Trolling for Freedom
Response to the Medium Magic microfiction prompt: “You are a nasty troll under a bridge with a soft side.”
Though I’m shaking, my voice is surprisingly steady. “What’s the toll?”
“Your life,” his says, voice also oddly steady. Shouldn’t he bellow?
My stomach churns. This isn’t how it should go. There’s always another option. Get things back on track. “I have a nice rock.” I hold it out. “Mica. Shiny.”
He knocks it away. “Rocks I have. They provide no solace.”
I search my bag. “Frying pan? Enamel. Never scratches.”
He whacks this away also. “I’ve waited for you, I’ll have your life.”
Clarity. There aren’t two options. This troll doesn’t negotiate. “This isn’t how it goes!” I cry, but something powdery is blown into my face, and I grow dizzy.
Awakening to a head filled with stinging hornets, eyes crusted, blood moving molasses slow, I understand. How our village has always remained safe. No dread of a monster under the bed, for it resides beneath the bridge. A tale so younguns fear wandering too far from their sheltered world.
Safety also has its price. My face feels scaly, my flesh saggy and damp. My bones hurt as if somehow stretched, my hands, hairy and huge, lay on the rough burlap I wear, clothes gone. He wears them somewhere out there living my stolen life. I roar in protest, a sound not mine. Take note villagers, there’s a new Troll in town and your children best think twice before straying.
I pace on bulging legs. I’ll protect. Until a brave one tries to escape a place grown too tame for burgeoning imagination. Then trapped, changed, they will remain to serve in my stead as I do for the one before. I will live their life as they will live another’s in turn. Each transformation will ensure the village’s safety, its children held fast to it, one way or another.
Natalie Frank, Ph.D. (Clinical Psychology) 2019
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