The Giant Suitcase (short story)

IB suitsace photo by Iva B.

Perhaps in ancient once-upon-times Giants lived on earth. At least in stories they did. They hid in the imagination of writers and storytellers until one of them whispered his tales into my ears.

I used to look at his relative from my window, a sleeping Mountain-Giant who lived on the mountain across from me. In fact, he was ‘it’. The mountain shaped his nose and forehead and little bit of hair and a huge beard. He looked like a wizard who fell asleep centuries ago and never awoke. I called the mountain ‘A sleeping wizard’. Somehow, by seeing him daily from my window, he became a friend. One you could never talk to or learn much about, but still one who seemed rather familiar to you, and who made you feel at home by just one glance at his constant presence.

Then one day I was walking along the streets in Dublin and noticed something unexpected in the air, as if the city was telling me, “look out, the Mountains’ relative has arrived”. A Giant has visited this town. From far away land he came, and then got lost in the crowd, unwilling to be known. Giants are shy creatures, and like to live secluded lives away from the noise, they don’t particularly like their stories to be told. To be the centre of attention is not an ambition many Giants would posses. Not that I met many and therefore became an expert on the likes and dislikes of Giants, but this one, willingly or unwillingly, has provided insight into the specimen and so I based my conclusions on what I learned from him. Scientifically that would be very fallible to base your findings on merely one example, but I had no choice. He was the only Giant around that was awake, the only one that offered a window into the mystery hidden in long forgotten fairytales of old.

Lo and behind, with all the effort to remain hidden, his attempts to keep privacy didn’t last too long. His size told him away, creating interest here and there, so he ran away, leaving this suitcase behind… It was a manuscript written with a shaky hand that I found inside, with a message on the front page saying, “touch not, mysteries unknown I carry inside”. Perhaps that was the Giant’s way of preserving his copyright. And there was a note that looked as if it fell out of his pocket, it was wrinkled and had an unusual imprint of keys on one side. As if it was wrapped around whatever set of keys that Giants might carry in their pockets. The note wasn’t written in English, so I didn’t know what it meant. It appeared to have two sentences at most, but I wasn’t able to decipher their meaning. As for what was in the rest of the manuscript, all I can say that it was a short tale of this Giants life and his whereabouts. He liked to travel, he did. But I will not be able to tell you more than that. The manuscript truly did have hidden mysteries on its pages, but unless I manage to speak to the Giant himself, they will remain unknown to the rest of the world. After all, Giant don’t like their stories to be told.

The end.

© Iva Beranek (Dublin, 15th March 2015, inspired by a giant suitcase on the streets of Dublin)
Photo by © Iva Beranek

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