Trolls, Dreams, Adaptations
The fish merchant was eighty feet high. That made it difficult for little three-foot people (everyone else) to come purchase fish from him, even though they had the correct change (in the shape of porcupines, a famous disease and rice).
Little three-foot (-like-everyone-else) Ollie one day decided to conquer the eighty-foot fish merchant. He bought a lot of fish from the ocean, from the table the ocean had laid out by the lip of the ocean, and put it in a big tower called Gus which turned out in fact to be a very unhappy raging land-walker of a tower which chose now, a volume of fish its core, to go stalking about the countryside ravaging this, ravaging that, till there were plates so clean you couldn't call your gods with their crumbs lest the gods start screaming "What?! You couldn't muster some volumes and volumes of crumbs like I like?!" and the people have to run like palsied newcomers all over that journey-ridden domain.
But of course the people were running like palsied newcomers all over that journey-ridden domain and had no time to sacrifice anyhow, and needn't have worried about licking their plates so clean on the run, except that that was their habitus, to go from staid little energetics in the constant purchase of fish to great roaring worry-warts three feet high.
Poor, sad tiny folk!
Awful, rictally noticeable giant in the incorrect vending of fish!
Ollie was successful. The terrible tower, Gus, became much more docile when Ollie launched himself via catapult across the domain and smashed into the tower, stopping it and producing from it the first pillow, which the fish merchant lay his head down on, sleeping.
In the course of his sleep the fish merchant dreamt of a great russet hawk named Alphonse who was actually a preternatural kingdom of starlets and pleasant blue goblets that all consulted on the problem of diminution of the national moods. "Lesser moods," cried an Alphonsian starlet: "they are our pressing burden, huge, unpleasant, cleansing our blasphemies into pattern-rhymes, making it seem like dough when the clipper ships feint Masses to keep the sardines running--shit of lessening! Is it real?" "It is not!" cried a pleasant blue goblet of Alphonse. "It is only a taste of the wide blue flip!" In this dream the hawk flew into the sun, aiding it considerably.
In the morning the fish merchant understood: his attitude should be one of short-native abetment, and he remained prone while his world flew and his little friends of awesome purchasing ability amassed a cosmos of very interesting mood-swings, which was a good thing because there was joy in there, and cosmos-dusting pain, and patterns of justifiable glassy-eyedness that did not alarm either the fish merchant or anyone else because all understood that important aspect of self which involves a look inward that may last through several concerts, meals and even diseases.