Out

4   Friend in Need

5   Scare Tactics

6   Tight (In)Security

7   Visitor

8   Guardians of the Wood

9   Name’s Griff

10   Solution for a Solution

11   Hunting Ground

12   A Mother’s Love

13   Dog Men

14   Let’s Make a Deal

15   Playing With Fire

16   Web of Life

17   Live Bait

18   Operation Fly Swat

19   Bluff at the Bluff

20   Camp Songs

21   The Iron Gate

22   The Emperor’s Clothes

23   Key to Friendship

24   Accidental Heroes

25   Morning Assault

26   Mount Rage

27   Welcomed With Open Fangs

28   Cold Blooded

29   Genius at Work

30   Snow Rocket

31   Sparkling Pearls

32   Mirror, Mirror

33   The End of the Beginning

To my three little giants, Addis, Damian and Evan.

Without your imagination, giggles and love,

this book could not have been written.

And to my love, Marta, for never letting me dream alone.

Together there is no obstacle too great.

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Obstaclēs

This is a little story about a Giant

A Colossus. A Gargantua. A Goliath. A Behemoth.

Neither great, nor tall

And not really big at all

In fact, quite small

No ground shaking walk

No ear splitting talk

No bellowing roar

Just kindness to the core

No victim’s bones to be found in his lair

Always for others he gives the most care

Reaching up to most other’s kneecaps

A misfit, an outcast, an oddball—perhaps

Yet beating inside a heart bigger than many

A voice within much wiser than any

From a long line of fierce Giants he’d come

Cyclops, Zipacna, and Oni were some

His father as a Dad a complete no show

His mother at rest where sleeping Giants go

When a part of you feels like it will never belong

Let this tale bring right to that absolute wrong

If ever a time that others may tease

Remember the legend of Obstaclēs

1

Code of Giants

If I try to be like him, who will be like me?

-Yiddish proverb

The ground buckled every time the hefty club slammed earth. Bracing for the next impact didn’t seem to matter; Obstaclēs jumped out of his skin with each thunderous crash. SLAM! Tryouts at Fo Fum Prep were always a sight to see. Young Giants strutting their stuff, elder Giants looking on, trying not to look pleased. The weighty club was passed from one young Giant to the next. Each applicant grunted and groaned, raising the club to the sky, then pounded the already bludgeoned earth. High hopes of capturing the perfect club wielding form. The Fo Fum Prep hopefuls dreamed of the day that the sound of snapping bone would accompany the ground’s empty thud. Only the best received acceptance into Fo Fum Preparatory School for Giants. Basically if you could hoist the colossal club and perform a few other basic tasks, you’re in. And that meant just about all young Giants.

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Hidden within a honeysuckle thicket, Obstaclēs watched as the next generation of Giants prepared to become future leaders in terror and destruction. His chance was coming one day soon. Too soon, perhaps - next full moon to be exact. Spying on tryouts was one way to gain a leg up on the competition; and with legs so short, an advantage was surely needed.

Probably best to leave the thicket. No telling when shifting winds may reveal his location to every sensitive Giant nose. That would be bad. The twitch in Obstaclēs’ nose suggested it may already be too late.

Tapping to test the tenderness of a three-day-old black eye, he started down the path for home. He’d just ball up his fists a little tighter this time, careful to not let the sweet aroma of honeysuckle soften his manufactured scowl. If it was going to go down today, he’d be ready.

Put a glide in that stride, nice and cool, he thought. Too slow, I’ll look weak; too fast, and they’ll think I’m scared. That’s it, rough, but smooth. Placing one dusty sandal in front of the other, Obstaclēs made his way home, new tough guy swagger on full display. Chin up. Slight head tilt. I’d like to see them try me this time. Today, this trail belongs to me. Want it? Take it!

Bursting with courage, Obstaclēs spied another in the midst of struggle. An old tortoise, flipped and flat side up, teetering pathetically on its shell. Weary claws stretched skyward with slow but frantic swipes, fruitless attempts to right itself.

Obstaclēs melted. All that bravado he’d worked so hard to achieve carried off so easily in the gentle honeysuckle breeze. Crouching, he placed the tortoise on its stumpy legs and carefully rested it well off the beaten path. With a tender pat on its shell top, the tortoise was safely out of danger’s way. That made one of them.

Giggles, chuckles and snorts joined Obstaclēs on the trail. As usual, his twitching nose was accurate. Here comes trouble. His tough-guy stand could stand to wait. Obstaclēs blasted to a full sprint, as full as one with such stunted limbs could muster. From behind, the sound of laughter took a more sinister tone. A chase is what they wanted. A short shoulder glance confirmed his hunch. It was Podgkin and his crew of bullies—again. They were closing fast; in an instant they were on him. A kick to the rear sent the pursuing laughter to a fever pitch. Obstaclēs worked his legs, but they just weren’t designed for speed. Each in the gaggle of bullies was easily twice his size, their strides double. Obstaclēs stretched for a stray branch. It snapped in a dry CRACK!

Too low anyway, thought Obstaclēs.

Another kick to the backside rattled his spine. More laughs. Around the bend, another limb blocked the path. This one sported two green leaves.

Just about right, reckoned the little Giant.

Using a stump as a stepstool, Obstaclēs leapt to take hold. The branch bowed, building spring-like tension until it could bend no further. Obstaclēs let go. SMACK! The branch, in a race to resume its resting position, struck Podgkin across the nose. The bully let out a terrible squeal, a noise no creature his size should make. The squirting blood through Podgkin’s clenched fingers left no doubt – a direct hit.

Laugh at that! jeered Obstaclēs.

An exposed tree root cut Obstaclēs’ celebration short. He tripped. Slamming onto his back, he looked up to see four of Podgkin’s most loyal cronies closing ranks. The circle opened briefly allowing room for Podgkin, the undisputed leader of this group of troublemakers – the Bean Stalkers. His hand covered his throbbing nose. At Podgkin’s muffled command, the group of hooligans punched and kicked down at their little adversary. Even Mingo joined the beat down. Just a couple of floods back, Mingo was Obstaclēs’ best and only friend, but when the little Giant’s shortcomings became the butt of so many jokes, Mingo decided it was safest to cut ties. He was certain Obstaclēs would understand his predicament. Obstaclēs didn’t. One day he thought he would be able to forgive Mingo, just not anytime soon. For now, he’d tuck himself into a ball as blow after blow rained down through a rising cloud of dust.

The Bean Stalkers, satisfied with the pounding they had dished out, allowed the dust to settle. Obstaclēs was gone!

Where’d that little runt slither off to? raged one.

There! Podgkin growled as he caught sight of Obstaclēs slinking into a narrow opening beneath a fallen tree. Not willing to let their prey slip away so easily, the five-some stomped over to the muddled mess of exposed roots, reaching through with dirt-bathed hands. Battered, bruised and winded, Obstaclēs squeezed among the roots, just out of reach. Sometimes size worked to favor the little Giant. Hearing the voices of his tormentors waning in the distance, he ended his panting with a drawn out sigh. Thank goodness for limited attention spans.

Another painful reminder that being different wasn’t fun. More than anything, the little Giant wished he could simply blend in.

As the sun dropped behind the trees, Obstaclēs limped home. The walk always started the same way. For a moment, he was an enormous Giant. The blades of grass below were towering trees. A pinecone was some poor soul’s farm wagon, CRUNCH! And the ill-fated leafcutter ants were the scores of frightened townsfolk who never seemed quite alarmed enough to drop their green parcels. With gaping strides, Obstaclēs tried his mightiest to shake the ground. As always, some shooting ache or pain thwarted his glorious romp of fury, snatching him back into reality. The roar of the Humongos River meant home was near. The little Giant paused; his clothes stretched and pulled out of whack, even his black eye had a black eye. Obstaclēs dusted himself off, spat out a mouthful of blood, and hobbled on.

2

Man with a Plan

The little Giant hoisted himself up through his bedroom window. It was large and airy, allowing plenty of light during the sunniest days while providing an entryway on the darkest. A bluebird had constructed a saw grass nest in the corner crevice of the windowsill. Though she worked feverishly maintaining it, constantly patching imperfections, she was never too busy to hear out the little Giant’s worries.

Hey BB, the little Giant said glumly. The bluebird gave a stifled tweet as she stuffed what was left of a beetle into the open mouth of one of her hungry chicks. BB had three very dependent chicks who, though still lacking their full display of blue feathers, appeared larger than BB. Yet, despite their bulk, there they sat, mouths to the sky as helpless as the day they hatched.

Obstaclēs limped over to the corner of his cluttered room and grabbed his whittling stick. He gave a nod to his prized lucky rock. The very rock he’d never carry with him on daily walks; always afraid that if he brought it, he’d be forced to reconsider its title of lucky. Leaving it in the bedroom was a sure fire way to keep it safe from his misfortune.

Dropping to his knees, he felt blindly under his bed through the load of castaway junk which only seemed to grow each time he cleaned his room. Finally, he caught hold of his dagger and sank into his bed to silently whittle away his frustrations. Whittling was his preferred method of concentration. Ever since he’d been diagnosed with Attention Elsewhere Disorder, AED, Grams told him that finding a hobby would help with focus issues. Whittling it was, although he was fairly certain Grams would never approve of any hobby involving daggers and sharp sticks, but these were desperate times. Besides, wood carving must be an ancient pastime of some culture, even if it wasn’t Giants.

Obstaclēs took a firm hold of the wood and positioned his dagger, Some big stand! Slice. Some tough guy! Slice. Tired of running! Slice. Sick of hiding! Slice. If I wasn’t such a weirdo! An extra-long scrape finally ended his rant.

Adjusting the dagger for another slice, the little Giant exclaimed, BB, what I need is a plan! By this time, the end of the whittle stick was so sharp it would have made more sense for him to use it to return some sharpness to his dagger. Not just any old plan either BB, a master plan. One that will force everyone to like me just the way I am.

Peering down from his bedroom window to the river below, he wished an answer would just float past. The gush of the Humongos did seem to pack some extra fury this day. It was almost that time.

The Giants of Humongopolis relied heavily on the yearly flood of the Humongos River. Pillage and plunder could not satisfy the bottomless appetites of Giants alone. It was the flooding of the mighty Humongos that provided the rich soils needed to plant their crops of beans, beans and well, beans. Obstaclēs had seen twelve such floods in his life. Rising waters assured his thirteenth flood was near; he could barely contain his excitement. If nothing else, Grams let it be a day free from chores allowing his treasured nature walks to begin earlier and end later. The river banks bristled with an explosion of color matched only by the occasional rainbow. He forced his thoughts past the throbbing pain in his backside to more pleasant visions of the purplest of purples, the orangest of oranges, the reddest of—

Thirteen floods! Wait a minute BB, that’s it! I’m about to be thirteen floods old! BB fluttered her wings and placed a tuft of saw grass into the nest. Obstaclēs paced the floor of his room, dagger in one hand; whittle stick in the other. "Tryout day will be here by the next full moon. Grams will send me; she’ll have no choice, it’s the law. From the moment I step through the doors of Fo Fum, I’ll show them all what I can do.

BB chirped a concerned response, then stuffed another load of saw grass in the nest’s exterior.

No way could I even lift that club, you say? Don’t you think I know that, BB? Sooner or later, probably sooner, my size will slow me down. When it does, I get my plan rolling. I’ll make sure everyone, and I mean everyone, at Fo Fum tryouts gets hit with a sudden case of the Dragonbush Rash. First the swelling, then the blisters, then the grand finale…the itchiest itch of its kind! The more they scratch, the more they’ll itch. It’ll become known as the Dragonbush Plague. When they can’t bear that burning itch any longer, I’ll swoop in with the cure—saw grass tea. They’ll call me The Saw Grass Savior. I won’t even have to touch a club. Of course, I’ll tend to Podgkin last. Some extra itch time may be just what he needs. No problem BB, you’ll get some credit for the saw grass idea.

The saw grass remedy is one of the few memories Obstaclēs had of nature walks with his mother. One of the forest’s best kept secrets, she would say.

This plan can’t miss. I’ll be everyone’s hero! Everyone’s best friend! Don’t worry BB, when I’m ‘the man’ I won’t forget about you, said Obstaclēs pacing across a carpet of wood shavings. Passing in front of the mirror, he did a double take. Look at you, double fisting weapons… a sight for sore eyes. Just who are you trying to fool?

Stashing the dagger beneath his bed, Obstaclēs took a long deep sigh and carefully leaned the razor sharp whittling stick into its corner spot.

Who are you trying to fool? he repeated. Everyone, that’s who! The little Giant’s back straightened. I’ll save them all and finally become a rompin’ stompin’ Giant, just one of the guys. Returning to the mirror, a satisfied smile brightened his face, I’ll never be known as ‘that little Giant’ again. From now on, they’ll call me that Giant who came up bi—

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! Obstaclēs’ thoughts came to a crashing halt. But the interruption was too late to foil his scheming. The plan was set.

BLAM! The bulky wooden front door buckled.

Open up! came a thunderous voice. You in there?

BB chirped and fluttered away. Obstaclēs sailed over to his bedroom door, slowly turned the knob and opened it to a sliver. From the safety of his bedroom, Obstaclēs reached to calm his twitching nose.

Grams heaved open the mammoth front door. The outside sun barely made its presence known when an enormous figure blocked the doorway. It was Zorgon, club in hand. Never without a weapon, never with a smile. He was a bean farmer by trade, who somehow was never too busy on the farm to leave visiting Grams out of his day’s work. A retired sergeant in the Imperial Giant Army, Zorgon turned to bean farming in order to appease his constant hunger for beans. Financial success was a long shot; most of his bean crop never escaped his farm, or his stomach.

More good news? Grams said rolling her eyes.

But of course, grumbled the