His father was huge. 6 ft 4 and broad, strong. He towered over his mother and over him. Maybe that’s why his mom named him David. Throughout her pregnancy she'd hoped and prayed that he’d be like her and not him, so that she ‘wouldn’t be outnumbered by giants’.

He remembered her voice, a warm and soothing baritone, she had a deep velvety voice that shocked people when they saw it coming out of such a petite blonde woman. He remembered her standing over him, smiling, and he was suddenly small, shrinking until he was much smaller than her. He saw the walls of a crib rise up like prison bars around him and heard her say:

“Oh David, my sweet little David” before she turned and lovingly placed a hand on his fathers hulking chest and murmured with the warmth of melted molasses,

“And my Goliath.” She let out a contented sigh and his vision started to swim, colours and images blurring together in a muddled blend and years passed.

He saw them arguing about money. He’d seen it before. Late nights, when he couldn’t sleep he’d catch them fighting over the kitchen table before they noticed his small frame hugging the doorway.

His brother, Brady, had never missed a night's sleep in his life, never noticed the strained conversations, the air filled with a tightly controlled panic. Then again his little brother wasn’t really like him - he was like their dad. He wasn’t little, he was larger than life too.

Later, maybe a few months or maybe a year, he started to see his dad sitting alone in the kitchen night after night. A beer in one hand and his other hand pressed against his forehead. His eyes closed and his grip firm around the bottle. His square jaw clenched tightly and his mouth drawing a straight line. His huge frame seemed slightly smaller in those moments.

Seeing him like that, worn down, was the only time David felt like he looked like him. He didn’t see the strength, the indomitable energy he usually had. He didn’t see the ex-football star who had almost made it and even now was the talk of the town. He saw someone like him. Someone whose problems were bigger than they were. It was a night like that when his father decided to join the military, he was sure of it.

After that came the good years.

Year after year of his father’s promotions. Parties celebrating his success, celebrating the opportunities he had to come home, celebrating the end of financial fears and hunger, and celebrating things he couldn’t or wouldn’t talk about. Celebrating medal after medal, silver and bronze that they pinned on his chest. Mom started to call him a hero in public, she still called him her goliath at home.

But he wasn’t home often.

They would move, from city to city trying to get closer to him. Trying to get more time with him. Sometimes it helped, usually it didn’t. David hated moving, he never made new friends as good as the old ones. He had to introduce himself all over again, and had to struggle to keep up in school. Worst of all his brother flourished through it,

“A Million friends in a million states!” Brady would exclaim with a wink.

It was true too. He was magnetic, good at sports and everyone loved him. David couldn’t help but love him too, he was his brother, no matter how jealous he got.

Besides, things were better. Life was good, mom was happy and she spent so much time with them: going to zoos, traveling on vacations and teaching both of them how to bake, how to cook, how to dance and how to, well, live. She was always there, with infinite energy, bubbly and loving and she filled all the space that was empty in their home.

Years later David saw his dad come through the door, a massive bundle of presents under his arm and a confidant grin splitting his face. He’d somehow forgotten, but it was his 17th birthday. The presents were nice, but it was nicer to see his dad, nicer still to be remembered. He felt the smile that filled his face hit him, his heart singing with happiness that spilled out of his features as he ran across the floor and jumped up into his dad's arms, grabbed in a massive hug that was warm and safe and unchanged from his childhood.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

They ate together, as a family. His mom prepared a huge feast. Ribs and coleslaw were the centerpiece, smokey and sweet with meat that just melted away in your mouth. It was his dad’s favorite. It made him smile to see the mess the ribs made of his dad’s shirt, to see his mom clean him up like she always used to.

Then it was time for his presents, he tore into the smallest first to find the box for a new laptop. Functional sure, but more than that it was something that he’d have fun with - the internet had been the one constant of the outside world even as they’d moved time and time again. David had grown more obsessed with the digital playground, with its boundlessness and constancy. He stroked the outside of the box and laughed happily, relieved that he wouldn’t have to fake being happy like the year before when his dad had bought him new pants and underwear.

He started to turn to say thanks, when he realized his parents were talking in hushed tones behind him. He looked out of the corner of his eye and saw his dad holding his cellphone down at his side. Heard him say in a tense tone,

“I’m sorry Sarah, but I have to go.” His mom hissed back,

“You don’t!” before seemingly realizing that everyone else in the room had gone quiet. That David and his brother were both staring. His dad answered gently,

“I do.” Before he turned to the door and walked out. David ran after him, yelling out into the street,

“I love you, thanks for the laptop, be safe!” His dad gave a thumbs up and yelled back while halfway into a black car,

“Always champ! I love you too.” Just like he usually did.

The next few months were tough. Mom wasn’t herself, or maybe that’s just how he remembered it now. She put on a good show, still full of energy but it was bubbling instead of bubbly, pressurized and just waiting to blow.

His brother's birthday party was different. Dad couldn’t make it, but Brady always took that better than he did. The whole night seemed to blur in David’s memory. Blur like the muddled colours of his dreams. A soft dreamy haze blanketed him as he observed his family - seeing every flaw in their mom’s armor, seeing the way every smile had a weak point, the red tint around her eyes as she sang happy birthday over a glowing cake. He saw Brady, trying to be big, trying to live up to the man that wasn’t there.

He heard the phone ring and everything came into sharp focus.

The man that wasn’t there.

The man that would never be there again.

He heard his mother wailing. The sound was too much from her. David’s eyes were dry and he didn’t make a sound. He curled his limbs tight and tried to be small, to disappear.

The phone rang several more times, but no one answered. Brady held mom, rocking her against his chest. Telling her we’d always be there. A few tears slipped out of him, but his eyes were steady. Blazing with purpose and fierce with love. His gaze was intense and in David’s memory it stung, the passion and promises bored into him, asking: ‘where were you then? Where are you now?’

Hours passed, then days, then weeks. They didn’t talk about it. Not ever, until one night David couldn’t sleep and came downstairs just like he used to. He saw his mom in the kitchen, crying silently. His brother wasn’t awake, he never was at this time of night.

David stepped out into the kitchen and silently walked over to his mom to hug her. He held her wordlessly, felt her shaking and just let her. He rubbed his hand in small circles against her back until she slowly shook less and less, and eventually it was hard to tell if he was holding her or she was holding him. Her heard her voice, quiet and light and almost petulant,

“You don’t have to be like him, you know. You never have to be like him.” Her hand reached up and started stroking David’s hair.

“You don’t have to be a hero.” As the last word came out of her mouth her tone shifted, too many emotions packed together to untangle: love and rage, longing and hate leapt from her mouth into David’s heart, reverberating through his chest. Her arms around him grew gentle as she whispered,

“It’s okay to be small. It’s okay to be safe, just please be safe. My sweet little David.”

David woke up with tears streaming down his face. The shredded remains of his sleeping bag lay in disarray - it was strewn meters away from him in every direction as if it had burst. The leaves below and around his limp body had been pulverized, not a trace of their gray crumbling form left in the hard packed dirt that surrounded him.

He had pulled on his magic in his sleep, harder than ever before. He felt like he was on fire, layer after layer of magic building densely in him, packing tightly until there was no more room, bones of energy being built as thick as his limbs and thrumming with heat. Until he couldn’t hold it and it burst, flowing out from his skin. The energy fountained out into the air, invisible force and muscle filling capacity David didn’t have, slowly constructing something massive, something more than human. The magic that burnt at his insides made scaffolding for an immense thing that began to take shape around him.

David whimpered,

“I’m sorry mom.”

As the form snapped into place.