“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

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Once upon a time in a magical kingdom lived an ugly, lazy and bad tempered troll named Meekawl. Meekawl didn’t care much for anything and especially hated taking baths. His body odour could burn one’s nose off from miles away. It was why many of the animals in the forest had run away, lest they end up like the others who had strayed too close to him and dropped dead.

One day, when Meekawl was out hunting for his favourite food, speckled red cap mushrooms, Meekawl noticed something odd. Someone or something, had been digging up the little patches of fungi and devouring them whole. This made Meekawl very angry as eating his favourite mushrooms was one of the only joys he had in life. Mind made up, Meekawl set off to find the one who had dared to take what was his.

A distance away, a princess named Bianca, who was completely doused in a thick cloud of perfume and thus immune to Meekawl’s hideous troll stink, was on her way back to her castle after a day of horseback riding. Feeling uneasy at the complete silence and isolation of the area she had wandered through, she noticed a huge black shadow overtake the light of the sun. Turning slowly to look over her shoulder, she glimpsed a green hideous face, mouth full of what looked like red mushrooms. Before Bianca could open her mouth to scream, a large ugly fist slammed so hard into the face, propelling the monster far away and rendering it dead.

“TAKE THAT YOU DUMB MUSHROOM THIEF!” Roared the owner of the fist.

Gasping, Bianca being a well brought up princess quickly tried to express her gratitude.

“Oh! Thank you so much for saving me! Since you have done such a good deed, I will grant you entry inside my palace despite my no ugliness allowed rule. Aren’t you lucky?”

Turning to glare at her, Meekawl snarled, “NO THANKS. I DON’T LIKE PEOPLE.” Looking down his large bulbous nose at her he sneered before walking back to his forest. “YOU SHOULD THINK ABOUT TAKING A BATH. YOU STINK.”

—Michelle Shieh

“Trolls”

(For the full effect this should be read in a bad Brooklyn accent.)

As he stood outside the restaurant on the corner of 200 and 5th Joe Smart finished his fifth cigarette and made his way across the street to the back door of the shoddy Brooklyn restaurant. He could feel the sweat from his palms make the handle of the briefcase slide through his hand as he was crossing the street, as he walked through the door he was met by the largest Italian man he had ever seen.

“I- I’m here to see Marty.”

Joe stammered. As the Italian stared back at him with dead eyes he said “The fuck are you?”
As Joe didn’t have an adequate response due to his completely unassociated identity with these people he felt compelled to add a,

“…please?”

The man turned from him and called into the din behind him.

“Marty!”

Suddenly Joe heard a

“Yeah, I got some time.”

And was sent through.

Now Joe had heard stories of Marty Troll, what seemed like myths or legends even, he had always assumed they had been the construct of exaggerated gossip, as Italian housewives are prone to create. But what Joe saw before him now slackened his jaw and made all the stories seem that much more horrifying. Standing before Joe in the smoky back room was the ugliest man he had ever seen. Marty Troll seemed to be coated in grease, it started at the top of his head, combing over the few strands of dyed black hair into a cow lick all across his shinning round head, dripping down into the sweat drops that crawled over his face which one could hardly see due to the giant bulb of a nose that was jutting out of it, Joe thought he could smell the sweat seeping into Marty’s XXXL black t-shirt, it seemed like the fabric was stuck to his skin, forming into the deep folds in Marty’s belly. Joe could feel those beady black eyes staring at him but for the life of him he couldn’t shut his mouth, it felt like all the courage he had was seeping out of his gaping mouth leaving him with nothing but the accelerated beating of his heart pounding in his ears.

“There somethin’ in particular you lookin at?”

“N- n- no sir. I- I’m sorry.”

Joe stammered.

The room shook as Marty let out a deep-bellied howl of laughter. This both frightened and eased poor Joe who began to hesitantly laugh along with Marty, although Joe knew now what he hadn’t before, he was unsure of whether he could really go through with this, if this was really what he even wanted. But now he knew, after seeing Marty fuckin Troll he knew he was in way over his head and didn’t want anything to do with this kind of company. As he was trying to think of some excuse to leave the place Marty interrupted his thoughts with–
“So what is it you’re lookin’ for? I see you’ve got quite a nice briefcase in your hands there.”
Marty continued to chuckle through his words, Joe didn’t know what to say so he just nodded vigourosly.

“So tell me, I’m a reasonable man, you’ve obviously come here lookin’ for something, let’s do some business.”

Marty seemed truly genuine with these words, it eased Joe up and loosened his tongue,
“Well- well thank you, really, because you see the thing is, I- I thought I wanted
something, and so I came here, thinking I was looking for something”

“uh-hu”

“But you see that thing, that’s just not me.”

“I see”

Marty responded with a smile, which relaxed Joe even more

“yeah, yeah. It’s just, not. Who I am”

“I understand”

“You do? Really? That’s, that’s really fantastic, because I’m just not- y’know I’m not like this, I’m just-“

“Yeah, you’re a good kid, right? I can see that”

“y- um yeah.”

“I can see that, you. You’re good. I can see you. You think you’re good. You think you’re better-“

“wha- NO!”

“Do NOT interrupt me.”

Marty was glaring at Joe with those beady eyes, Joe unconsciously started backing away until he bumped into the wall. Cornered.

“You come in here, with your weasel fucking face and your god damned briefcase lookin like some punk out of a movie and you’re trying to come to ME. You? You insignificant little fuck come to me in my place of business and try to tell me that you’re better than me? Is that fucking it? What, because you got a damn desk job? Does that make you’re money better than mine? You think I don’t work as hard as you? What, you feel like “this isn’t you” like you got somethin’ fuckin’ better to do? What’s the difference between you and me, huh? I was born into my life and you were born into yours, I grew up this way, this if my family, while you were at college what exactly the fuck do you think I was doing? Even if I fuckin—“
And for a moment, Joe thought he saw something flicker past Marty’s eyes, just for a moment.

“Yeah… Yeah, well you know what. Not today kid. Today is not the day I forgive or forget, you came here for business, so let’s do some business.”

—P. Sehat

“Tommi the Troll”

He didn’t want to go to school. But as usual, he couldn’t tell his mother why. It would hurt her too much. He dreaded the walk into town, the winding pathway that brought him closer and closer to the site of his daily humiliation. The children there could be so unkind. He wondered if all parents forgot memories of their own childhood. Perhaps that was why they sent their offspring off to school, oblivious to their fate. Like cows for the slaughter. But not everyone was like him, and maybe not every parent remembered the cruelties that came hand in hand with primary school. Not everyone was stared at on the walk to school, or instantly disliked. Not everyone was teased and laughed at for how they looked. Not everyone was twice as tall as his or her classmates, and not everyone had lots more hair than a human eight year-old should have. No one was as ugly as Tommi. His mother told him time and time again, that he wasn’t ugly, he was just a little bit different and that was what made him special. But the children at school said otherwise. He was her special boy, and she had waited for him for a long, long time. She told him, that sometimes people were slow to see good qualities in others, especially those who were a little bit different from them.

“Have a good day my lovely boy.” His mother said giving him a hug. “Do you have your packed lunch?” Tommi nodded, and instinctively patted his little rucksack. Every morning, his mom made him a quail egg sandwich with berry leaves. It was Tommi’s favorite. And everyday Tommi sat alone at lunchtime. He tried to keep out of sight, sitting on a rock under a tall oak tree in the corner of the playground. But his height and broad shoulders made it very difficult to hide. His classmates would stand a short distance away and taunt him. One boy with blond curly hair was their leader and he would hurl remarks that brought howls of laughter from the crowd. To Tommi, they sounded like a pack of loud and hungry wolves. Later that same day, while Tommi sat alone in the shade as usual, the blond boy yelled out, “How’s your baby sandwich, you filthy troll! Did you roast the baby or barbeque it this time!?” The boy’s words and the children’s vicious grins would cut Tommi like knifes. Tommi didn’t eat human babies. He didn’t know why people thought that. He wanted to be human more than anything else in the world. His mother was a kind human lady, with no children of her own, who had found Tommi as a baby, alone and abandoned in the woodlands behind her house. She had raised him as her son and named him after her late husband, who had been well liked and highly respected in town. Not that it mattered to the children in their treatment of Tommi, or their parents who stared at him as he walked to school.

Just then the bell rang, and the crowd of children dispersed as the boys and girls ran back towards the school building. As usual, Tommi waited until the rest of the children were a little bit ahead, before he got up from his rock. The boy with the blond curly hair was running ahead of the pack. He was sprinting, trying to make it to the heavy wooden doors first. Tommi could see what was about to happen. Tommi watched the blond boy gleefully look over his shoulder, to take pleasure in his lead ahead of everybody else. Tommi saw the little bunch of weeds in the grass that the blond boy was running straight towards without watching where he was going, and because of his great speed, their was no time to warn the boy or for him to change direction. The blond boy tripped on the weeds and went sailing through the air, landing with a loud thud. His leg was splayed out at a funny angle and the boy started to wail. Hot tears flooded down his angelic face that was twisted into a look of sheer agony. All the other children stopped, unsure of what to do. No one moved forward to try and help him. At that moment, Tommi bolted across the grassy playground, three times faster than the little blond boy. None of the children had ever seen him run, because he moved slowly to avoid bringing attention to himself. In truth, he was much quicker than any human child, and was at the injured boy’s side in a matter of seconds. The blond boy looked up at Tommi who knelt over the injured child. The boy’s look of agony was replaced with a look of sheer terror and he covered his face with his arms in a pitiful effort to shield himself from the troll child that towered over him. Tommi rested his hands on the boy’s injured leg, and in seconds it shifted back into a more natural position. The blond boy looked up at Tommi in disbelief, who using the rumored magic of the trolls had healed his tormentor’s leg.

From that day forward, Tommi never dreaded walking to school. His walk down the winding path was met with smiles from the townspeople, whose children included him in every schoolyard gathering. And despite his naturally quick speed, Tommi often let the other children win the games they played together.

—Julie O’Connell

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There was once a vast green forest, which has since burnt to the ground, that was home to a prosperous group of Forest Trolls. Amongst these trolls, was a small girl troll named Hogie Bilby. Hogie was the youngest of the Bilby family and the only girl. She had 6 older brothers, Rainbie, Polbie, Blanbie, Rigsbie, Jansbie and Bluebie. All of whom played an instrument at the evening gathering.

Hogie loved music but whenever she tried to join her brothers they told her that troll girls could not play an instrument or sing, and that she should make them a feast, for they would be very hungry after playing music. Hogie made their feast, but spat and added dirt and dust from the floor to the food and watched in delight as her brothers scarfed it down after their music playing.

Eventually though, spitting in her brothers food became boring and unsatisfying. So, since her brothers would not allow her to play with them, Hogie would wait until her brothers were snoring and snarfing away in dreamland, then creep down to the music room to play with the instruments. Though she had never had a formal lesson, Hogie quickly learned to play every instrument she touched, because she had been born with a special gift that no one knew about. As she played, beautiful lyrics flowed from her mouth, with the sweetest tune ever heard. She was by far the best musician in all the forest, though no one knew it.

One night, at the evening gathering, Hogie’s brothers prepared to perform for the community. But when they opened their mouths to sing, nothing came out, and when they tried to play their instruments, their fingers stiffened and fumbled and they were unable to play a note! The other trolls began to be very angry and upset because they loved music and felt they were being gipped out of a good time. Hogie gathered her courage and stood in front of her troll friends and family, “I will play for you,” she said. The trolls began to snicker, for a troll girl had never before played at the evening gathering. But Hogie was strong and picked up a guitar and began to play the most beautiful song in the most beautiful voice the trolls had ever heard. All the trolls wept at how beautiful it was, and from that moment, troll girls were never kept from playing music again.

—Krista Marshall

“The Misplaced Tibetan Trolls”

In the dense forest of Tibet, there lives a group of Trollbalones who have established their home within the forest since the beginning of dawn. Little did they know they would experience a life threatening change..

The appearance of Trollbalones fit the stereotypic image of the typical troll. They are short and stubby, rude, clumsy and very short tempered. However, unlike other trolls, Trollbalones are very hardworking and not lazy at all. Their work ethic is evident in the numerous tree houses that they built for themselves within the forests of Tibet. Trollbalones do not adapt well to change, so when they built their settlement within the forests, they built it with the mindset that they would live there forever.

Unfortunately, their mindset was wrong. Little did they know that the Tibetan government was clear cutting the forest in which they live in. The Reason? So that there would be more grounds available to expand Tibet’s famous monasteries. Had the government known the type of creatures inhabiting the forest, the deforestation would probably not have been considered for the expansion of Tibetan’s infrastructure.

Slowly but surely, Trollbalones witnessed the demolishing of their tree houses as trees were being chopped down. Within months, the entire forest in which they built their lives in was completely gone. With their homes demolished, Trollbalones migrated to Shanghai to rebuild their lives. Unfortunately, Trollbalones had no idea that Shanghai had little, to no dense forest areas until they arrived.

Upon arrival, they realized that they had chosen the wrong place to move to. With no forests, or even trees, where would they settle down? It did not take long until they started regretting their move. Their short temperament did not help with the situation either, as they were extremely rude and unapproachable, even to the locals who wanted to help them.

Along with the challenges of finding a place to settle in, they also faced ridicule due to their appearance. Everyone else in the city was tall and slender, whereas Trollbalones were stubby and short. Their clumsiness did not help either as they would constantly walk into people, or knock down street vendors. With little success, Trollbalones realized that they needed to adjust to their new environment, fast!

As they say, beggars can’t be choosers – and that is exactly what Trollbalones did. Instead of putting their guards high up, and being rude and short tempered to the locals, they tried to be as nice as they could, and to thank the locals for even the smallest help. With the help of locals, Trollbalones were able to settle into a calm, small forest on the outskirts of Shanghai. It was then that they realized the importance of having a good attitude, and being kind to strangers.

Despite their experience of losing their home in Tibet, they were able to reestablish themselves in a completely new country, and make new friends while learning the importance of being kind and gentle.

—Jolie Ko

“The Boogly Trolls”

This is the tale of the Booglytrolls, who was very much like other trolls, but prided themselves in being individualists. This tale begins like many other Booglytroll tales, with the group of trolls having a Boogly meeting on how they could possibly make their troll congregation more exclusive. You see, Booglytrolls were much like other trolls in terms of appearance, diet, nature, habits, and well… everything (although they will argue differently). The only thing that set them apart was their mutual hate for the term ‘troll’ and what it stood for. They thought themselves to be much more akin to other mystical creatures, like elves or mermaids. Yes, mermaids. And on this particular day they were discussing how they could distance themselves from common, by the mill, trolls.

“We must make the world see us for what we really are! Truly majestic creatures, who are one with nature, like the mermaids are with the ocean”, said Dygtig, passionately.

“If we want people to see us as mermaids then why not just relocate to the ocean”, piped Flotte.

The trolls began talking over one another, the solution did seem quite simple, relocating to the sea would make them practically mermaids. And trolls always chose to live in the mountains, so what better way to distance themselves from those common trolls than to live somewhere totally opposite? The solution was quite obvious, they were surprised they hadn’t thought of it before. Booglytrolls thought they were quite intelligent you see.

The vote was unanimous.

The Booglytrolls took to the sea, and dived deep, deep down to the depths of the ocean floor, where they remained happily for the rest of their lives, under the impression that they were glorious mermaids.

—Megan Jensen

“Lonely Troll”

A long, long time ago there were was a cave in the side of a hill. This hill sat on the coast of Norway, in an area that was never frequented by visitors. Inside the cave lived a troll. The troll was not certain of how long he had lived, only that it had been a very, very long time. And in that time, no one had gone by his cave. There were sea birds that flew above, but they never made their nests close by him.

It might have had something to do with the way he smelled, although the troll was not very aware of his own stench. He had a large head and large hands, which looked even larger next to his small body. His feet were long and thin, and his skin could be described as grey and sickly looking. The troll spent most of his days outside of his cave on the beach, collecting pieces of driftwood and carving them into little figurines. There were horses and sheep and cows and pigs, and they filled the inside of his cave.

Although the troll had lived in his cave for a long time, he had once lived with other trolls inland. He had only been a young troll then, but he had loved his troll family and playing with his brothers and sisters. One day, his mother brought him a human infant for him to cook. The troll found himself staring into the infant’s eyes, and realized he did not want to kill the babe. This was not done in troll families. His father had insisted that he kill it, but he refused. Looking at him sadly, his mother announced that he would have to be banished. That was how he found himself to be living in the cave.

He survived by himself easily enough, for trolls can eat rocks and dirt. In fact, there was plenty of food for him. But he found himself so bored all the time! One night, the troll lay on his moss bed staring at his ceiling.

“I wish someone or something would come visit me!” he cried out, although all that answered him was silence. He sighed and went to sleep, not looking forward to another day.

In the morning, he woke up to the sound of something crying. He thought that he must be dreaming, but he ran outside anyways. On the beach in front of him was a bundle. He picked up the bundle, and realized that inside was a human infant! It looked tiny in his large, large hands. To the troll, it looked identical to the one he had been asked to kill, the one that had forced him to this cave. A small piece of paper was tucked into the side of its bundle, and it read: “please take care of me.”

The troll decided then that this baby would be his, and he would never let another troll try to eat it.

—Anonymous

“An Unlikely Friendship”

At fifteen years old, Svein knew he was the outcast of his village. Unlike the rest of his blonde, beautiful, pale-skinned Norwegian community, Svein had dark brown skin, big brown eyes and curly brown hair. His mere appearance cut him off from the rest of his peers.  As a result, Svein spent all of his time alone, wandering the vast Norwegian countryside.

One day, Svein was hunting down a slow, fat squirrel with his homemade spear, when suddenly there was a large “CRACK!” Before he knew it, he was hanging upside-down in a large hand-made net, swinging from a thick tree branch. He had unfortunately dropped his spear in the chaos, and was utterly without any tools to free himself. Svien didn’t even attempt to scream; he knew he was too far into the forest for anyone to hear him. But who had made this trap? Was it an enemy from another tribe, or one of his own?

Another “crack” echoed from below. Svein froze. Something resembling a large boulder rolled out underneath him. Svein stayed very still, watching. Suddenly, the boulder-shape unfolded into a large, lumpy, hairy troll. Now Svein couldn’t help but scream out of sheer terror. A pair of huge neon green eyes peered up at him, almost curiously. Then the troll spoke.

“Friend?” Svein didn’t move. The troll repeated himself, louder this time. “Friend? Friend? Friend?” Svein had to think quickly.

“Yes! Friend! Friend! Down!” Svein wasn’t sure how much Norwegian the troll spoke. A moment passed as they just stared at each other in wonder. Finally, the troll picked up Svein’s spear from the ground and slashed the net rope with one graceful swoop. Svein crashed to the ground, narrowly missing landing on top of the troll itself. Gathering himself, Svein stood next to the troll. Even at his 6’5” height, the troll towered over Svein by at least a foot.

“Come,” stated the troll. Svein decided he had no choice but to follow. After they quietly trekked through the forest for some time, the troll stopped suddenly. He pointed at a small squirrel squatting on a rock a few feet ahead of them. The troll aimed Svein’s spear at the squirrel, and pinned the squirrel against the tree behind it. “Dinner!” the troll exclaimed. He rolled over to the squirrel, unpinned it from the tree, ripped off an arm, and handed it to Svein. Svein hesitated, turning up his nose; he preferred cooked squirrel to raw squirrel with the fur still on. He took it anyway, however. The troll seemed to like this; he nodded excitedly and then shoved the rest of the squirrel into his own mouth.

They continued to hunt well into the evening. When it occurred to Svein that his mother might be worried about him, he told the troll he had to go. The troll’s eyes got wide and filled with tears. “Don’t worry, I will come back and hunt with you tomorrow! What’s your name?”
“It’s Gorg..”

To be continued…

—M. Cowley

“‘T’ for ‘Tea'”

If one wanted to find a Spiddyock, and there were many reasons for such an inquiry, a great deal of searching was in order and it was likely to be an ordeal.

The Spiddyocks are the modest type. Their homes, the same design as one may find in a common suburb, are not concentrated in a “ghetto” sort of way. They are spread out. Intentionally. Not of their own intention of course, but by the Bureau of Spiddyock Management. If they had it their own way, they would live together in a “ghetto” sort of way away from the entire human population. But they would never tell you that, of course.

I sat down for tea with a Spiddyock, once. Earl Grey of course, but there was no honey. At first it struck me as strange; Restricting oneself to one type of meat, be it American, Canadian or Manchurian, and cutting out all other animal products. But with this Spiddyock, that was a personal choice that I found almost entirely respectable.  So I took sugar.

It wasn’t difficult to find this one. He was quite open about his practices. His culinary reviews had begun to acquire a following amongst the older generation and upon my call, he insisted I come to him for our interview.

The Human census bureau controls the Spiddyock’s food stamps. If the Spiddyocks were in need, at any time, of an extra arm or leg, the census bureau accommodates their need and put their “Federal Food On the Go” services into action. However, Bureau of Population Management (BPM) handles the main food intake for the Spiddyocks.

“They do keep us bogged down with all their legislation, but what’s food is food and we can’t complain if we aint hungry.” The National Government keeps a heavy census tally on the Spiddyocks’ food intake, which is to be logged and officially certified after every meal, according to the BPM (who declined to answer questions for this interview.)

This fine Spiddyock allowed me the spectator’s seat as he prepared his breakfast. He usually preferred a European for breakfast as the Westerners tended to bog him down later in the day because of their high carb intake. His spice cabinet was extensive.

The kitchenware consisted of one large Martha Stewart cast-iron cauldron.

Unfortunately, I was unable to stay for the eating of Breakfast as the Spiddyock’s family was soon to arrive and family meetings tended to usually end in another meal, of which I wished not to be a part.

The Spiddyock’s part in society remains essential as overpopulation is a constant threat. They have absorbed themselves into our culture while continuing to practice their own specific rituals while not under watch of the human eye. It is not likely that one may find such an open and social Spiddyock as I was fortunate to stumble upon, yet if any of you readers out there are ever granted with the pleasure of meeting one, don’t wear too much perfume and keep a positive attitude and you may be invited for lunch.

—Noah Cohen