Optical Prodigal by Russell Edson
A man sees a tiny couple in the distance, and thinks they might be his mother and father. But when he gets to them they're still little. You're still little, he says, don't you remember? Who said you were supposed to be here? says the little husband. You're supposed to be in your own distance; you're still in your own foreground, you spendthrift. No no, says the man, you're to blame. No no, says the little man, you're out of proportion. When you go into the distance you're supposed to get smaller. You mustn't think that we can shrink and swell all the time to suit everybody coming out of the distance. But you have it wrong, cries the man, we're the same size, it's you who are refusing to the optically correct. It's you, says the little husband, you just can't go blundering into the distance without some prior warning. This has never happened before, says the man, and I've been in the distance many times. You ought to go back to where you started and try it again, says the man, you might even has disappeared by then. We never change our size, we concentrate at all times; it's you who is the absentminded one. You are the one out of proportion, and it's you throwing everything out of scale; so get going; cries the little husband. Out of proportion ... ? says the man. Totally, without any optical intelligence, no consideration for scale, says the little husband. Don't you recognize me? says the man. No no, our son lives in the distance, says the little husband.