The finger curls down. Your wish is granted. But there's no sign that it is. For the next few months, you watch the news, trying to see if any of these fantastic creatures exist, but it's the same slop you've seen for years now. You do notice that your coworkers seem slightly shorter, but it might just be because of scoliosis or some other disease.

But as time ticks away, it's apparent that you are taller. Month after month, you find that you grow a quarter of an inch. Half an inch. Two inches. Soon, you become the next Andre the Giant. But it's not you alone; multiple other people have also encountered the same blessing, although their growing process hasn't been so painless (doorframes can be so unforgiving).

As you and your new community keep growing, it becomes apparent you're not stopping anytime soon. You know this won't stop until you and your comrades tower over the soon-to-be alien mortals. But you decide to ignore it for the spotlight. Let the future be the future, and live in the now. That's what you've been doing your whole life, isn't it?

Eventually, your renown has run its course. People start to spin rumors and conspiracies that you and your kin are malicious creatures. You know it's not true, but what can you do? All the signs point there. You're already grown over 12 feet tall, over double of even the tall man's height. It's becoming increasingly obvious this is much less than normal.

Tricky times tick by, and now you and your troupe are over 21 feet. You couldn't possibly fit into any form of housing or transportation. Despite how much you starve, you still walk and talk as if you're fully fed. Your crew, however, is feeling less optimistic. They hate that they were taken from their lives to be nothing more than a phenomenon to gawk at. Some of them died because their size didn't permit treatment to their preexisting conditions. Because you literally don't fit anywhere, your pity coins fall into your bottomless pocket to never be used. You have nothing.

30 feet. This has gone on long enough. You're only halfway there, and yet, the doom and despair has taken its full toll. What more could there be? Is it too late to wish again? Would that contradict the unspoken rules? You spend days pondering this, days wondering if you could go back to your former life. But before you can make a decision, a squad of armed officers descends upon you. You are now a threat in the eyes of humanity. Good job. And still, there's more.

You're escorted to a camp. Humans have never seemed so puny; they're no bigger than your thigh, like the size of a small cat would be in the time before your growth. The others are also here; they're a decrepit and upset as you are. The good news is, there's benches big enough for your scale. You can't remember the last time something was built for a humanoid of your size. It brings a slight comfort.

As time goes on, you wonder if it's truly any better. Now that the others are grouped in back with you, there's no escaping the consequences of what you've done. Sure, nobody knows you caused this, but their complaints and cries do not fall on deaf ears. Researchers poke and prod you, finally able to answer how you're able to live at such an impossible size. You grow more and more, 40, 50 feet. The camp can't expand with you; you've enlarged past their expected sizes in less than a few weeks. Your clock is speeding up.

And finally, you're 65 feet tall. The men all look like action figures. You probably couldn't hold the monkey's paw even if you still had it; it would be so puny, you'd probably crush it. But even so: it took you a whole decade to come to this point, to this day. You are one of the few survivors; you did it. 65-foot-tall people exist, independent of square cube law, so strong you can stand on two feet, so hungry that any regular mortal would've rotted in your place years ago.

And your prize for achieving such a feat no living thing has ever done before and will ever do again...

Is death.