Gerry the giant perched on fallen trees drinking his tea. Calm before the storm, he thought, for he knew of the monsters’ anger with him. The evening grudgingly slipped by. Birds flitted to their nests, crickets roused up early songs as if in warning, and even plants seemed to brace themselves, pulling braches closer to their stems. Suddenly, the ground quivered from within and melted, drop by drop, with each shake. The forest sunk into a grassy soup as horrid moth creatures swam up, hooked Gerry’s leg, and dragged him back home. The teacup remained frozen, in solid forest ground.