How Stanley Ficklefog Turned Into a Surf Troll
Then one day something happened. Something Stan never imagined. Visiting with friends in a faraway land, Stan had what some would call an epiphany. No longer did Stan feel burdened by his belongings or his relationships with both friends and family. Stan felt free for the first time. Now, I'm sure you're wondering how the hell this happened. What caused Stan to feel so free all of a sudden? Well, let me tell you a little bit more about our friend Mr.Ficklefog.
Suddenly Stan didn't give a shit. He sorted through his things, sold some stuff, and headed west toward the water; surfboard strapped securely to the roof, a small bag of belongings sitting on the back seat. He drove fast along the northern coast down from Canada, stopping only to eat and sleep. He wound through the woods, the engine of his escape pod purring along ever so smoothly. He was quite content.
Having arrived at the ocean, Stan and his newfound lady friend went about creating a comfortable campsite for themselves. Odd it was, as Stan had grown up inside the city, with televisions and big beds and closets full of clothing. This was the first time Stan would sleep on the ground, or eat food cooked over a campfire. The first time he would see the stars, or the sun set behind a tree-covered outcropping of rock and sand. And all of it changed Stan, especially once he starting surfboarding more waterhills. Now, I told you Stan was tall and handsome. I think he was some kind of Scandinavian. But the more time Stan spent surfboarding in the sea, the shorter he became.
Stan never noticed the slow change in his hair or his height. He didn't even notice that the lady friend he'd met so many months ago was now gone. He was obsessed, some might say. With surfboarding. With waterhills. Each morning after a quick and rather strong cup of coffee, Stan would slide down the face of organic ocean swells, harvesting more stoke than you can imagine. He'd stop only to eat something essential and then return to the ocean to await more waterhills; not sated by the stoke he'd harvested earlier that same day. This was the circle Stan was in.
And then early one evening, after a few hours in the ocean, Stan noticed something. No, Stan noticed everything! His small stature and the thick brown hair that now covered everything from his face to his feet. He noticed the length of his fingers and toes, and the skin that stretched between them. And then he noticed that his girlfriend was gone, as were all the things he'd owned; what remained were an oversized wetsuit that he no longer needed, a well-seasoned skillet and a coffee cup with dark brown stains on the inside.
His beach bungalow had become more of a bivouac. A simple shelter. Most people wouldn’t call it cozy. And as for friends and family... well... Stanley Ficklefog was now a solo show. Gone were the days and nights of drinking. No longer could Stanley be found in the company of others. Replaced with waterhills and the harvesting of stoke, they had been. And it was right around this same time that Stan started to feel something. Something different than the epiphany he'd had so many months (or had it been years?) before. Something he hadn't felt for quite some time. Stan felt sad.
Illustrations come courtesy of Iolo Edger.
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