In a hurry to taste the treat, Greg fumbled the process of unwrapping the treat and dropped the slab of chocolate on the vestibule floor.
For his tiny, unseen dad, the plunge to the floor introduced a new, nightmarish dimension to his dilemma. The jarring impact broke the bar of fudge into pieces, tossing one very tiny little man to his freedom, which for very good reasons might not have been as desirable as it had been a short while ago.
"Aww, fuck," Greg complained. "What a mess."
He shifted his stance, causing his black-and-white football cleats to squeak on the hardwood floor. The skull-splitting sound forced his tiny, naked father to cram his hands against his ears. He could never have imagined a sound to produce such painful consequences. He watched his massive son leave the vestibule and venture farther into the house. The tiny man chased after him, scurrying like a bug over the massive floorboards.
He waved thread-thin arms and screamed Greg's name. "Help me!" Dan screamed and ran before he drew up short at the border between the hardwood floor of the vestibule and the grey Berber carpeting of the living room. The woven fabric under his feet felt strange and wasn't quite as easy as he sprinted in his quest to make contact with his colossal son.
The tiny man stopped to catch his breath. His efforts hadn't won him anything. Even his freedom from the slab of chocolate had been a clumsy accident on the part of his gigantic son.
"I've got to think about this," he said aloud. "Greg's my best chance to get some help, but I have to be careful. I must look like an ant to him."
He shuddered and thought of his own former life. He wondered how many ants and other tiny insects had died beneath his shoes without his ever noticing their demise.
"I've got to be really careful," he repeated to himself.