Little 'n Big

This was written several months ago for a friend's birthday. It features a character she created, and is a protagonist in the book I'm writing. I like Ethel. She's small, unassuming, and as stubborn as a retarded dog. I never knew if she would wind up as one of the main characters, but I couldn't help myself -- the little Tomte just kept coming back.

I was pretty proud of this, but looking at it now, I can see it's a little rough. Still, give it a read. I hope it'll entertain you.

She was little, he was big, and that's why she would die. It was the way of the world, really. Big things squashed, crushed, and typically ate little things. Little things in turn, while perhaps not accepting their lot, learned to live with it. It was a hard but well-established fact of life.

Ethel was having a hard time embracing that fact. It was probably the reason why she dived out of the way. A man-sized club shattered the cement where she once stood. The boom rang in her ears. Ethel clumsily climbed to her feet, her legs swinging her left and then right. It wasn't exactly what she needed for escape. Especially after a blow that would have left her a boneless, bloody spot on the ground.

Ethel quite liked her bones. Keeping her blood inside of her body was also deemed a priority. The piece of lumber crashed down again as she fled, on two legs for a few steps, on all fours for others. The Troll was overreacting, really. He had bullied her! Ethel had taken his attitude patiently before he started pushing. That may have made things take a wrong turn.

Still, he probably didn't even know his mother. Why be so offended at what a little Tomte said? Ethel continued her mad scramble. The Troll was tireless while her lungs screamed for air.  Of course, that didn't keep her from insulting the chump. She was exhausted, after all, not dead.

"You couldn't hit the broadside of a barn!" shouted Ethel. It wasn't particularly original, but it'd do. All Ethel had to do was piss him off. Anger had a way of making folks dumber (if Trolls could get any dumber), and it'd give her the advantage. The Troll's eyes slitted as he roared.

Bingo.

The next strike flew over her head as she hugged the ground, the wind off the blow whipping her hair. It was too close for comfort, but it was a truly stupid swing. The big guy was sacrificing speed for strength, putting his all behind the club -- as if a careless swipe wouldn’t leave her lifeless. At least it gave her time to catch her breath as she danced away from the blows.

There was no way she could take him in a straight up fight. His skin was thick and she wasn't exactly musclebound. Even if that wasn't an issue, a few tiny punches on such a large body wouldn't make much headway. If fighting didn't work, there was also flight. She could run, but she had tried that before and almost got crushed for her efforts. The experience taught her the only exit to the building was behind old big and ugly, and she wasn't about to turn her back on the lumber in his hands. That left only one option.

It was stupid as hell. Still, stupid as hell was all Ethel had. The monster could keep going all day while Ethel was forged of much daintier fare. So she waited. The club arced upward, casting a shadow on her head. Almost .All it would take would be one hit and she would be gone. Ethel's heart thumped steadily in her chest. All she needed was the nerve to stand still. Somehow, she found it.

Then the log swung down. That's when she moved, all nerves and adrenaline. It was a mad dash for the Troll. The ground splintered behind her with the Troll's wrist mere inches above the ground. It was perfect. All it took was a hop and she was scrambling aboard.

The Troll blinked. In its list of lifetime expectations, a Tomte leaping on its arm probably didn't rank high. The aforementioned Tomte charging straight at him wasn't even on the list. The Troll stared as the Tomte rushed, a little scream in her lungs as she wound back her black fist and swung at his wide eye.

Ethel expected many things. She expected the monster to shudder, wince, or even howl. Hell, she even expected her fist to bounce off harmlessly. What she didn't expect was the eyeball to burst around her fist. Occular fluid sprayed the Tomte as her forearm sunk into a mess of jelly and blood. It took a second for the sight to register, for her stomach to twist, and her jaw to drop.

Ethel screamed. The Troll screamed. Both went tumbling to the ground. The only difference was that Ethel got up and the Troll stayed down. The beast roared and wailed, stubby legs kicking up rocks and dust as big hands cradled his face. Ethel's eyes rolled down to her arm as she waved it frantically, sending bits of ick here and chunks of jelly there. She reined in her stomach before looking back to the Troll, the door behind him clear.

"... Johnny's never gonna believe this," Ethel murmured. She wandered up to the troll, steering clear of his flailing limbs, and settled by his head. She was little, he was big, but facts be damned. Ethel kicked him in the head.

And then she ran.