Something was wrong. The river (well, I call it a river break is a stream in reality) had dried up. The air was cold and damp so I knew had nothing to do with the weather. What had happened to my water?

I looked up and down the river to work out what was going on. The answer was clear. It was diverted and now my water was flowing towards a power station rather than the bridge that lay just downstream. I couldn’t believe they had done this overnight.

I had lived here for nearly 300 years and I wasn’t about to give up my home just because somebody else wanted power. I took some of the biggest rocks I could find to send the water back to the bridge where it belonged.

If I met any people while I was doing this job I would happily smash their brains in. What do you expect? I am a troll.

I wrote this in response to this week’s .flash fiction for the purposeful practitioner prompt.