Troll Food

You know what they say: don’t feed the trolls. So what are you to do when you’re out camping in nature, enjoying your life, sitting around the campfire with your friends, and a troll approaches? “Scram, troll!” your friends yell in unison. “Nobody wants you around here!”

You look over at the poor, sniveling troll, mumbling under his breath. He’s clearly cold, and desperate for some human interaction. His long nose is dripping snot; he’s shivering while mumbling about how everyone else is wrong. Rather than getting angry and stooping to his level, you decide to take the high road. “Hey, troll, come over here. Would you like a s’more?”

He stops snivelling, wipes his nose, and looks at you incredulously. “Is this a trick?” he growls.

“No, seriously, come over here. Sit down, have a s’more.”

The rest of your friends are repulsed. “What are you doing? Seriously? He’s a troll!”

You ignore them, and pat the open seat next to you. “Yes, seriously. He’s a troll, but he’s clearly starving and cold. Let him have some food and warm up.”

He begrudgingly walks over and sits next to you. The scent of toasted marshmallows and melted chocolate was too much for him to ignore. You hand him a s’more on a paper plate. He takes it, inhaling the delicious aromas, before taking a tentative bite. Everyone else is silent, watching him. He lets out a small sigh of pleasure before eating the rest of it in one big bite. Everyone laughs, delighted at the show, as the troll happily munches away.

Over the course of the night, and many more s’mores eaten over active conversation, the troll has changed. His nose has shrunk down to a normal size; he’s warmed up; he’s no longer chattering angrily or casting sidelong glances. He looks ... well, he looks like a normal person!

Maybe it was the s’more, or the human interaction, or the kindness you bestowed, or a combination of all these things. All that matters, though, is that the troll has become a friend.