That Little Brat Jack

Planted like a seed, the giant fell from the beanstalk. He left behind his golden eggs and singing harp. It was a faceplant…a belly flop…a real humdinger. The trench went on for miles with no smile. All he could think was, “That little brat, Jack…” The giant was wobbly at the tippy top of the stalk for the teen had tricked him, into drinking whiskey and rum, then had him dancing, snorting, laughing with tomfoolery. Jack dared the giant to look way down, pointing out things that could never be seen, then woops… wobble wobble and the giant flew through the air, like a bird of prey with great big open eyes. Light as a feather…never had he known the feeling. Nor the one that followed it - a smackdown, demeaning. Gravel and soot filled his wide open mouth, as did curses. As he recovered, the giant imagined Jack as a fly - he’d splat or a mosquito- he’d clap, or as a roach that his heel would nail. “That little brat, Jack…” Meanwhile, Jack was living large at the top of the plushest beanstalk. He’d not see his demise as over time the goose and harp won him over and tricked him into making merry with them. The golden stage, with food and drink and production - the musical that told the demise of the giant. Jack clapped his hands, like a toy monkey, so filled with glee…but fiddle dee dee…he lost his balance and had no wings to fly as he was tossed into the sky. No worries, a giant palm caught him…that little brat. The reunion caused bulging eyes…a heart attack. They both perished from overexcitement… I bet you didn’t see that coming? Flying has its hazards… 2/23/2023