The Troll of Glasonbury Bridge

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THREE

Little feathers of light were amongst a squad of breathing creatures. A dog laid with its head rested on folded paws. A magpie remained in the dust, head bobbing and alert to all kinds of paraphernalia about the ground. A fish traversed the pond making its way up stream as it did frequently avoiding all callous looks from the fox meandering through the hamlet, passing the pond, crossing fences and stalking caged chickens.

“Could you tell me where the Hub is? That is…which path I should take?” the strange woman enquired breaking Dilbert’s silence.

Dilbert turned, caught unawares, and warned the strange lady about sneaking up on a man while he was in his own place of residence. He was embarrassed by the snap of his tone. Visitors weren’t normal – not for him. Although his home was adequate, it was hardly an entertainer’s delight with its ‘soiled’ banks, scummy pond, and forever being at the mercy of the elements.

“Good day young lady.” Dilbert replied after catching his breathe.

“Please accept my apology sir.” she replied lowering her head slightly.

“Call me Dilbert. You’re not from around here, are you?” Dilbert said looking her up and down.

“Do I know you?”

“I don’t think so sir I’m not from around here – you are right.” she insisted.

Dilbert insisted that she call him by his first name. He couldn’t stand formality. He did his best to listen to her, but he was quite distracted by the niggling thought of knowing her somehow. She wore a red cardigan of modest cut, a long flowing dress equally modest, and a pair of brown slip-on’s tailored from the finest hide.

The lady had relaxed enough to refrain from using sir, and it’s when she next spoke that something invoked - in Dilbert, a memory. Thoughts began to seed in his mind. Was this the ‘witch’ of that day under his bridge when the water moved so angrily? Or was she the witch that the council so easily dismissed? She did seem much younger, but then again, that day when the wind struck, he had only glimpsed her through the blackness cast by the hood and her shadowy figure.

They spoke for a short amount of time before Dilbert took it upon himself to kiss the young lady. He was overtaken by passion, and although completely out-of-character he couldn’t hold himself back. There was something meaningful in her gaze that lured him in. After a while he couldn’t even hear her voice – as mesmerizing as it was. Without a moment’s notice, Dilbert was lying in a field of sunflowers, his head pushing down on the stalks of several flowers.

He stared into the blue sky above, feeling the wind rush through the stalks pushing the bold flowers this way, then that. He couldn’t hear anything else except that wind, its whistle was like an immediate order given by a sergeant to his battalion. He thought about where he had just been – under his bridge and beside the stranger, the lovely stranger, and then he recalled the kiss. His face blushed at the thought of his actions.

His body was paralyzed by fear of not-knowing where he was. He looked down at his feet to see something different. He still wasn’t wearing any shoes. At least that’s right, he thought to himself. It stopped him from panicking; at least for now.

In the mean-time the lady with the red cardigan decided that she would sit down next to the pond and watch the fish. She had been fascinated by them since her youth, and it might have been for the fact that she was raised a country girl with no experience or memories of the ocean that she took every possible moment to take the effortless beauty in, to make it part of her experience.

Dilbert lay down still unawares of his predicament. He couldn’t quite figure out how he got where he thought he was, unless of course he was going mad. After a little while he fell asleep, petrified of not being able to move.


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