Red

(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.