Her eyes blazed with anger.
The airlines ticket agent stared back at her impassively and pointed at the sign above, which said No Trolls Allowed. "I'm sorry Ma'am, there's nothing I can do."
"Do you know how long it took to get a suit that fitted him so he wouldn't look out of place in business class?"
The man sighed. "I don't make the rules, besides he has a large bone through his nose."
Terence the troll snorted.
"You racist!" shouted Alice Samson bashing her fist against the counter. "I'm a loyal flyer, you can't treat me like this."
"My deepest apologies, would you still like your seat? If you have a carrier we can load up your friend in the cargo bay."
As calm as ever the agent pointed at a door behind him. "If you like, you can speak to the manager. The queue is begining to back up."
Alice looked behind here. There were about twenty people behind them. "Fine!"
Grabbing Terence's hand she pulled him around the counters and knocked rapidly on the door. There was no reply. Fuming, Alice snatched the door open and pulled Terence in. His seven and half foot bulk having to duck down and squeeze in his shoulders to fit in.
"Hey! Who are you?" asked a thin man with black hair and a look of distain on his face.
"I'm a pissed off customer that's who I am!"
"I'll call you back," said the man putting his phone down. Breathing in deeply he smiled and inter-weaved his fingers. "Now, how may I help you young lady?"
Alice didn't like the man already. She was 19 years old and hated being called young lady. "Your butthead of an agent said my troll can't join me on the flight."
"I can assure you my agents don't have butts for heads, and I'm sorry to say he's right." The man's words were dripping with sweetness, which upset Alice even more.
"It's not fair!"
Terence could feel the tension. The veins in his neck were bulging and pulsating. He didn't like seeing Alice upset. She gripped his arm in an effort to cool him down.
The manager quickly glanced at the troll. Seeming to sneer at his pin-stripe suit and the briefcase he held in his hand. A brief case that was dwarfed by his massive hand.
"It's company policy, trolls in the past have damaged our seats and planes. Sometimes causing thousands in damage."
"We are in the process of building planes with special reinforced seats."
"Not good enough."
The manager got out of his seat and walked towards them. I've had enough of your sass young lady. Now I will have to ask you to leave before I call security."
"No, you will get me on that plane or I will scream!" Alice stamped her foot.
A ticked developed in the man's jaw. "Didn't your parents teach you any manners?"
"My parents have nothing to do with this."
Fed up the manager took her by the shoulder to lead her out.
"No Terence!" Before she could do anything to stop him Terence picked up the man by throat and slammed him against the wall.
Alice pulled Terence away. The man groaned and slumped to the floor.
"Terence very sorry..." said the troll glumly.
"Ah, it's okay, I didn't like him anyway," said Alice. "Looks like we will have to rent a car again."
"Terence driving!" said the Troll his big brown eyes widening with excitement.
"Do you remember the last time you drove?"
"Terence broke the steering wheel..." His shoulders slumped.
"One day we will buy you a tank or something," she said patting him on the back. "For now the faster we get out of here the better."
Friday, 29 April 2011
Friday, 15 April 2011
"I don't want it!"
"You do!" said my friend Nigel.
"I don't know, it belonged to a dead man, you said?"
"Was of natural causes... so don't worry. Besides what choice do you have?"
It was true. Times had been tough if I was going to pay the rent I was going to have to produce a new painting soon. And wih no money for paints it was a blessing to say the least, but I still didn't like it! "Oh, alright man!"
"That's the spirit!" said Nigel passing the box of paints over. "I will be back on Friday to pick up the painting."
"Are you nuts?"
"That's when my next open show is... remember?"
"Ah, yes, I had better to get started," I said shutting the door.
I trudged up to my studio flat. I seemed to have very little energy lately, as if a bunch of sparklies were draining my life's blood every evening. Grabbing my almost cold mug of black coffee I took the sheet off my biggest easel. A blank canvas awaited. Downing the last bit of the black stuff I set up all my paints neatly and got my brushes ready. I dipped the brush in the green and slowly moved my hand to the canvas and then slowly brought it back.
"What the hell am I going to paint?"
I stood there for what seemed like twenty minutes before I cursed and threw the brush in a waiting glass jar of water. Fed up with myself I grabbed a half finished bottle of tequilla and fell face forward into my big comfy couch/bed. Squashing a couple of tubes of paint I had forgotten on the couch. Crying silent tears I shifted my face enough to get in a few good swigs of tequila. Soon it was empty. I let my only comforting friend, the darkness of sleep engulf me.
I woke up to brightlight. And Nigel walking into my room. I forgot he had a key.
"Hey, Nigel," I said groggily. "You know it's not Friday right?"
Oddly there was no reply, but that wasn't the weird part. I couldn't feel my body. I couldn't feel anything.
"John? Are you here? You didn't answer your bell?" Nigel, in his pin stripe suit proceeded to have a quick look around then he focused eyes on me. His eyes grew large. "What amazing work!"
"What work? I haven't even started yet!"
Nigel came closer. All of a sudden he picked me up and swung me around and placed me under his arm. "The gallery is going to love this!"
"Nigel! Nigel! Put me down!"
What was going on?
A few moments later he locked me in his boot. Was I dead? Was he going to put my corpse on display?
What seemed like an eternity later I saw light again. It was Nigel's brightly lit gallery. My vision focused. There was a mirror on the opposite wall. I could see myself. I could finally see myelf. I let out a scream that would make the shrillest of girls proud. I was trapped inside a painting. In the reflection I could see myself. I was about to be hanged from a noose, a bottle of tequilla clutched in one hand and a tube of paint in the other... There was a sign above the painting: "Art will be the death of me." I let out another silent scream.