Death of the 50ft Woman

Lately I have been feeling like a monster. I am not sure which one it was a mix of the dinosaur on Rugrats and the 50ft Woman. While in my monster phase, I got the idea to write a story about the 50ft Woman. Oddly it turned into a story and poem, but it is what it is. Be mindful of the pronouns I know they change I am quite aware of it. There is a reason for it. I would really like comments on this post. I like the criticism.


Monstrous, the one word that perfectly describes me. Large, angry, misunderstood, but disaster is all people see. What comes to your mind when you hear, Attack of the 50ft Woman. Destruction. Anger. A mutant destined to be alone. I see her and I know her. Abused, cheated on, a mockery. Yes, yes I do know her. She is me. Now let us break down the 50ft woman, bone by bone.

Look at her feet. She walks tall. She must walk tall. We must walk tall or we shall fall. Everyone wants to see us fall. We will fall. Mockers scoff and kick and yell at us. "Wretched freaks! Mutant spawn! We shall beat at your bones until the light of dawn!" I walked tall.

Her legs are sturdy, like a tree. The lumberjacks come. "Ha! Ha! Ha! Let us now chop. You behemothic maids, we shall take you down a notch." With the axes of assault they break us. We limp. Their laughter heightens. They scorn, "Look at our 44ft gimps." I stood sturdy.

She is on her knees. She tries to crawl away. So close to freedom, then someone shouts, “Please stay!” We look back. A handsome gentleman there stands. He reaches to me and whisper, “Give me your hands.” We reach out our hands expecting a touch. Our hands are gone. They were just cut. That gentleman was a ploy and falsehood a ruse. He jeers, “Me, love you? You must be confused. You are nothing more than a lowly beast. In size you are great, but in matter you are least.” I can crawl no more.

My body is dismantled. My back scratches the ground. “Burn the demon child!” shouts
abusers all around. “Stop!” screamed the leader of the pack. “Turn the jades around and whip them on the back.” As each lash falls a part of us dies. Our flesh is gone. Our body it cries. I was covered.

The one piece of beauty of which we can grace, Is the eyes, the lips, the beauty of a face. Our skull is now covered with surgeons' hands. "Sew her eyes! Cut her lips!" are only a few of the crowd’s demands. With no drug to take us to another place, they dive with their scalpels and destroy my face. My face that held beauty, love, and a smile, Is now the face of an untamed animal in the wild. I was beautiful.

Our legs gone. My hands no more. So they attack what is left, my soul and my core. “Wretch! Monster! Mutant we hate!” What did we order for life to serve us this plate? Yes, we are a monster. That was our predetermined life. “Let us take a last blow. Stab the heart with a knife!” They only knew me as the 50ft fright. Covered with hatred, they blinded their sight. To be destroyed was never our plan. My hearts one desire was to be just like man.