The name ‘Blaine Anderson’ is written neatly in felt tip sharpie on a tag hanging above your head. The name doesn’t ring any bells to you, and it defiantly isn’t what’s catching your attention. Besides the fact that the nametag is being held in place by a safety pin as think as a tree trunk, the FIRST thing you notice is the towering pillars of red denim yawning out into the sky. Legs, you realize with still disbelieving shock. Following them upwards, you take in the rest of the body attached to them. A cream colored torso stretches up to meet a yellow bowtie and the underside of a slightly stubbly jaw. You can’t make out a face, but it didn’t much matter.
…You scream anyway. Franticly, you will yourself to wake up. You pinch and beat at your arms to try and force yourself out of this nightmare. When you realize that it’s not a dream, you fall to the spongy ground. Defeated.
The sheer impossibility of the situation leaves you speechless as you take in your surroundings. You are trapped. Contained by a wall of worn, gigantic canvas. Inside of a fucking shoe. You are about ½ an inch tall, barely a dot among the vast insole.
Shaking and scared, you chance another look upwards. A bit past the unknown bowtie giant, is a different, but familiar face. Looming in the sky like a living moon is the cocky, big lipped face of Sam Evans. One of the Glee guys you were supposed to be meeting for a basketball game. …What the hell had happened?!
“Sweeet” You hear Sam say. “I needed a new pair of Chucks!”
“They aren’t for you.” bellows an unseen voice, effeminate, but still booming to your tiny ears. “They’re Blaine’s. …He brought them for me.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Kurt Hummel, resident fashionista and boy soprano, threw out a slight sigh as he surveyed the faded white high-tops. “Ungh.” He moans, rolling his eyes, “But I don’t understand why they have to be so pedestrian.”
“Because, silly,” Blaine Anderson, dapper as always in his bright yellow tie and perfectly styled hair, chimed in. “You can’t do a fifties medley without a pair of converse. …it’s a given. Plus, they’re vintage, totally classic.” Giving a reassuring smile, Blaine bent down and pinched the pair of shoes in his right hand.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The gigantic hand swoops towards the opening of your prison. You jump up and begin yelling out the name on the tag, assuming it belongs to the giant who is reaching down, his massive hand shadowing your entire form.
As Blaine lifts the shoes and continues talking to Kurt, you are thrown down onto your back, pinned down to the sole of the shoe by the rushing force of upward movement. Blaine’s thumb is towering above you, twice as wide as you are tall. His nails, though perfectly sculpted, hang ominously above your head; A deadly guillotine as thick as your arm. You continue yelling, trying to get the giant’s attention, as the shoe comes to a halt by the giant’s red-clad thigh. Your screams, however, are drowned out by another giants bellowing voice.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“So where’s that Matt kid? Wasn’t he supposed to meet us here?” Finn asks, plopping himself down next to Sam on the wooden bench.
“Maybe he choked under the pressure.” Sam chimes in. “..or maybe he’s just really bad at basketball and scared he’s gunna get beat.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” Finn answers, unconvinced. “Everyone’s bad at something, I guess. Maybe it’s sports for him. …it sure isn’t music. I mean, did you hear him sing at the audition? He’s …well, he’s kind of amazing.”
“Yeah. Just what we need. Another leading man to take all the solos.” Kurt chirps, shooting his boyfriend and his step brother a sharp look. “And on that page…Blaine?” he asks, stepping over to the shorter brunette, “I was just going to stand on the sidelines for this basketball thing, my star-turning stint with football was fulfilling enough. What do you say we head out and start working on our ‘Put on a Happy Face/ One Boy’ mashup instead? Here, let me have the shoes.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You are thrown to the tip of the shoe as it is handed off to the porcelain-faced giant. You bounce against the rough canvas as he survey’s the outside of the shoe, turning it over in his hands. You feel your head slam against the rubber of the tip, seconds before you are tossed upside down and jolted back to the opening. As the walls around you shift and turn, you feel yourself falling.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Maybe we can bedazzle them or something? Or at least dye them. I mean, we HAVE to dye them. White shoes after Labor Day is a crime.” Kurt sees his boyfriend begin to protest, and swiftly cuts him off. “even for 'Bye, Bye Birdie', Blaine.”
During the exchange, the two giants fail to notice the tiny speck of a person being thrown around inside of the much debated converse sneaker. As Kurt twirls the shoe around in the air, debating the possibilities, you:
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