For the first time since the other giants faded into hills and legends, Grigori closed his phone and did not feel the weight of the world on his shoulders.
One night in November, the wind was so cold it cracked boulders. Grigori’s ancient joints ached. He posted a single line on his ok.ru feed: giants being lonely 2019 ok.ru
They became unlikely pen pals. Dmitri sent pictures of his drawings—monsters that looked sad, not scary. Grigori sent back photos of footprints in the snow that were twenty feet apart. Dmitri asked, “Are you a giant?” For the first time since the other giants
He waited. Three minutes later, a notification popped up. Not from Svetlana. From a boy named Dmitri in Murmansk. His profile picture was a blurry photo of a forest. His status: “I have no friends at school.” He posted a single line on his ok
Dmitri’s reply came instantly: “Then you’re not the last. You’re my first.”
Grigori’s profile was simple. His profile picture was a selfie—just his left eye and a chunk of a cloudy sky. His name: “Last of the Stone Folk.” His location: “The Northern Pass.” He had 142 friends, none of whom he had ever met. They were babushkas sharing jam recipes, truck drivers posting sunsets, and lonely teenagers sharing depressive memes.
He felt a message waiting. And that was enough.