Monday, April 29, 2019

A Troll Story

“It’s too late to apologize.”

I stared up at Shyll, my eyes narrowing. The creep glared down at me, his huge hook nose threatening to drip snot on me, if he didn’t wipe it soon. I couldn’t believe I had gotten this kind of reaction from the burly goon.

“Shyll, please get hold of yourself,” I said. Big mistake. The big lug reached down, wrapped his meat hooks around my waist and lifted me into the air.

“You get hold of yourself,” he growled, flinging spittle in my face.

Refusing to back down, I grabbed a handful of his green shirt, which was stained with something…I really didn’t want to know what, and wiped my face.  Wrinkling my nose I glared daggers. “What the hell did you eat for breakfast, a goat?”

“You insulted me,” he said, refusing to be distracted.

“I did no such thing.”

“You called me an evil little troll.”

“You are a troll,” I said. “Or did you miss that the last time you looked in the mirror?”

“But I’m not little,” Shyll said, pulling himself up to his full height. He wasn’t either. Shyll was a respectable 8 feet,  or somewhere in the vicinity, but his brothers were ten feet and his sister was nearly eleven. As far as troll’s went, Shyll was a shorty.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “I shouldn’t have disparaged your height.”

Shyll looked at me, still not willing to forgive. “And I am not evil.”

“Shyll, what did you have for breakfast?’

He didn’t answer right away, looking away a bit sheepishly.


“That old woman with all those kids.”

“The one that lives in the shoe?”


“Wouldn’t you think that qualifies you as being evil?”

“She stole my shoe!”

“True,” I said, “she should have asked, but the last shoe she lived in was falling apart and you weren’t using it anymore. Didn’t you just buy new shoes from the cobbler?”

“It was still my shoe.”

“Conceded,” I said. “But now what are those kids going to do? You ate their mother…and no, you cannot eat them for dessert.”

“Remind me again why I don’t eat you?”

“Because we are friends Shyll and friends don’t eat friends.”

“I think it’s because you sing such beautiful songs.”

“That too,” I sighed as he sat me back down. “Gently,” I cautioned. The big oaf nearly put a scratch in my gold finish.

“Play,” he said, ignoring me. He obviously wasn’t concerned about incurring my wrath. Wrapping my fingers around the strings of my harp, I sang a sweet tune, one that I knew was his favorite. My thoughts drifted to Jack, the boy that had tried to rescue me from my captivity. I wondered if he had managed to escape with the goose.  In the corner, Shyll picked up an old bone and cleaned between his teeth, dislodging a finger I thought I recognized as the cobblers. I guess he didn’t like the new shoes as much as I had hoped.

Word Count: 500


No comments:

Post a Comment