|GGB - The Bitterists and the Beautiful.... A fairy story. Kinda.
Once upon a time in the land of the Bitterists and the Beautiful, there lived a troll. He lived on his own. Under a bridge. As trolls do. He didn't give a damn what anyone thought of him.
And he didn't much give a damn about anyone else either.
He scorned them all.
And they, for the most part, scorned him back.
He was quite the most grumpy troll you could ever wish meet. And to his core, contemptuous.
But curiously, people did wish to meet him. They flocked to him.
Because his contempt was in part truth. And truth was a rare and precious thing in the land of the Bitterists and the Beautiful. A beautiful truth. Which the Beautiful wanted so badly. Oh, to own a little bit of that truth: To be able to be even more beautiful.
And contempt, though rather less rare, was still highly prized and coveted greedily by the Bitterists.
So every evening, and most weekends, the Bitterists and the Beautiful would tip-toe to the bridge, and trembling with fear, because this troll was not only quite fearsome, but notoriously unpredictable, they would peer over the side.
Hardly daring to breathe out.
Er, trollie? one would call out quietly, eventually. Because they'd be standing there all night if they didn't.
Would come the reply.
The Bitterists and the Beautiful would at this point resort to bribes: whisky, cigarettes and, er, chocolate biscuits. They would tell him jokes.
This would usually be sufficient to provoke the troll to the point of apoplexy.
And he would unleash a stream of invective and abuse.
And the Bitterists and the Beautiful would fight desperately over the words as they floated up from under the bridge. Leaping and jumping and trying to catch them; wrenching the words apart; stuffing them into their own mouths. What an unseemly scene. Swallowing it all as fast as they could. Before smoothing down their clothes, straightening their ties and rubbing the dust off their shoes.
And then they would go home. Feeling either more beautiful or more bitter. All of them happy.
But recently, they thought they could hear the troll crying as they walked away.
And that worried them.
But not too much.
In fact not much at all.
They were too busy chewing up the last of his words...
And actually didn't much give a damn.
Continues here.... Leaving the lands of the Bitterists and the Beautiful...
About the author: Guinevere Glasfurd-Brown, loving mother of Sassie who likes yellow racing cars. Her favourite whisky comes from Lagavulin and she doesn't like whiskey-sour at all. Essex, Suffolk, Cambridgeshire. Writes wonderful fairy-tales.
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Story and graphic by Guinevere Glasfurd-Brown © 2006 all rights reserved. You can quote if you indicate the source.