The troll stares into the night sky and contemplates his fate.
For years the indomitable creature peered towards the heavens from his subterranean prison and watched as multitudes of unwashed masses (literally - many of the passers-by are running, biking, or skateboarding, and can be pretty sweaty during the unrelenting summers) walked over him, completely oblivious to his plight. What kind of existence is this, to hope for just the slightest bit of attention from a shy person, or someone who accidentally dropped a quarter, or just one who had already seen the Keeper of the Plains, the Arkansas River, or the modest Downtown skyline before deciding to gaze downward on the off chance of seeing something aside from the solid ground that they have no doubt is already there.
Okay, sure, he's not under any sort of delusions about his appearance, but ugly to the point of incarceration? Is that even lawful? The troll tries to remember if he was ever given any sort of due process before being forced into his dwelling, but he can't. Besides, it's not like a lot of these Wichitans are lookers, either. Doo-Dah? More like Don't-Dah. And if he wasn't made out of bronze, his svelte figure would probably rank pretty low on the BMI scale. What is it that Marquis de Sade said of ugliness? "Beauty belongs to the sphere of the simple, the ordinary, whilst ugliness is something extraordinary, and there is no question but that every ardent imagination prefers in lubricity, the extraordinary to the commonplace"? The troll is pretty sure that's what de Sade said, but he recently misplaced his copy of The 120 Days of Sodom, and also he is a troll who cannot read.
The troll resigns himself to his fate, keeping his chin up and his eyes towards the heavens in the hopes that someday someone will see him not as a ghoulish spectacle but a lovely, misunderstood creature that's been put in unfortunate circumstances beyond his control. For someone, somewhere to notice that it's not a scowl that he wears permanently etched to his face, but an optimistic beginning of a smile in hopes that things might one day turn around. Or at the very least, for the occasional miniskirt to walk on by. read more