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Hunger brought the beast to town. True love kept him there. After all, why else would he stay?

The weather was miserable. Freezing cold winds bullied the slums, mindless, savage, breaking the hearts of man. Those with fortune escaped long ago, taking the bread, the laws, the laughter with them. Those who remained struggled to survive. For food, they had crumbs, for warmth, drugs. For hope, they clung to battered pictures of a hand-me-down god, indifferent to the lives that he gave them.

And yet, in the dead of night, a visitor arrived, rummaging through the trash for scraps. He was a troll, behemoth in size and simple. Beady eyes, calloused skin, and the heart of a fairy-tale champion. He feared nothing but the sun which, upon its rising, had turned his kin to stone. Thus, he hunted by starlight, gathering shiny treasures into his worn canvas pack: coins, keys, soupcans, spoons, and a gold framed photograph of the girl he loved. 

She was a princess, unencumbered by the usual misfortunes – evil step-mothers, wolves, witches – but an apple not without blemishes; for although beautiful, she was born into an orchard of rot and fell unwanted upon the ground.

 She suffered there, concealed by the stench of vomit, until the troll robbed her dumpster and discovered the gilded portrait: a relic of her beauty on the branch. Each day after, he dreamt of her visage. Each night, he returned to the muck, searching but finding only remnants of her – odorless syringes scattered throughout the garbage can.

One night, after failing to find her again, he turned to leave when a scream pierced his heart. 

“Hush, sweetheart. Nobody can help you.”

Three goons, hunched below winter caps, had torn open an apartment door and dragged a woman out by her hair. More bone than flesh, she rattled upon the concrete; blood spilled from the holes in her pants.

“We’re tired of junkies like you never paying up.”

The runt of the pack, a lean and wiry stalk, spoke hoarsely and reached for the girl, and the girl bit down hard, snapping like a starved dog. Surprised, the thug grunted, then crushed her head – a vicious blow – and she lay down choking. The troll watched her eyes crumple, recognized her eyes … at last.

They never saw him coming. The troll, a shadow upon the ice. He who fled the sun at daybreak, who had never hurt a mouse, now charged the hoodlums madly, a truck bent to smash. And they were roadkill.

The small man died first. He was laughing above his debtor when the beast chopped his throat. The second man, quicker, pulled out a pistol and fired, missed. With ease, the troll disarmed him – ripped off his arms as the last gang member unsheathed a jagged knife. But when he lunged to stab him, the troll caught his wrist. For a moment, they danced violently, man trodding on the toes of beast, until the latter grew tired of dancing and wrecked his partner’s face.

Neither pain nor pleasure nor fear crossed the troll’s mind during the fight, but only the poor girl who lay frozen on the porch. Desperate to warm her, he emptied his sack, discarding valuables of every sort, and wrapped it around her broken figure before carrying her inside. There, he placed her on a tattered rug, remaining with her until finally, she awoke.

“Ahhhh! Get away from me, ugly creep!”

Like a sputtering teapot, she spat at the ogre, tossing ashtrays and candlesticks to drive him back. The beast, terrified to scare her, stumbled out the door and into the sunlight.

By: DOM