A story about a boy and a helpful troll(One small section at a Time)
Chapter 1: Under Bridges By Streams
From grassy greens he thrives,
in rabbit holes he dives.
Insects and colossal giants alike,
safe from pranks is no creature alive.
Under a bridge, by a gravely, pitted hill, next to a stream lived a troll named Guz. He stood three inches tall and was as quick as a tornado.
Guz zipped and flashed wherever he went. To the average eye, he appeared to be a tiny, swirling dust storm. His speed, agility, and dexterity made Guz an untouchable menace.
Superb qualities helped him blend in and to be camouflaged in every situation.
His skin instantly altered color and adapted to match his surroundings while running or completely still. A perfect chameleon. The process took place automatically. Guz didn’t have to think about it.
Guz’s large feet allowed his strong legs to jump him 10 feet in any direction. His many abilities aided Guz in his mischievous adventures.
Living under a tall bridge had several advantages. The bridge was tall and wide. Its structure provided ample, cool shade from the hot sun and supported the sky.
Clouds were its friend and the sun its little pet. Guz named the bridge Altus.
The bridge hummed with energy and was constantly covered with shiny, speedy, round-footed bugs. The insects Guz knew in the grass had legs but none were as smooth and quick as those zooming onto and over Altus.
For Guz, life was complete with his animal and insect friends. He loved his little box which served as a home. The grass served as his main diet and he especially liked the dark green blades.
Never venturing far from home he spent most of his time playing or eating. If you were lucky enough to catch a glimpse of Guz he would likely be chewing on a dark green blade of grass sticking out of his mouth like a toothpick.
Guz meets a boy.
Wandering clumsily down a dirt path, Bill Ringer walked toward the Granada Bridge. A daily after-school ritual.
He whiled away an hour fantasizing about an easier and happier life at school, his neighborhood, and home. Daydreaming each afternoon gave him unbothered alone time.
Other kids called him four-eyes and grasshopper. School was torture. The taunting and teasing never ended. Bill started to think those were his real names because he heard them so much.
So, Bill conjured up an image of himself as a very different kind of superhero named Four-eyes Grasshopper. He would laugh to himself envisioning FG, the costumed do-gooder a powerful force to be reckoned with.
His favorite place to sit and imagine sat near the bridge and just under the edge of its shadow. The trance of concentration pulled him in like a super magnet and kept him from any distraction.
Bill became Four-eyes Grasshopper.
He saw himself with a cool grey stretchy suit. It was a fearsome, strong, stylish, costume.
FG gleamed on his wide, bulging, muscular chest with ebony letters outlined in shiny silver. His black and silver flowing cape matched his outfit in a spectacular fashion.
Cool kicks completed his superhero costume. He wore a pair of black Addidas Yeezy Boosts sneakers. The sneakers were too expensive for the family budget but in his vision, FG wore them proudly.
Bill imagined his body tight and bulky. Huge strong arms enabled him to climb over any obstacle and scale any height.
In real life, Bill’s strong arms served him well but his enormous hands caused him grief. His peers made fun of his disproportionally monstrous grabbers. Oh, but when someone needed a bottle opened, his hecklers thought his hand strength very useful, even phenomenal.
The amazing abilities of FG continued. He could tear a deck of playing cards in two, rip a phone book apart like it was a single sheet of paper, or crush a steel pistol into a ball bearing within his fist. His superpowered super claws squeezed evildoers into submission and easily snatched a person out of harm’s way.
Certainly, nobody tampered with Four-eyes Grasshopper.
As sunset neared Bill’s daily fantasy would end and the boy began his trudge from the bridge to his bike and back home to his real life.
(This is the beginning of a middle grade to YA book I have written. I am presenting it one small portion per submission here. Please let me know what you think and if you have a child between 10 and 15 let them read and give me feedback. I would love to know how the story is received.)
[Follow me and this story as I present it for your pleasure.
Here is Turkey Dance © — Part 2]