The Troll

The only thing the troll ever really wanted was to be a man. He hated being troll.

As he looked at his reflection in the pond, he hated being ugly - he wanted to be a handsome human. He hated how people hated looking at him. He wanted people to love looking at him as he passed down the street.

But he was a troll. And everyone knows that trolls are never handsome.

In spite of that, every creature in the forest loved the troll. He was good to them all. When the residents of the forest gathered to talk, the troll's name always came up with love. They always talked of the goodness in his heart. His parents have raised him up to be very special.

But the troll wanted to be handsome. The troll wanted to be a human.

As the troll walked through the forest one day, he crossed paths with the kingdom's prince.

"oh dear Lord! Go away you ugly monster," said the prince.

The prince of the kingdom was so handsome. Nobody hated looking at him. He was not like the troll.

The troll lowered his head in shame. It was true. He was ugly. He was a monster. He was nothing compared to the incredibly handsome prince.

The prince spat at him and left.

Only a minute later, a hutched witch came out from inbetween the trees. "What do you think of the prince, young troll?" said the old witch.

"He is so handsome. He is - he is human," mumbled the troll.

"What would you give me if I can make you look like the prince?"

The troll's eyes glittered. "I'd give you anything you ever want!" he exclaimed.

"Don't be so hasty, I might ask for that which you cannot give," said the witch. "But I will cut you a deal. I will turn you into the crown prince, everything about you will become him. All I ask in return is 1% of your kingdom. You have 60 days then you must give me the land."

Hastily, the troll agreed to the witch's deal. There was nothing to consider. The deal was too good to be true, it fulfilled every need the troll ever had in his life.

"The deal shall be written in blood young troll. Cut your finger and I'll cut mine. We will mix our bloods. If you ever go back on your promise, I will break the spell and you will become an uglier troll than you already are."

The troll used his claws to cut his little finger and dripped his blood to mix with the old witch's blood.

There was a bright flash of light. Sparks danced everywhere around the troll. The witch disappeared, the trees began to disappear and quickly the ground disappeared.

The troll woke up a few hours later. His legs felt weird. They were all wobbly as he stood up. He looked at his hands and gasped in shock. He had human hands. He had human arms. He quickly ran to the pond that he stared at a million times before but this time it was different. This time, the most handsome face looked back at him.

Unable to contain his happiness, the now-human troll ran to the castle. As he approached the doors the guards bowed and opened the door to him.

"I am the prince!" he exclaimed wildly.

It didn't take too long for the young troll to become the prince. He quickly fell into his new luxurious life. In less than a month he was acting exactly like the prince.

But the days went by, and he didn't keep count. He had all but forgotten his promise to the witch. However, on the 55th day of their deal, the witch showed up to him.

"How are you doing your highness?" she said.

"What brings you here you old hog! And how did you get past the guards?" replied the prince troll angrily.

"Relax" she said. "I can go anywhere I want. Walls and guards don't stop me. I come to remind you of our deal. In five days, if you don't give me 1% of your kingdom and fulfill your deal, you will become an uglier troll than you ever was!"

The prince panicked. He didn't want to go back. He wanted to remain prince!

"But I don't own the kingdom yet. The king - my father - is alive and he owns the kingdom."

"I have spoken, young prince. You have less than a week." Then she disappeared in a puff of smoke.

The prince tried in vain for the next four days to find ways to break the spell. Nobody knew how to break the witch's deal.

The prince sat in his bed on the fourth night. That was his last night as prince. He would do anything to fulfill his promise. He'd even give the witch half the kingdom - if only he owned it.

He quickly lifted his head. If I owned it - he thought.

The prince got up, crept through the corridors to his parent's room. He opened the door gently. He looked down at the king and queen, sleeping peacefully. They have been very good to him ever since he became the prince.

Without a second thought, he pulled out his hunting knife and stubbed the sleeping king and queen. The yelped for help, but no one heard them.

He ran out into the corridor and out through the main gates. He ran into the dark night and the falling rain.

"I am ready to fulfill my debt you wicked witch!" shouted the prince into the night.

The witch limped out from between the trees. "So you are king now? Can I have my 1% of the kingdom?"

"Take it and leave this place and never come to my kingdom again."

"I will young king. You will never see me again. But I do want to ask you something before I leave. You have done all this to escape being a monster.

Who's the monster now? The troll in you, or the prince in you?"

The Storyteller

It was hard to walk against the wind. The sands of the desert flew against my face and hurt my eyes.

The sun glazed down with a vengeance. I walked on - determined and motivated by what I did not know. I had to fight against the forces of nature which teamed up against me.

Suddenly he was standing there. He was an unimpressive sight. In another time and place he would have merely been a face among the crowd.

"Why have you come?" he said as he looked me in the eyes. As he did so, his eyes bore into my soul.

All the forces of nature that I had been fighting against suddenly stopped. They too were listening intently to know the answer to the man's question.

I spoke of my quest for knowledge. There is so much to know and learn. I had come in search of the storyteller, and I had found him. I wondered if I deserved to hear what he had to say.

"Tell me of the worlds that died away"

"No world has every died"

"But no one knows of them but you now"

"That is why I'm the storyteller. I'm the keeper of tales. The worlds live inside of me."

"Will you speak to me of them then?"

"The question is not whether I would speak of them. The question is whether you would hear of them."

And he spoke. It was a one-man audience, but there were millions of listeners. The wind dropped to a breeze that surrounded us. The sands rose to hear the words of the storyteller. The clouds drew closer, keen to learn. And he spoke. And his words became magic.

He spoke of kings and castles, of wars and love. He spoke of dragons with wings that covered the lands when they spread. He spoke of angels and demons, of death and rebirth, of magic and fairies. His words created worlds of sea pirates and space travelers.

And as he spoke, the magic began to materialize. I was not hearing anymore. Slowly my world was stripped away and I was taken to a million worlds with the storyteller. I was a king and peddler. I was a god amongst the pagan gods. And he kept talking, and his words stripped my reality and built his stories. I was the hero of every story and I was the least important character of each story. I was a sea pirate and a space traveler.

And slowly the worlds started to disappear and I was in the desert again. In front of me stood an old man. On any other day he would have merely been a face among the crowd. But he was not.

He was the storyteller. He was the creator of worlds.

As he looked at me, he smiled. Not another word was uttered. They were not needed. Everything that needed to be said had already been said. Everything that needed to be learned had been taught.

Words were the weakest mode of communication.

The winds sighed in satisfaction. The sands settled in peace. All nature has shared in the experience of the storyteller.

I understood the storyteller's smile. He was happy. His worlds now lived inside of me. He has been immortalized. Yet he was also satisfied. My worlds now lived inside of him as well. I have been immortalized.

I had never grown up. I refused to let go. I had chosen to remain a little boy inside forever.

So has the storyteller.