The midday sun beat down on the construction site as the workers gathered for their lunch break, scattered across crates, pallets, and concrete blocks. Tom Crosby was seated with a few of the guys, enjoying his sandwich and chatting about the weekend’s football game. They were only half paying attention when the familiar roar of a sports car engine announced an arrival. Everyone glanced up as a sleek black car pulled to a stop in a swirl of dust.
Connor stepped out, dressed in his usual out-of-place business-casual attire. His polished loafers gleamed as he approached the crew, an expression of mild disdain etched on his face. Tom exchanged a look with Rick and rolled his eyes, knowing that the kid was about to deliver one of his typical unrequested speeches.
“Enjoying the break, boys?” Connor asked loudly, a smirk playing on his lips. “Hope you’ve got enough energy left to actually finish the job. This place isn’t going to build itself, you know.”
Tom took a casual sip of his water before responding. “Don’t worry, Connor. We’re right on schedule.”
Connor just scoffed, shaking his head. “Right. Well, let’s make sure it stays that way.” He gave a dismissive wave, already turning his attention towards the partially built structure behind them. “I’m going in to check the progress. Try to pick up the pace a bit,” he added with a smirk, as though his mere presence should be motivation enough for them to work harder.
With that, he walked away, striding toward the open entrance of the building. The foreman was already inside, going over some plans, and Connor moved with his usual briskness, as if to remind everyone that he was in charge.
None of the workers paid much attention to him after that. The moment Connor was out of sight, Rick snorted. “Guy really thinks he’s in charge, doesn’t he?”
Tom shook his head with a grin. “Yeah, you’d think he’s the one swinging the hammer around here.”
Another worker chimed in, “I bet he’d hurt himself just trying to lift one.”
The crew laughed, their voices rumbling in the open air. Meanwhile, no one noticed what happened inside the building. As Connor stepped past the threshold, he was suddenly struck by an intense dizziness, his vision warping and tilting. It felt as though the world folded in on itself. Then, everything stretched out impossibly vast around him. When he regained his senses, he found himself lying on a rough surface that was almost fabric-like in texture, but much coarser than any clothing he had ever felt.
Connor pushed himself up, his surroundings coming into view. The ground was a field of denim fibers, rough and uneven, and the air was hot and stifling, and consistently moving. He turned his head and froze, realizing with horror that he was perched just above the crotch of Tom, who was seated with the rest of the crew only a few feet away—except now, those few feet looked more like a football field’s distance. His heart raced as he took in the sheer scale of Tom’s body. The carpenter’s massive hand idly held his sandwich in his hands, before taking a massive bite as the conversation continued overhead. The men’s laughter rolled like thunder to Connor’s tiny ears, and he recognized their voices mocking him.
“Think Connor’s checking the place for dust, or just admiring his reflection in the windows?” one of the guys joked, earning another round of chuckles.
Connor’s face burned with frustration and humiliation. They were laughing at him, talking as if he were gone and out of earshot, when in reality, he was right here—just impossibly small and helpless. He shouted up at Tom, his tiny voice strained and desperate.
“Tom! Down here! I’m right here! I’m sorry for earlier, help me! Please!”
He jumped up and down, waving his arms, but the gigantic carpenter didn’t notice. The rumbling laughter continued, drowning out Connor’s minuscule cries.
Tom’s hand drifted back down to his lap, his fingers brushing against the area just above his open zipper. The denim beneath Connor shifted, the ground itself becoming unsteady as Tom’s hand scratched lightly at the fabric. The giant fingers moved with casual indifference, causing Connor to stumble and fall onto his side, sliding perilously close to the open fly. The heat radiating from Tom’s body intensified, and the pungent scent of sweat hung heavy in the air.
Connor tried crawling up the fold of fabric, his tiny limbs struggling to gain purchase on the coarse denim. He could see Tom’s enormous face above, calm and completely unaware of the microscopic drama unfolding just below his waist. Connor’s stomach churned with a mix of fear and rage; how could he be so utterly insignificant to someone he had just been talking down to moments ago?
Above, the guys were finishing up their lunch as their foreman came out.
“You guys seen Mr. Silverman? He was meant to discuss the progress inside.”
“He already went inside, boss,” Rick answered, following the shrugs from the rest of the guys.
“What?” The foreman said, inquisitively. “That’s odd, are you sure?”
“Yup,” Tom stated, standing up and brushing his lap off from the crumbs of his sandwich. He was unaware as his hand crushed tiny Connor into nothing, leaving a smear amongst the rest of the dirt and debris from Tom’s day. “He came by, we shared a few...jokes, and he went in for you.”
“Hmm. Okay,” the foreman said. “Let’s get back to work.”
And with that, the rest of the day went without a hitch. Connor’s disappearance was the talk of the town for the next few weeks, but it remained a mystery that would never be solved.