You - Jack, second-person, third-person, however you choose to identify yourself - did not go through all this to merely watch Margot Robbie sleep. You want her to see you, to know you, to recognise the bond that you two have, the link that means you are destined to be together! When Margot reognises this, she'll cast aside that useless Dave fella and take you as her one true love! Yes! This is what you will accomplish tonight!
Of course, right now she's asleep and you're the size of an ant. It might take a little effort.
Margot's gargantuan form lies on her front, head on a pillow and turned toward you, one hand just beyond that and the other near the edge of the bed, framing the area you're in rather neatly. Cascading waves of dyed-blonde hair cover her ear so far above you, so you resolve instead to devote yourself to another part of her anatomy to wake the goddess.
The eyes, lids still stained with make-up, are intimidating barriers to progress. How could you hope to heave one of those shutters open, and even if you did manage to, chances are you would be blinked into oblivion, or your soul-mate would rub her eye to grind you to death. Part of you shudders with joy at meeting an end at the hands of Margot, your angel, your idol, your love. But most of you wants to live long enough to experience more than that, to unite the two of you in inviolate desire.
What does that leave? The hands, so close and easy to access, are themselves intimidating presences. You are smaller than the nail of her pinky finger, minute enough that she could scratch you away with an absent motion. Each finger, a dainty, delicious avatar of the goddess' will, holds enough strength to destroy you several times over. While it would be an experience indeed to be held in that palm before Margot's face, to have her delight at your tiny form, you have to recognise that the five digits protecting that platform is a dangerous obstacle.
Think, Jack, think! Yet as you scratch at your chin in thought, the roar of a monster rocks your world. You jump in the air and turn, only to realise that that thunderous cry, a terrifying bellow of titanic proportion, was but the slight sniff of the sleeping woman, dragging a little extra air up her nostril.
Of course! Your muse, your destined, your love, has sent you a sign! Her nose, her delightful, distinctive nose, magnified now to shame the greatest monuments of the world: that will be your point of contact! Such a sensitive part of the body, even the touch of your tiny self should alert her to your presence! Then she'll wake, see you and scoop you up, to shower you with the adoration that you wish to share with her, and your lives together can begin!
Thus resolved, you set off on your quest. Beneath your feet - clad in shoes, you notice, for while shrunken in stature you have retained your clothing - the mattress of the bed is as solid as any rock canyon. To your right, the ground bends and contorts beneath the fathomless weight of Margot's hand alone, yet the entirety of your being is insufficient to affect change. It's almost as if you're a ghost, not really here, walking solely in a dream. And have you not, in the past, had similar dreams many times before? Yourself, before the goddess, your love, Margot, each time spurred on by the inarguable feeling that you belong together? How can you know that this is real?
The power of Margot is enough to prove her reality. Unconsciously, her divine presence asserts itself on your psyche indelibly, indeniably. Her scent, the late-day sweat pushing through the remnants of her perfume, the warmth of her muscular flesh radiating out to your pathetic self, each exhalation of her breath roaring above your head, gusting your hair along with it. Yes! She is real, you are here, and your long-dreamed of destiny is at hand! Margot will see you, love you as you love her, and you will be together forever!
At this realisation, you quicken your pace, running now along the white mattress. You reach the wall of the pillow, a cream surface just as hard as that you stand on. It's nothing, squashed flatter by the sheer mass of Margot's head, yet still it is an obstacle to ant-size you. Oh, how you wish you hadn't wasted energy running! You slump down to catch your breath, knowing that a climb lies ahead of you before you can contact the sleeping beauty, your love, Margot. All the while, her own breath thunders above you like an air tunnel, grotesquelu raised in volume but still a sweet sound to your love-struck ears.
In this pause, this moment to gather your strength, you run over what you'll say to Margot, the exact words you'll use to reveal the depths of your heart. It won't take much, of course, since she obviously shares your aching need, no doubt dreaming even now of meeting you, sensing the other half of her self out there, one that she won't find in that pathetic specimen, Dave.
You almost feel sorry for the guy. As much as you envied him when he and Margot first got together - jealously at their physical contact spiking rage within your heart - you have come to see him as merely a weak shadow of yourself, a physical comfort into which Margot can cry when she recognises the aching loss at being denied the presence of you - her love, Jack.
Yes, your words will die on your lips as Margot smiles, telling you that there's nothing to be said, that she shares your desire, that she recognises the completeness as the two of you come together. Dave will be cast aside, and you will pity rather than hate him. It's not his fault, after all, and who would refuse the partnership of a divine being like Margot? Yet he was never destined to be more than a placeholder, keeping the bed warm while it awaited your own body to sleep beside Margot, a unification of two people decreed by fate itself.
Second wind surging, you rise to your feet again and set to climbing. While solid before your mass, the fibres of the pillow have enough spaces between them for your limbs to find purchase, bearing you upwards with far greater ease than your full-size form would have discovered. And the exertion adds sweat to your brow, a brief taste of the emotion that is to almost drown you in a moment.
You drag your atop the pillow, facing the even more indomitable wall of Margot's chin. The skin, so tanned, so smooth, is evidence enough of her perfection, yet it is not here that you must rest. Her breath roars ever louder, now almost blowing you off your feet, calling you onward to your destiny, to wake the sleeping beauty, your love, Margot.
The chin serves as a steady barrier to the roaring intake and exhalation of breath, and yoiu keep to it as you progress. You resist touching, and that lack of sensation is a tiny death with every step you take. Soon, you tell yourself, soon you'll know every inch of this woman, and she of you!
Margot's bottom lip is the wall shielding you from the wind, and from its underside its not too impressive. Now you'll have to grab hold, to hold tight, to prevent yourself being carried away as you pass out of the eye of the storm. Your fingers thrill to the touch of the woman's blazing skin, near-invisible pores present for you to grip by.
Slow and steady you walk along the mattress, holding the lip skin as you walk around to its upper surface. Your hands slide into the lip-gloss that coats the lips proper, and the nose breaths push you further into it.
Immediately you are overcome with desire, throwing yourself into that red surface, smacking your own lips into hers with as much force as you can muster, kiss after kiss as evidence of your devotion. You tell yourself that you're not forcing yourself upon her, that she doesn;t know you're here, that it's fine, that you're destined for each other anyway, it'll all be okay in the end.
A sharp intake of breath ends your shaky justifications, and you are wrenched from the grip of her lip by a sudden gulp from her immense lungs. You are cast up from the ground like a feather, and dragged back to the darkness of her open mouth. Is this how it ends? Are you, Jack, to die here within the body of the woman you love?
No. Not yet. You slam into the wet surface of Margot's tooth, harder by far than the mattress or anything else you've yet met at this size. The pain thunders a reminder of decency through your entire body. As you slide down again, you realise that once again the goddess, your love, Margot, is showing you the way.
It is wrong to kiss her with her unknowing, and should you continue, you will be punished. You must press on, ignoring your baser instincts until you can reveal yourself to Margot, and your mutual consensual enjoyment of your bodies will be a thousand times as rewarding.
Now dampened by the saliva of the tooth, you stagger out of the valley of those lips, up to the nose, dragging air back and forth with every other moment. You cling to the philtrum to prevent yourself being dragged inside, but then you wonder: maybe that is the best way? Sure, you could climb across to the tip of the nose and give that your attention, but would Margot not be more sensitive to you were you to bother the inside of her delicate organ? From here you can see the thick, jagged fields of hairs within the tunnels of those nostrils, and wonder again if maybe surviving such a gross environment may be your final test before Margot bears you to your heavenly reward.
Now you witness the sheer power of the nose - each breath threatening to tear you away - maybe the mouth is the better option. Kissing the lips is an affront to the goddess, a step too far, but if you tickled her there, might she not still awake to you, and reward your transgression? Having reached her face, there are so many options for you!
Not least of all, you could merely curl up somewhere out of the wind, and have a little sleep yourself next to the body of Margot, your goddess, your love.
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