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Thank you for your input. This story is geared for ages 5-9. I look forward to your critique.
Past the historic buildings of main street, over the rickety wooden foot bridge, through the frog filled forest, on top of the misty blue mountain, lived the biggest, meanest, smelliest, hairiest old stomping Ogre in all the land.
When he stomped the misty mountain trembled, frogs froze, the rickety foot bridge rocked, and the ceilings of the buildings on main street crumbled and tumbled onto the wooden floor below. Babies screamed, fire alarms blared, dogs howled, and cats scurried high into the trees. What a terrible mess when the Ogre stomped around!
When the people of the town could stand no more, they held a meeting. If this continues, the Ogre will destroy our peaceful village without ever setting foot into it, they feared. So the towns people set out on a journey to talk with the stomping old Ogre.
Making their way to the top of the misty blue mountain they stumbled upon the Ogre‘s home. Arriving late in the afternoon they found him fast asleep, snoring loudly, lying under a large sycamore tree.
“Who dares wake me from my afternoon nap?” the Ogre bellowed, knocking the mayor and all of the townsfolk back with the awful smell from his sour breath.
The mayor swallowed hard and began speaking in his bravest “mayor” voice.
“Please, kind Ogre. We are your neighbors from the friendly village that lies at the base of the misty mountain,”
“Speak or be eaten, little man!”
“Your stepping is more than just stepping, friend Ogre. Your stepping is stomping. The ceilings of our historic buildings are crumbling, our babies are crying, fire alarms are blaring, dogs are howling and cats are leaping into the trees. Mr. Ogre, your stomping is destroying our village.”
“Why should I care? If you cared about me, you would not have led your entire town on top of MY mountain and awakened me from my afternoon slumber! Furthermore you runt of a man, I stomp because MY FEET HURT!”
“Perhaps I can help. May I take a look?”
“Be hasty about it doctor man, or you will be my afternoon snack!” hollered the Ogre.
The doctor looked at the top, bottom, and sides of the Ogre’s massive feet, gently massaging each section as he went.
“There doesn’t appear to be a problem,” said the doctor, “but I must examine between your toes to be certain.”
So he did. With the Ogre’s hot stinky breath blowing on his neck, he examined each toe, one at a time.
“Your feet,” he began, “though in need of a thorough cleaning, and toenail clipping appear to be in excellent shape.”
“Enough of this nonsense about feet. I shall have ALL of you for
supper!” screamed the Ogre, whacking his fist hard against the ground.
From the back of the crowd leapt a small girl.
“Please, kind Ogre, I have an idea. Perhaps a pair of sturdy shoes would keep your feet from hurting.”
The Ogre looked puzzled, for never had he owned a pair of shoes. None were ever made large enough to fit an Ogre of his size.
“That idea might just work” replied the shoemaker. “It’s certainly worth a try.”
“SILENCE! All this talk of babies, and alarms, and stomping, and feet, and toenail clipping, and of shoes is preposterous. You are trying to stop me from eating you, but it will NOT work! I WILL EAT YOU! I WILL EAT YOU ALL AND I WILL EAT YOU NOW!” the Ogre roared.
“Please sir,” replied the shoemaker, “give me one week and if I cannot cure your aching feet with a sturdy pair of shoes, then you have permission to eat us and you may begin with me.”
“One week, then I feast!” screamed the Ogre in his baddest, stinkiest, sourest voice.
So the towns people trudged down from the misty mountain, tromped through the froggy forest, across the rickety wooden foot bridge back into the town past the historic buildings on main street.
The shoemaker promptly set out to make a pair of shoes for the stomping Ogre. Night and day, day and night he labored. Measuring twice, then a third time, he cut once across the strong leather collected throughout his many years as a shoemaker. For it was widely known that he was indeed the finest shoemaker in all the land.
Just as he promised, the shoemaker completed his task and set out on the long journey towards the misty blue mountain. But, this time he went alone. No one dared go with him for fear they would be eaten in one enormous gulp.
Past the historic buildings on main street, across the rickety wooden bridge, through the froggy forest, up the misty blue mountain the shoemaker trod. When he arrived, the Ogre was waiting.
Removing the shiny new shoes from his bag, he placed them onto the Ogre’s enormous feet, tickling his toes a bit as he went. For the first time ever, the Ogre smiled. His feet stopped hurting. He looked down at his new shoes and laughed. In fact, he laughed so hard that he fell over.
And, to this day the giant Ogre has never been heard stomping on the misty blue mountain again. But, he comes down into the valley once a year to visit the people of the town and to get a new pair of shoes, prepared especially for him by the finest shoemaker in all of the land.
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