Doomed by Deadlines by ParisGreen

It was Thursday night, and the home was dark and still as Cola brushed her teeth. The soft hum of the AC and the gentle dribbling of the faucet were the only sounds in the room, a far cry from the draining din of her workday.

She was just about to lay her toothbrush down when she noticed a patch of gray on the white vanity just beside the sink. Habit told her to wipe away what was probably dust, but the delay in response brought about by her fatigue lent her just enough time to come to another conclusion.

Even in the dim light of the bathroom she could see it. The subtle, grid-like pattern, the minuscule variation in height, the barely perceptible signs of movement of specks within and about it. It was one of those ’cities’, inexplicably spirited into her home. Again.

Maybe it was her house. Maybe it had something to do with her, maybe everyone had them and never talked about it. Whatever the case, Cola was too tired at the moment to care. She had misgivings about them showing up in the privacy of her own bathroom, but she left that problem for future her to care about as she put her toothbrush down a few inches further to the left to avoid it, sparing all but the least structurally sound buildings of the microscopic city from the tremors of its impact.

After a quick gargle and rinse, Cola lumbered to bed and toppled into it with all the grace of a tranquilized bull elephant. Just one more day, she reassured herself. Just one more day and she could fall into the loving, merciful arms of the weekend. Today’s work and errands were hell, yes, but it all meant that after work tomorrow she could practically turn off her brain for two straight days, free of obligations.

Her mattress creaked as she turned and cocooned her comforter and blanket around her ample frame, ready to drift away without a worry.

No shopping. No appointments. No errands. No paperwork due at 12 o’clock midnight.

Cola tensed. Paperwork. She opened her eyes. Midnight. She sat up.

“Crap.”

She snatched her phone from her nightstand, the screen half blinding her as she frantically scrolled through her schedule and confirmed her fears.

Reports, due for review, editing, and submission no later than midnight. The clock on her phone read 11:14pm.

“Crap.”

She lurched from her bed, leaving behind a vaguely Cola shaped depression on the mattress as she fought against every fiber of her being screaming for her to lay back down. She flicked on her desk lamp and turned on her desktop, muttering and cursing under her breath all the while as she hunched over her device and pulled up and downloaded all the relevant documents she now had to crunch.

She was just about to sit down when she found crumbs spilled across the seat of her chair. Cola raked her addled brain for when she possibly last ate at her desk before remembering that crumbs didn’t glow in the dark. It was yet another city of specks. Streets and roads, threads of light that branched out into infinitesimally thinner and fainter threads that twined in a grid through the mat of faintly glittering buildings, the tallest among them no higher than a millimeter or two. If she had a magnifying glass, she might’ve recognized the motes of light that floated here and there as planes and helicopters. Cola didn’t have time to look for a magnifying glass and a glance at the clock spoiled any curiosity she may have had now that she knew she just wasted two precious minutes studying the microscopic urban sprawl.

Cola considered finding a new chair, or even standing as she worked, but between her tired and aching body and her rapidly approaching deadline, she chose a third option.

“I really don’t have time for this”, she grumbled as she turned to reclaim her seat.

Down below, on the upholstery of Cola’s swivel chair, there wasn’t a single pair of eyes outside or near a window that wasn’t on the immense woman. The city, teeming with hundreds of thousands, was still grappling with their sudden shift of scale and location an hour before. Day turned to night, the surrounding area had been completely replaced with a matte black wasteland, utilities from the outside world were cut, and telecommunications from beyond city limits were silent. The only hint at their new, otherworldly location came when, after countless thunderous quakes, Cola came into view.

Illuminated by the twin glow of her lamp and desktop monitor, to say Cola merely loomed over the horizon was a severe understatement. From her knees on upward, the woman’s tanned curves were the sky and landscape merged into one colossal entity. Each one of her thighs were wider than the span of the entire city. Following them further up towards her abdomen, the edges and details of Cola gradually became hazy and blurred by the nearly astronomical distance between her and the city. Even so, it did little to hide the woman’s immense, borderline planetary chest that eclipsed her face from the city population, save for a few stray blonde locks of bed head peeking out. Betraying her otherwise deific presence was a pair of boyshorts and a clearly inadequate crop top.

It wasn’t until Cola actually looked down at her seat that any of the populace actually saw her face. Eyes of brilliant, emerald green irises the size of stadiums and a face of an implacable expression approached with tectonic immensity as she stooped down for a closer look. Thousands desperately tried to discern her expression as she lowered herself to observe. Was it curiosity? Concern? Or was it disgust? Some gave this little thought, as their attention was securely on the titan’s breasts, swelling against the straining white fabric of her shirt, spilling over and under and piling up like soft, rolling mountains, the atmosphere rumbling as they wobbled and swayed.

From the city’s perspective, Cola’s movement seemed methodical, glacial, an inevitable consequence that such extreme differences in scale brought about on the perception of time, and one that only served to emphasize her gargantuan size further as more skyquakes followed with her every move. Every inch she moved closer, every breath, every jostle of her breasts rattled windows in the panes of every building in the city, punctuated by the jarring magnitude of her footsteps as she shuffled her feet. The wind moved with her as she pushed through the atmosphere. Just minutes ago there wasn’t enough breeze to move a leaf. Now, gusts of wind whipped through streets, blowing away street litter, bowing trees, and swinging traffic signals on their wires, all from the air displaced by the woman’s face as she closed in to study them. Just as the moment became relatively still, the face that had taken up the sky pulled away as suddenly as a continent could, shearing through the atmosphere again as she stood back to her full height, taking the wind with her. Branches tore from trees and pedestrians toppled over as air rushed to replace the volume of space once taken by her breasts as they heaved and swung overhead and eclipsed her face once more.

Though a few citizens were at least delighted by the unintentionally salacious performance from Cola, none were any closer to finding a way out of their crisis.Those who were done marveling at the vast overhang of underboob and the monolithic midriff tens of kilometers over their heads were left to wonder what part the woman would play in the end. Would she help them? Was she the reason they were there? Did she even notice them? Others muttered in hushed tones of the slight frown she wore as she turned away and what it meant, interrupted only by the skull rattling quakes of her footsteps hidden kilometers below the horizon of the desk chair as she turned around.

Eventually, Cola turned her back to the city. Though her breasts were hardly obscured, their circumference extending well beyond what was blocked by a strong set of shoulders and back, the population’s attention was now drawn to the woman’s rear. Though not nearly as fantastically disproportionate as her chest, such a comparison was like comparing the scales of Saturn and Jupiter to earth.

Toned calves widened to thick thighs, tremendous towers of shifting, tensing skin and muscle supporting the voluptuous expanse of her rear. The sky blue boyshorts did more to accentuate Cola’s shape than hide it. The fabric hugged close to the skin, straining against hefty cheeks as they shifted, flexed, and bounced thunderously beneath it with every step and adjustment. Where the shorts rode up, it drew the eyes to the valley of skin where the glutes curved out and away from the thighs. Cola was nothing less than a landscape of living rolling hills and plains turned vertical and in constant motion.

It was an intense, sometimes erotic, often terrifying display for what amounted to a buxom woman standing up and turning around. Amidst all this, theories continued to abound. The theory that the woman was turning to leave to get help was the most hopeful to spring up independently in different pockets of the city. Some of those who were less hopeful and undistracted by the titan’s figure had already begun making their way to the outskirts to what they hoped would be relative safety for whatever would come next. Evacuees in the inner city found their path marred by traffic of gobsmacked drivers and debris left behind by gales of wind, while others already at the edge of the city found themselves in an alien, nearly jet black wasteland that extended for what may have been miles. Helicopters buzzed overhead. Some flew into the dark in the opposite direction of the titan white other, more daring pilots of a few news choppers seeking the scoop of a lifetime, flew even higher to get a closer look at the woman, or however close their engines and fuel tanks would allow.

Those that flew in the opposite direction carelessly only noticed the back of the chair a few moments before crashing into it.

Regardless of how they chose to occupy their time, all eyes turned upward once more as the usual constant rumble from Cola’s continental movements began to intensify once more.

She did not take a step away, as many had hoped. Instead she spread her arms to rest on two parallel arches nearly invisible against the darkness on either side of the city. The rumbling continued as her thighs curved inward towards the city, bringing her ass directly over the city as a distant, cotton clad ceiling. Panic washed over the city once more like a wave as the skyquakes set off by Cola’s hips continued to intensify. It was now immediately clear, even to those most enraptured by her shape, that she was about to sit down.

And they were about to die.

Most ran in a surge of humanity that filled the streets, shoving past neighbors and abandoned cars. Others desperately sought shelter in basements and interior rooms, hiding more from the sight of the titan than the coming impact. Others still, whether they were frozen by fear or were all too aware of the futility of fleeing, could only stand and watch as the expanse of Cola’s ass continued to take up more and more of the sky. The sound of hundreds of thousands screaming, shouting, pleading began to accompany the thunder of Cola’s descent.

Helicopters, flying more than two miles over the city by pilots eager to catch an exclusive angle of the giant, exploded harmlessly against Cola’s skin as she fell on top of them. The fireballs briefly illuminated small patches of cheeks and shorts as she blotted out the light of the lamp and computer screen, leaving her only dimly illuminated by the collective light of the city beneath her.

Next, Cola’s legs made contact with the edge of the chair, something that’d be of zero significance if it weren’t for the violent tremors it set off. Like her footsteps before, the tremors throttled the city but they never subsided, cracking facades and sidewalks and sending fleeing pedestrians stumbling as the roads bowed and cracked.

Those who still dared to look up saw less of a woman and more of an oncoming moon. The analogy was apt, as her boyshorts had rode up further, bearing the full volume of her cheeks to the city. They were close enough now that they were no longer blurred by the atmosphere, revealing freckles, dimples, and other details previously invisible to the unaided eye. It also became clear to those who braved the outskirts of the city that there was nowhere to run.

If there was any solace that the populace could take from Cola’s immensity, it was that her mass, despite its tortuously glacial approach, would make for a swift demise.

Sure enough, the tiny sprawling metropolis, which covered less than half of the area of Cola’s seat, offered no resistance to her landing. Any hope for the apparent softness of Cola’s thighs to spare the city crumbled with the tallest skyscrapers as she reduced them to street level in an instant. Cars, buses, and trains were mangled like flakes of foil. Crowds of tens of thousands of pedestrians, human lives less than mites, were reduced to innumerable clusters of tiny red specks lost in the dust as Cola’s weight carved through steel and concrete foundations. The final casualties were those who managed to flee the furthest from the city. It didn’t matter how fast they ran when the Cola’s hips easily filled the volume of the seat from edge to edge, but still they ran. An explosive burst of air displaced by the collapsing city knocked them off their feet a second before Cola came down on top of them as softly as tens of millions of tons could.

Her descent was only stopped only by the cheap upholstery of her seat beneath the city with a cataclysmic crash heard by no one. Her ass wobbled for a moment from the first real example of resistance as the last signs of civilization disappeared beneath it.

All that remained, apart from a few silty grains of rubble clinging to Cola’s cheeks, was a loose cloud of dust, as if kicked up from a dusty shelf. A gentle current of air from the room AC wafted the dust away, and with that the city was gone.

From Cola’s perspective, all this amounted to was turning around and sitting down. She didn’t try to feel the city beneath her or listen for the low crescendo of half a million screams before they were abruptly silenced. The only thought she afforded them was that she already had enough things on her plate without having to accommodate every tiny civilization that showed up in her home for reasons, as far as she knew, were beyond her control. With that, Cola immediately turned her attention to her screen, thoughts of the nameless city already fading as she opened the relevant documents and got to work. A huff of frustration and a creak from the upholstery underneath her as she scooted her chair up to her desk were as close to a eulogy as the city would ever receive.