“Trowling”

Every few years, the trolls living in the gorge next to the valley Eyren put on a competition among the adolescent trolls. The competition was an important one, as it decided which of the young trolls would be chosen to partake in the troll games. What are the trolls games you might ask? Only the most prestigious event for all the trolls of all time! Rock throwers of all size and skill wished to be a part of the troll games, for they all wished to throw rocks at the human town of Eyren over the hill. They all strove for the honour and glory of bashing down as much of the town as possible, yet the honour was only bestowed upon the mighty.

Why stop anyone from the rock-tossing joy, one might wonder? For the pesky humans had a tendency to try and ruin their fun, shooting fiery arrows and cutting them with swords and even, horror of all horrors, trying to coax them out into the sunlight. Such as it were, the games were too dangerous for the youngest trolls, and Troki was not allowed to compete. His older brother Trokar was the most impressive of the teen aged trolls, he was the tallest and strongest of them all, with giant hands that could toss a boulder as far as another troll’s rock! Yet Troki wanted nothing more than to compete with his older brother, why should any self-respecting troll be deprived of destroying human homes?

Thus as night settled in, the games began and the trolls tossed rocks one by one at the human village. It was no surprise that Trokar’s boulder was the first to hand a crushing blow to the human settlement. As the cries went up, of humans in terror and trolls in celebration, Troki snuck in and took his place. With a great cry he sprinted forward, carrying a boulder that was much too large for him to handle. Just as little Troki was about to toss, he looked to his brother Trokar, who shook his head in dismay knowing his little brother would never be able to throw such a stone. Yet with his head turned, Troki did not see the ledge in front of him and slipped, tumbling and bouncing wildly down the hill towards the human village. Trokar shouted yet Troki could not be stopped, smashing and crashing down the hill with a fury, arms still wrapped around the boulder as he gained speed with every bump and blunder. The trolls looked on in shock as the blur that was Troki smashed into the first building of the town, and, to their shock and wonder, destroyed it along with the next! Troki did such wonderful damage to the town that is was then that the games were changed. And thus, my friends, is how Trowling was invented.

—Christine Sherrington

“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

“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