A Lonely Troll Named Michael T.

Once upon a time, there lived a lonely troll who hated everyone. He lived among the worms and maggots that hid beneath the rotted flesh of the useless dead. His name, given to him, by a kind old woman who knew no better, was Michael T. No one was sure what the T stood for, but everyone did agree that it did not stand for 'terrific.'

Michael lived his life mainly to annoy and cause grief among those who were closest to him. In his circle, he could count 2 very close friends, and both of those people were imaginary. He was a lost soul. A solitary lump of nothing, with absolutely nothing to smile about. Until one day.

She came to him, purely by accident. This frail small elf-like creature wandered into the woods, and saw Michael urinating. She had never seen such a creature as this! And to see him relieving himself, only made her more curious!

"My goodness!" She exclaimed. "Did you not see me approaching? Could you not hear my footsteps on the freshly fallen leaves?" Michael, slowly looking up...quickly went back to what he was doing....his urine, finally down to dribbles, stopped. He placed his small piece of flesh back into his tattered trousers and began yelling.

"You foul creature! Why have you wandered into where no man nor woman has wandered before? And why must you come during a time of urination! A most private time for a troll. A most intimate act!" As he said this, his hands were in the air, his head shaking to and fro, and spit flew in all directions. He was angry. But trolls are known to be angry. But...all at once...he became still.

He began to notice her. She was frail. Beautiful. And her hair reminded him of his childhood. Of golden fields of tall grass...grass he would run for hours through....and then, he felt a tear. He quickly wiped it away.

She spoke to him. "Why would a creature with such anger, cry?" He could not answer. He just looked. He looked at her, as if she were the most beautiful thing he had ever laid his eyes on. And, deep in his heart...he knew that she was. She was the most beautiful thing.

Then, without warning, his glance fell to the ground. He could not look into her face, any longer. She was overwhelming. And under his breath, which smelled of rotten lettuce and rat innards, he ask: "What is your name, stranger?"

She answered, in a whisper: "Danillaphilia"

to be continued.