Fairy Tale

For my graphic essay class we have a new assignment where we have to either modify or create a new fairy tale. i decided to modify the three billy goats gruff. Here it is:

The Truth about the Three Billy Goats Gruff
By Stefanie Lutz

ONCE upon a time there were three billy goats that went by the name of “Gruff.”
But this story isn’t about the Gruff brothers. Remember the troll with the big saucer eyes and the nose as long as a poker? This is his story. Well my story to be exact.

My name is Grumble E. Troll and no one knows my story. They just say “Run, run, a great big ugly troll!” But people (or goats) never think of how that makes me feel. How would you like it if people called you big and ugly? Just because a guy lives under a bridge doesn’t mean he doesn’t have feelings. Bridges are actually quite spacious and when the light hits the water underneath, it’s a breathtaking sight. But anyways…

One morning I had made my famous cherry pie and was just cutting myself a slice, when I heard a “trip, trap, trip, trap” on my bridge. “Company!” I thought, “what perfect timing. I’ll invite him in for pie!” “Who’s that trip-trapping over my bridge?” I asked, as I climbed out onto the bridge, not realizing I was still wielding my pie knife. There standing on the bridge was the teeny-tiniest of the Gruff brothers.

“Come in to eat” I said. He just started mumbling something about being too little to eat and to wait for his middle brother to come.

“Too little to eat? Well that doesn’t make very much sense to me, but I guess you can go. I’ll just wait for you older brother to come.” I figured any company is good company, and I’d just wait for the middle Gruff to come to join me in some pie.

And sure enough, not but two minutes later did I hear a “trap-rap, trap-rap” on my bridge. This time it was a little heavier of footsteps so that the boards of my bridge began to spring and sway, but I didn’t say anything because I wanted to make a good impression on my new friend. This time I remembered to put down my pie knife.

“Who’s that trap-rapping over my bridge?” I asked, climbing out. Although I had remembered to put down my knife this time, I had forgotten to wipe my mouth of all the sticky red pie juice. There standing on the bridge in front of me was the medium sized Gruff.

“Come in to eat” I said. But he just said something about being to skinny and to wait for his older brother who was round and plump.

I guess he was on a diet or something, but I still don’t think that was a very nice thing of him to say about his older brother. “Well okay, but come back any time!” I said.

By this time I was a little perturbed that no one wanted to come eat some pie with me, when I heard a “stomp-tromp, stomp-tromp” on my bridge roof. And if it wasn’t the biggest and fattest of the Gruffs stomping and tromping with his huge hooves, making my bridge boards bend and give protesting creaks under his massive weight. Rejecting my pie is one thing, but when someone starts defacing my home…well that’s just rude. But being the gracious host that I am I decided to invite my fat guest in anyways.

“Come in to eat,” I said, gritting my teeth, although I thought that by the size of him, he could afford to not eat some more. But the nerve of that fat goat! He just kept stomp-tromping all over my beautiful bridge, not saying a word to me. As he pranced passed me, his rump was so huge that it knocked me off the bridge into the river.

Later I overheard that that oldest Gruff brother had been boasting that he fought me off the bridge. Being the good sport that I am, I never confronted the fattest Gruff. Instead I packed my belongings and moved to San Francisco where I found a great new bridge.