Story Notes:
Type: humor
Rating: G
Length: 1200 words
The Smallest Details
We trolls are often given a bad rap. Take it from me, Slick. Slick as a Whistle, to be exact, born in the Year of Popular Clichés. Don’t laugh. It could be worse. My cousin Orange Peel was born in the Year of Food Fragments and our poor uncle Fart was born in the Year of Bodily Emissions. Trust me, our names don’t help when proving to you humans that we’re not as bad as you’ve been led to believe by those pernicious liars, the Brothers Grimm.
Here, in fairytale world—yes, it’s an actual place in an alternate dimension of Earth—we trolls are well-known for our generosity of spirit and bravery of heart. We rescued Red Riding Hood from her grandmother’s evil plan to stuff her full of goodies and bake her in an oven. We protected Hansel and Gretel from the wolf that had disguised itself as a harmless old woman selling poisoned apples. Contrary to popular belief, we did not prevent the billy goats from crossing a bridge. Instead, we helped them rebuild it after the river between their two mountain feeding places had flooded. So, as you can see, those Grimm Brothers have defamed the rest of fairytale world along with our good reputations.
The fairytale world knows better, of course, but you humans are woefully ignorant of our valiant deeds on your behalf. I, along with several of my worthy comrades, are members of T.O.P., an organization that has worked tirelessly to save humankind from extinction. That’s right, folks; you owe Trolls on Patrol a debt of gratitude you could never hope to repay.
To prove the importance of T.O.P. to you, I’ve taken it upon myself to reveal one of our most vital rescues so you will no longer remain blissfully unaware of our guardianship.
This story revolves around me, Slick, and my partner, Snowshoes, born in the Year of Winter Accessories. We were alerted to the dire situation by the T.O.P. Headquarters, where we monitor the multiple Earth dimensions for imminent dangers and cries for help. In this case, the call came from the small town of Vermillion, South Dakota, where the construction of the university’s new student center had stalled when their shipment of glass was diverted to New York City.
Even now, I hear the confusion in your minds. Many of you have never heard of South Dakota. You wonder if it belongs to one of those alternate dimensions I mentioned earlier. I hasten to assure you that South Dakota does indeed exist in the world you know and inhabit. It is located in the midwestern United States of America. And now your confusion mutates into skepticism. What could possibly be found in a region populated by little more than “cowboys and Indians”? If this is your thought, let me tell you a great truth of T.O.P. The wars are lost in the smallest details.
Yes, South Dakota may be small, and its university town of Vermillion, smaller still. But we trolls have seen your future (yet another alternate dimension you cannot perceive with puny human minds), and many prominent citizens rise out of those communities you would consider “small.” Take it from me; one day, you people will be mighty glad that Vermillion produced the students that it did.
However, at the time of this story, that future still hangs in the balance because the students who could save your world need a new student center. They need glass. They need Trolls on Patrol.
Snowshoes and I assessed the problem with our usual competence. We stood unnoticed in the construction zone; people tend to see us only as tricks of the light or hallucinations of too many drinks or figments of an overactive imagination.
“Lotta holes,” Snowshoes said, staring up at the many glass-less windows.
“Gah,” I said. There were entire walls made of nothing but the frames for those windows.
“Gonna need lotsa glass,” Snowshoes said.
“Rumplestiltskin?” It’d be a big project for ol’ Rumple, spinning all that glass out of straw, but he could do it.
Snowshoes shook his head mournfully. “HQ’s got him working on the oil crisis. Priority.”
“Huh,” I said, trying to imagine oil out of straw. If anyone could do it, it would be Rumplestiltskin. The guy was amazing with a spinning wheel.
(So far, Rumple hasn’t figured it out, but you can rest assured that T.O.P is on the job. When your gas prices suddenly plummet, I’ll expect a big “Three cheers!” for our man Rumple.)
“There’s Black Sheep,” Snowshoes suggested. “Couple bags full, last I heard. Could stuff the wool in the holes till the glass comes.”
I eyed the holes doubtfully. “We’d need more than a couple bags.”
“Yeah.” Snowshoes sighed and joined me in looking up at the unfinished building.
We gazed for a long time. The holes mocked us with their emptiness. They sneered at our uselessness. The snow would arrive any day, and it would wail through the building like an avenging banshee, destroying the interior because of our inability to put something in those windows.
“We ain’t gonna solve this,” Snowshoes said, his shoulders slumping. “Hope you’re good at ducking, Slick. The guys are gonna pelt us with veggies, for sure.”
To be pelted with vegetables by your colleagues is the ultimate humiliation. We don’t fail too often at T.O.P. because the punishment is simply too awful to contemplate. Squash in your beard. Eggplant in your hair. Cabbage stuck in places you don’t want to imagine.
I shuddered. Snowshoes was right. If we didn’t duck fast, we’d be—
The proverbial light bulb flashed inside my head. “Snowshoes, you’re a genius!”
Snowshoes nodded agreeably. “Yup.”
“No, I mean, right now. This very moment. You figured it out!”
“I did?”
“Yes, yes.” I grinned and pounded him on the back. “Duck. That’s the key.”
Snowshoes scratched his bearded chin and considered the windows. I waited, but the proverbial light bulb wasn’t forthcoming. Not surprising. Snowshoes was sometimes the brawn to my brain.
“Duct tape! We have that entire leftover supply they were going to use on the pyramids before they decided to go with mortar.”
Snowshoes grunted. “Might work. Might work at that. Damn, I’m good.”
I called HQ for reinforcements and the supply of duct tape. A truckload of each arrived, and we set to work stretching duct tape from window frame to window frame. After we had sheets of duct tape over all of the holes, we brought in a wizard professional from another dimensions to cast spells over our stopgap coverings, strengthening them and making them invisible to human eyes. Confident the duct tape would hold against the winter winds until the actual glass arrived, we congratulated ourselves on a job well done. Because of us, the building’s interior wouldn’t suffer from the delayed glass shipment.
Now, I know you humans and your sense of proportion. A broken fingernail is a catastrophe of major significance. Disappearing rain forests, not so much. So you’re looking at this small problem for this small student center in this small town in this small state, and you’re wondering how this could possibly affect the fate of humanity. Just wait. One day, you’ll understand, and you’ll thank T.O.P. Until then, you can sleep soundly, knowing you don’t have worry because trolls like me and Snowshoes have everything under control. And we still have plenty of duct tape.
