Once there was a man who fell in love. And he wooed his love in hopes of marraige night and day. After they were wed he moved them to New York city; he loved the back and forth buzz of movement and its tall towers, and wanted his children to grow up amongst the beauty of the city. However, after his divorce was finalized fifteen years later he had 30 days to move out of the house they originally bought together. He wasn’t sad or bitter, just felt the weight of its inevitability. As if he knew all along there was nothing he could do to create a different outcome. He found a modest rent controlled apartment high above the cluttered streets. His children came to stay every other week-end and Wednesdays as dictated by the divorce agreement. David’s place wasn’t big, but it was enough as it had opulence, charm, and beauty (as well as a corner view of central park, which he often enjoyed). Looking out his balcony was his favorite pastime, he was fascinated by the people below him on the street, they looked like walking puppets pulled forward by unbreakable steel strings. He loved the sky view and enjoyed the pigeons that flew around his balcony. He felt empowered standing unnoticed in his tower, observing the world below.
The constant marching of people was calming, they looked only forward and sideways paying no attention to what happened up above or down below them, unless of course they got a gooey plop on their shoulder. The pigeons flying in the sky around his balcony also paid no mind to him nor those down below, unless of course some scrap of bread was thrown or left on the ground. Two separate worlds forced into one space, three if you counted him as the observer.
He lived his life everyday in the same way. He went to work in a suit looking dapper and prince like, but prince he was not… or maybe he was or could have been in a far away prince like land. His sword was his phone and his shield was his laptop. He bravely fought the onslaught of invading ogres, or rather men dressed in every day suits who tried to plunder his business stocks. He went to work in this same way, but mornings were the hardest. His tightened chest and frantic heart woke would wake him up in the middle of the night, as if he was being dragged under.
After work, in search of solace, he went to public places with dim lights, delightful appetizers, and scotch on the rocks. The buzzing of people quieted the ongoing stench in his head. He dazzled and charmed with his dapper way and smokey eyes. To the ladies he coo’d words of romance and love till they swooned with desire, but that could last for only so long. To the men he told bold tales of daring feats and life’s brutality, having of course conquered them all. Most of it was true, but some of it was not… or at the very least greatly exaggerated. He thought it just the same as they could be true, if things had gone just right. The stories offered respite from the voices in his head. Clickity clackities of left over growls and gnarls of the trolls he heard in his head. His intentions were always well meaning and he had a good heart, or so he thought… but felt disconnected from those that surrounded him. He saw people as puppets acting out scenes and strove faithfully to play his part. When he got home, before he climbed into bed for the night, he calmed himself by looking down at the continuous artful motion of moving people.
When he was younger, on a family vacation in Maine, he wandered alone into the forest and try as he might could not escape the trolls binding once he was caught. They dragged him back to his lair and tasted him while he was still whole. They tried twisting him into tasty parts but he was too tough and fought them, shouting angry curses every chance he could. The trolls then put him to sleep and hid him so no one could hear or find him. While he slept they tried potions and herbs and danced frantically with their rocks clicking and clacking hoping for something good to eat, but this did nothing to make him more tender nor tasty. Try as they might they could not turn him into what a trolldom meal requires. In frustrated agitation the trolls howled and gnarled, and as punishment took his heart and encased it in a stone locket, click clack just like that. Then let him go.
As he grew so did his paper doll eyes and the stone he carried within his chest.
One night, after wearing himself thin with the wooing of fair maidens and dazzling knights in shining armor, he retreated to his penthouse. Looking down from his high tower terrace he wondered what life would be like to join those down on the street below. He ached to take the leap. One can carry a heavy stone for just so long without becoming weary. He took another sip of his drink to try and plunk these thoughts out of his brain, but their roots were embedded into him. He then heard a clip clack knock at the door.
He was surprised to see the woman who lived downstairs and across the hall from him standing in front of him. He knew her from riding the elevator and occasionally they exchanged eggs and milk as apartment tenents sometimes do. However, his stone grew heavy and filled him with fear.
He waited.
“You will need these.” she then put her hands in her pocket and held out several large stones.
He looked at her blankly and his hands stayed where they were, forcibly bound to his pockets.
She looked at him and said, “You really do need these. And put them in a bowl of water, as they’re probably thirsty.”
After a long pause she added a bit miffed at his lack of response “They’re heavy and I won’t be able to hold them for long.”
David remained still and silent.
”If you don’t take them they will fall and drop on your toes, and probably break one or two.”
David looked down and realized that he was wearing no shoes and his toes were quite vulnerable. He paused and tried to think of what he should do, as he couldn’t move his hands out of his pocket to take her stones nor could he tell her to go.
She held fast and didn’t move. They stood there looking at eachother in silence until she couldn’t hold the stones any longer and they came crashing down. His hands instinctively flew out of his pockets, in the face of impending doom they really had no choice, and managed to catch the stones mid air, saving his toes from catastrophe. He was not in the least bit amused.
He looked at her and was about to say some unpleasant and ungentlemanly things, but before he could speak she repeated her previous instruction, “they will need water”, and then turned around and walked down the hall and around the corner, before he could think of something nasty to say.
He was particularly used to crazy people, living in New York one can’t help but get used to these kinds of things, and he tried taking it all in style. But this was a bit much. As he carried the stones inside his chest felt heavy and he grew weary and frightened deep down inside.
They looked like regular old plain grey stones with some bits of cracks and sharp edges here and there. He sat and looked at the rocks for awhile. It was the water request that unnerved him the most. Did stones really need water? Were they supposed to grow or something? He then found himself thinking that indeed they may be thirsty. He got up and found a bowl to put them in and just for fun, got a bit of water and poured it over to see if they would grow or sprout. Nothing happened. Although he swore he heard a low chanting hum that thrummed in his head. He then went to bed much too late and in the morning he woke.
He woke in his usual way with his tight chest and panicked heart, but his body felt twisted and bent. Getting up wasn’t easy and putting on his suit was painfully hard, but doing so made everything seem quite normal (but not quite). He got up and dressed as best he could in the usual way and went out with his IPhone and dagger in hand. He battled the day bravely but felt nothing won. Afterwords he cooed to the ladies and bedazzled the men sipping scotch, but the clickity clacks in his head grew louder and louder, as well as the thrumming.
He returned home and looked down from his terrace but the moving art didn’t calm him and the pigeons were no where to be seen. Looking at the stones he grew angry, somehow he thought maybe this was all their fault and they were responsible for making things worse. Taking a drink he grabbed at two of the stones and banged them together and he heard a loud crack. The stones seemed just a bit bigger and heavier then they were the day before. He heard low deep voices coming from the rocks, a slow deep chanting. He cracked them together again and again and again until his hands were numb and tender.
He did not know why. The cracks and clacks kept coming and he felt them in his chest. He staggered back with each crack, as the pain of it crept up inside him. He saw the Trolls in the woods that day and felt them tie him up. He felt them reach into his chest and twist it all up. In his chest he now felt something hard and cold he never wanted. With the thrumming and chanting came large stone giants taller than any tree, they came into his apartment. They chanted and hummed and stomped till the rock that was his heart cracked and burst. The trolls angry and defeated crawled back into their pits in the chiseled earth. The stone giants continued to stomp and thrumm till the earth collapsed, trapping the trolls down below in the dark cold ground.
He woke up the next morning lying on the living room floor with bits of broken stone in front of him. The woman who had threatened his toes and gave him the stones was standing above him gathering them back again and asked “are you better?”
To which he replied, “yes”. He then felt a touch on his forehead, which spread thru out his whole system and he felt it reach down and bring him back into the world.
She smiled down at him “you no longer need these” and picked up the broken pieces of stone and put them in the trash and left.
Standing up he felt his relaxed chest and the beating of his calm slow heart. He went to the balcony and saw the people below walking in the streets on their own, feeding breadcrumbs to the pigeons. Stone Giants that once roamed the earth are now small and broken but come alive when clacked and smashed about and are by far stronger then any gnashing and gnarling trolls claws or curse.