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Damian was not a child anymore, so he didn’t believe in fairytale creatures like fairies or trolls. His grandfather used to entertain him with stories about the troll who guarded a little bridge outside their hometown, but that was in the past now. Yet, when he went through the woods to find that little bridge on a whim, he couldn’t deny what his eyes saw. A big, hungry-looking troll, huddled up next to a crumbling bridge over a small stream.
“I never knew the story was real,” Damian commented.
“I get that a lot,” the troll replied. “Bridge trolls are a dying profession.”
“Then why are you still out here then?” Damian inquired.
“It’s the family business,” the troll explained, “my father was a bridge troll, as was his father, and so on. It’s my calling. I like being a bridge troll.”
“You don’t look like you’re enjoying it,” Damian observed. He watched as the troll remained seated in the flowing stream with a clearly empty stomach and dressed in rags. The troll’s expression was flat and stoic. He did not smile, nor did he frown.
“Well, I’ve fallen on hard times,” the troll admitted. “Dying profession and all that. Bridge trolls have a reputation for attacking anyone who crosses their bridge. As it turns out, people don’t like that.”
“So, do you attack anyone who crosses your bridge?” Damian scanned his eyes over to the decaying structure. The little cobblestone bridge looked like it was built over a century ago. Damian was certain if anything larger than a small animal crossed, it would collapse.
“Only the occasional squirrel or rabbit,” the troll answered. “But they always come in groups of three, and they always trick me.”
“So, you don’t get any food or money? What’s the point then?” Damian asked.
“I’m a bridge troll, it’s my job, but it’s not something you get paid for,” the troll stated.
“Wouldn’t you prefer to be guarding a bridge and getting paid for your work?” Damian inquired.
“Sure, but how?” The troll answered.
“Well, you’re a big, tough guy. I think I know exactly what to do,” Damian smiled.
~--~
Damian asked around town and quickly came across the number of a local security company. A few months and interviews later, the company had a new guard for the huge bridge that led out of town. The troll stood with pride in his extra-large security uniform, finally getting to be a proper bridge troll and a paid one at that.
“So, how goes the new job?” Damian asked the troll.
“Better than I could have ever dreamed,” the troll adjusted his new security hat and teared up a little. “Boss likes my work; says they don’t get any more vandals since I started working.”
“Good to hear,” Damian nodded, pleased that he did a little good for the troll.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” the troll marched off towards a shifty-looking pair of men. The duo took one look at the troll approaching and hightailed it. The troll simply huffed with pride. Perhaps bridge trolls wouldn’t be a dying profession after all.
~~~~
Sometimes a seemingly dead-end career only needs a change of workplace or venue to revitalize it. You just need to find the right person or place to point you in the right direction.
On an unrelated note, it's the three year anniversary of my first short story (in my current style at least) on this blog. Starting June 12th 2018 I've posted a new story every Tuesday (I don't think I missed any weeks). I definitely feel like I've improved, but I also feel like I have a ways to go. I never thought I'd manage to keep something up like this for so long, but honestly it's been a nice consistent thing. There were times I didn't have much going on but my writing, and I'm glad I kept at it. Here's to another three years and hopefully more.
Until next time, Read, Comment and Enjoy
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