3,000 Leagues Under His Feet (2024) (Patreon)

The five of them had flown into Varadero for one last blowout before senior year ended: Jake, Tyler, Marcus, Noah, and Neil. Cheap rum, endless beach, and zero responsibilities. When they spotted the hand-painted sign for “Private Sunset Boat Tour,” they jumped at it. The old wooden skiff pulled up to the concrete dock exactly on time.

Captain Raúl took one look at the loud, already-tipsy Americans and rolled his eyes. “No jumping. No yelling. Sit and stay quiet,” he grumbled as they piled aboard, shoving each other and laughing.

They ignored him completely. Tyler struck a Titanic pose at the bow. Marcus tried to “help” with the ropes. Jake cracked open a Bucanero and sprayed foam across the deck. Noah filmed everything. Neil just grinned and yelled, “This is gonna be legendary!”

Raúl’s jaw clenched. “Gas first,” he snapped. “You stay on the boat. Ten minutes, no more.” He tied off the lines and marched up the dock toward the fuel shack, his worn leather flip-flops slapping against the concrete.

The moment he disappeared around the corner, the air crackled with strange static. The deck seemed to surge upward around them. In seconds the five college guys shrank down to barely half an inch tall, their clothes and phones collapsing into useless fabric piles on the boat’s weathered planks.

“Holy shit!! What the fuck?!” Jake’s voice came out as a pathetic squeak.

Before any of them could process it, heavy footsteps vibrated through the hull. Raúl was already returning, gas can in hand. He stepped onto the boat without looking down, his massive right flip-flop landing squarely across the deck.

Marcus never had a chance to move. The thick, black sole came down directly on his lower body, pinning him from the waist down. The pressure was instant and crushing. He let out a tiny, high-pitched scream that no one above could hear.

Tyler reacted first. “Marcus!” He sprinted across the deck and threw himself at the edge of the giant sandal, scrambling desperately up the rough leather strap like it was a cliff face. His tiny hands gripped the worn material as he climbed, shouting upward, “Hey! Down here! Look down!”

Noah dropped to his knees beside the trapped Marcus and grabbed his arms, pulling with all his minuscule strength. “Come on, man...push! I’ve got you!” Marcus’s face was twisted in agony, his legs completely flattened under the impossible weight. Blood the size of pinpricks seeped onto the deck.

A few feet away, Jake and Neil stood frozen, staring straight up at the living skyscraper that was Captain Raúl. The giant had no idea anything was wrong. He set the gas can down with a heavy thud that shook the entire boat, then crossed his arms and scanned the empty deck with an annoyed scowl.

“Where did these idiots go now?” Raúl muttered in Spanish, shifting his weight slightly. The sandal pressed harder onto Marcus. A wet crunch echoed through the tiny men’s world. Marcus’s scream cut off mid-breath.

Noah kept pulling frantically, tears streaming down his face. “Don’t you die on me...pull!”

Tyler had almost reached the top of the sandal strap. He waved both arms wildly, screaming at the top of his lungs toward the giant’s face far above. “We’re right here! Look down, you asshole!”

Raúl sighed, completely oblivious, and leaned against the boat’s console, one leg casually cocked so the edge of his flip-flop hovered like a dark guillotine. The sole lifted just enough for Noah to see the crushed remains of Marcus’s lower half smeared across the rubber tread...flattened, unrecognizable.

Neil finally found his voice, whispering in horror, “He… he doesn’t even know we’re here…”

Jake backed up until he bumped into Neil. Both of them could only stare upward at the enormous man who was now checking his watch and muttering about “pinche gringos wasting his time.”

Tyler reached the top of the strap and began banging on the giant’s big toe, still screaming for attention. Noah refused to let go of Marcus’s arms, even as the body went limp.

Raúl uncrossed his legs and took one absent-minded step forward to adjust the gas can.

His big toe came down...directly on Tyler.

The tiny climber vanished instantly under the ball of the giant toe with a soft, final pop. Raúl never felt a thing. He simply ground his foot once, absent-mindedly scraping something off the sole against the deck edge, then planted it back down.

Now only three remained.

Noah knelt beside what was left of Marcus, shaking. Jake and Neil stood side-by-side, heads tilted all the way back, watching the indifferent giant tower over them like an uncaring god.

Raúl poured the gas into the tank, started the engine with a low rumble, and waited another minute before shrugging.

“Tourists,” he grumbled, untying the lines. “Always the same.”

The boat pulled away from the dock, taking the three microscopic figures on the weathered floor with him, screaming, waving, utterly invisible to the man who now carried them out to sea.

Far above, Captain Raúl lit a cigarette and steered toward the sunset, never once glancing down at the tiny tragedies playing out beneath his feet.