“My Kind”

I was alone the first moment I opened my eyes. There was a dense forest outside my cave that I made my humble abode. The only living things around that I could talk to were the crows. They were wise and kind, I enjoyed their company.

One day I went down to the river bank, the water was still in the early morning and it was the first time I saw myself. I am not soft like the clouds or smooth like a flower petal. In fact, I am quite hard, bumpy and rigid. I would not be surprised if the mountain was my father.

I grew fast, soon I was as tall as the trees that once surrounded my cave. I say once because sometimes small, funny looking creatures would come and cut down some trees. It used to be that they took only five or six, but now they come in packs and create bald spots in the forest. The birds tell me not to get too close to them, they do not like my kind. That was not a problem because their sharp tools scared me, I only watched from afar. ‘Troll’ is what the creatures have named my kind, a wise crow once told me.

I no longer fit in my cave and I also do not become hungry as often. I eat once every three or four days. I catch large animals and I am glad I cannot talk to them. It would be very hard for me to eat them if they were pleading to be let go. The forest is disappearing and I am worried that the creatures will find me. I ask the crows where I could go and they tell me that they used to see some of my kind a few days walk from my cave. They warn me to stay close to the mountain side, not to wander into any fields and to walk quietly. I will eat tonight and leave tomorrow.

—Samantha Yip

“Fergus Forest Troll”

The tale of Fergus forest troll, is a fearsome one. A mere mention of his name has rendered even the most brave and bold into cowards and fools.

A vicious, heartless creature is Fergus forest troll. With great sharp teeth, beastly eyes and gnarled limbs adorned in tangled thorns. A great many men, sheep, women, goats, babies, cows and perfectly good rose bushes have fallen victim to the wretched wrongs of Fergus forest troll. Though none have spied him for generations, his tale still haunts the villages near the Great forest.

A young girl, Flora, once lived in a village to the east of the Great forest. Tales of Fergus forest troll, hung around the schoolyard as they had for years and years. But none were so brave enough to explore beyond the village wall to sneak a glimpse of the mangled, malicious, dark and deadly Fergus. To Flora, fearsome Fergus was fiction, a fraud, and nothing to halt a fair flower picking over. So, one Tuesday mid-morning, Flora ventured through the village fields, over the village wall, and into the Great forest.

It was just as she was picking precious pink peonies that she spied, just beyond a small stream, a quaint creature, a dumpling of sorts, with squat legs and the floppiest of ears atop terribly pinch-able cheeks. She failed to see him before, what with his mossy coat sprouting dainty buds of dandelions and his marbled grey stone skin. A suitable amount of pleasantries and delightful, yet slightly awkward small talk was exchanged before at last the tiny troll introduced himself as Fergus XIV, the youngest Fergus in the Fjergusson clan. Flora did not wish to be rude, however, she politely proposed that he positively could not be the Fergus forest troll, of the hateful and horrid Fergus forest troll tales.

Alas, he was not, that terrible title belonged to his great grandfather, a rancid reputation which Fergus relentlessly rejects. The fearsome family of Fjergusson had long passed, leaving Fergus to his lonesome, quiet hobbies of stone skipping, flower foraging and wood whittling. Centuries of solo soul searching had made Fergus Fjergusson quite the crafty troll.

Following a lovely lunch of fresh figs and lily leaves, Flora fondly bid farewell to friendly Fergus forest troll and fervently set off on a mission to free Fergus from the sordid slew of rotten rumours.

As years and years passed, Flora, having putting an end to the petty, pernicious tales of “fearsome Fergus”, was now making considerable efforts in the tracing and rehabilitation of abandoned, forlorn and dejected forest trolls.

Whilst Fergus forest troll received tremendous tribute for his debut artistic exhibition: “Forest forms: A sculpted series of winter whittling.”

—Kristian Martin