Troll Blog

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yes.

so there.

you can stop that swinging now.

Sheola and Ikol were arguing.

Picture it.

She-hell: and rather lovely too in an interesting, hellish kind of way, with largish, boorish, frankly utterly hacked-off giant in tow.

Ikol, after a long-ish sulk, was now raging.

Calm down, said Sheola.

Ikol didn’t hear.

We couldn’t stay. There was no way we could stay.

It’s you! he seethed. You and that, that, that ruddy troll! I knew he was trouble, should’ve stamped on him when I had the chance.

As if! she interjected, This one tells the truth… mimicking Ikol now.

You presume too much, he snapped.

And you, she retorted, Pontificate too much.

Ikol glared. But was quiet.

Sheola felt...exhausted. She still had the last of troll's dream in her mind: And could see it still.

(image © Buttersweet, 2006. All rights reserved)

And this from a troll? What had she glimpsed?

She shook her head as it came to her. Incredulous.

The
colour
of
truth?

(© 2006. All rights reserved) if you don't mind.

Ah, sweet reverie.

Ta la, la, la, ta la, la, la, la, la, laaaa, la...

Troll sneezed.

And was awake.

Hanging upside down, above an Honestist pit.

He looked down and saw only darkness below. The fires around him were smouldering, nearly out; nothing moved. No Honestists. No Ikol. And, regrettably, no woman with the red lips.

Hang on. Troll felt fur in his face, and sneezed again. He lifted his head as best he could, and saw the emotuftie that had abandoned him earlier, snuffling under his chin, its bushy tail tickling his nose.

And there, beyond the emotuftie, on the top of the scaffold from which troll had been strung, were two men. Sitting. Eating sandwiches and swinging their legs. One was drinking beer. They were uncannily alike, and yet very different.

How do. One said, seeing troll awake, raising his bottle in greeting. He carried on eating his sandwich.

Fancy a sandwich? He continued, proffering what looked like a lunch box.

Troll shook his head.

What goes around comes around, hey, dude? The chatty one continued, munching.

Troll closed his eyes. Sighed.

This was all he needed.

You see, he went on, Sure as night follows day...

an' day follows night, chipped in the second.

you know that there's stuff which you simply canna change.... speaking together. They looked at each other and smiled.

The first stopped eating his sandwich. He stretched an arm out in front of him, and seemed to be looking at something in the distance, something that wasn't there.

Get my drift? and then dropped his gaze down to troll.

Troll shook his head.

She'la shudda known that. And he shook his head, and tutted.

Sheila? asked troll.

She-o-la. She who strung you up here, mate. Dream weaver. Man, you're lucky. She'd've had your liver onna fork. She'd've...eughk...don't bare thinking about.' he shuddered, and continued, 'We've seen some terrible things. And had to tidy up afterwards too. He shook his head then, and took another bite.

Where is she? asked troll, curious, but not.

She's gorn, mate. But she'll be back, no doubt about it. Sure as night follows day....

You all right there? You're not looking too good. The other one said.

Troll struggled, and shouted at no-one in particular Of course I ain't alright here....

Well, why didn'tcha say so? And the man stuffed the sandwich between his teeeth, and maneuvering to the edge of the scaffold he reached into his pocket bringing out a short knife and with a swift cut, he sliced through the rope tying troll's ankles together.

And not for the first time that day, he and the emotuftie found themselves falling....

(© 2006. All rights reserved) if you don't mind.

And troll dreamed of floating.

A weightless troll with nowhere to fall.

He saw a flurry of colour out of which emerged some rare, precious jewel that seemed to him all jewels in one.

(image © Buttersweet, 2006. All rights reserved)

He held it, and felt it to be weightless.

And troll dreamed of the gentlest stroking that started at his toes and moved up his legs, over his portly tum, and ended in gentler, ever gentler circles that were like the tiniest of kisses on his face.

And he reached out to hold the hands that were touching him and felt them to be no heavier than a sigh.

Troll, incredulous, sighed and knew he was asleep.

(© 2006. All rights reserved) if you don't mind.

(image © Buttersweet, 2006. All rights reserved)

Of what would you be thinking if you fell from a very high height? Down, down, down, down into a mass of upraised arms and hands?

That were reaching up to catch you to take you away to be roasted?

Er. Panicky thoughts?

Troll, troll, troll.

Dear, sweet troll.

He thought of warm breasts. He thought of pickles. He thought, briefly, of Ikol, the bastard.

As down he tumbled. Turning cartwheels effortlessly.

Troll thought of whisky. He could taste it suddenly, fleetingly. Smoky, peaty, burning.

And then Troll remembered, flailed and screamed. And he found himself falling headfirst through hands, falling down and into a tangle of limbs, into some deep, thunderous, heaving riot. That bore his weight and grabbed and pulled at him, and then thrust him up again.

Now he was in trouble. He knew. He could smell it.

He breathed in. Deeply.

Then he punched and kicked and bit and hollered and swore like he had never sworn before.

And found himself running out of words.

Then he saw the emotuftie, skiddadling off in the opposite direction over the sea of heads, nipping as it went.

Oh, dear reader, as if the betrayal of Ikol had not been bad enough, when half-witted furry animals desert you, then you know you’re lost.

Come back yer no-arse ball of squirrel hair! Troll hollered, half demented with fear and rage.

But the emotuftie, clearly not as dumb as it looked, had already gone.

Ruddy hell! Troll was rolled over and carried along on his back. Hands held his kicking legs tightly by the ankles.

Troll felt rope being tied around his ankles, binding his feet together. He could feel the heat of something hot. Somewhere nearby. And then suddenly he was pulled up by the ankles, free of the hands holding him, and he found himself swinging violently towards a fire.

And then away from it as he was pulled up higher. Higher and higher. And higher.

And then it all stopped.

And went quiet.

Troll was swinging in slow, lazy circles. He looked down, and saw to his immense relief that he was looking down into an empty pit.

And then.

A vision.

A woman.

With the reddest lips troll had ever seen.

Moving through the crowd of Honestists. A crowd that parted for her. And was hushed.

Captivating.

Then she was gliding through the air, floating around Troll in some red mist. Her eyes, languid. Serious. Pools of darkness.

Hello, Troll. She said, her voice soft, singing. She reached out and with her finger traced around the circle of his face. He shivered.

She smiled then, and wove herself like dream around him.

And troll
closed
his
eyes.

(© 2006. All rights reserved) if you don't mind.