~ Disclaimer ~
The author wishes to make known that she does not in any way follow the allusions and analogies as placed in the original novels by J.R.R. Tolkien. We thank Mr. Tolkien, posthumously as we must, for his understanding and for these great novels he has given to us. We also thank his lawyers for their understanding in not suing us.
The Lord of the Immune System
Based upon The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien
Written by Bonnie Prather
PowerPoint presentation by Amber Matthai
~ PREFACE ~
Ilúvatar, or Eru as his friends called him, found himself engaged in a most exciting lab experiment during sixth period, this bright sunny day of May. The air, warmed to a pleasant degree by the sun outside, wafted in through the window, filling the high school biology room with the smell of freshly mowed grass and the sound of children playing on the big toy. Smiling, Eru made a final notation and turned to his lab partners.
"Our experiment is a success! It appears, music does affect plant life. The science fair is ours!"
He and his friends exchanged high fives and took another quick look at the plants flourishing on the windowsill, lulled to life by the sounds of Beethoven, Broadway, as well as the not-so-lively plant listening to Limp Bizkit. However, with their backs turned, they failed to notice the class goof-off, Melkor, playing around with a paperclip he had been dipping in the fishbowl. As Eru turned around, Melkor accidentally sliced his forearm.
"Ack!" he said, clutching his arm with his freehand. Melkor, with a startled face, fled.
"You alright?" Tulkas asked, pulling off his goggles. Eru grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser and placed it over the cut, which was already drawing blood.
"Yeah," he said, wincing. "Just a little scratch. Nothing big..."
~ BOOK ONE: THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE VIRUS ~
The day had come at last. The Shiraorta, a comfortable little spot near the heart where platelets liked to hang out between patching up cuts, was hosting the birthday party of Bilbo Platelet and his nephew Frodo. Bilbo, known for his extravagance, his love for his nephew, and his various adventures over the years, was hailed far and wide as a good host of parties and nearly all the platelets in town had cleared their calendars so as to be sure to attend. As the time drew nigh, the little children platelets ran about the town, gawking and gossiping. The parent platelets were hardly better, although who could blame them? Rumor had gone about the Shiraorta that Gandalf the Helper T Cell wizard was on the scene and was planning something big.
The party turned out a great success. Gandalf had, in truth, arrived and set off an amazing display of lymphatic fireworks, delighting all. Oxygen and vitamin K were in abundance and the platelets had a great time. However, if one kept an eye open and a head clear, he might've noticed Bilbo heading back to his platelet hole by himself.
Bilbo gathered up his things, carefully remembering his book he was writing of his adventurous life ("There And Back Again: A Tale of My Journey To Save The Body From A Cold Virus Named Smaug") and placing his will somewhere where Frodo would be sure to see it. Gandalf entered the room silently, watching this scene.
"He'll be fine, Bilbo. I'll look after him."
Bilbo jumped at the words, but smiled at the great Helper T cell.
"Yeah..."
"And Clavidell will be just the place for you," Gandalf added, referring to Bilbo's current destination, a small but wonderful little place near the shoulder wherein dwelt many kind of cells needing a rest and a break. Bilbo nodded again, and attempted to leave.
"Aren't you forgetting something, Bilbo?" Gandalf asked, looking sternly upon the platelet. Bilbo blushed, a difficult thing for a colorless, shapeless cell, and placed the collection of thromboplastin upon the desk. ("There And Back Again" described how Bilbo stole this great substance from a platelet named Gollum who was hoarding it, and how it, for some strange reason, began to control his life...)
"Are you sure I can't take it with me? What use will Frodo have for it?" he whined, looking eagerly back at the substance. Gandalf glared.
"Leave it."
Bilbo, shrugging his shoulders, accepted this last word and left the platelet home, whistling and singing as he made his way down the artery to Clavidell.
* * * * *
Frodo returned from the party himself, not but a few minutes after Bilbo had left. He looked sadly to Gandalf, who had remained in the room to warm himself by the fire. (Get it? Fire by the aorta... heartburn... *heehee*)
"He's gone, isn't he?"
"Yes," Gandalf said simply, looking to the small platelet. "His will is left and I have no doubt you will find everything left to you."
Frodo nodded, not really understanding anything in his sadness. However, his eyes were brought to rest on the string of thromoplastin as was left by Bilbo. Gandalf turned to him suddenly.
"I advise you, my young platelet, NOT to touch that! It has powers that I am yet unaware of. I must leave you now, to discover truth out of the rumors I have been hearing lately. However, I shall return soon and will bring to you news of your destiny."
With an impressive sweep, Gandalf exited the room, leaving a very confused platelet in his wake. However, Frodo was soon to learn the truth...
* * * * *
"I'm glad you returned, Gandalf."
"You won't be when you learn the news I have learned," Gandalf said, slouching back in one of Frodo's easy chairs. Frodo looked puzzled.
"What news do you bring me?"
"News of great import. A foreign substance has entered the body, unlike the diseases either T or B memory cells remember. Its legions are so great, it passed the first lymph node without even an odd look. After that, however, it has been attacking nodes left and right, destroying innocent erythrocytes, and, in short, destroying the body."
"'Tis awful, Gandalf!" Frodo said, setting down in a chair opposite Gandalf with a large piece of calcium to chew on. "But what does this have to do with me?"
Gandalf leaned forward. "The foreign object calls itself Sauron, and has sent its minons (which we call Orcs) towards the Shiraorta. We believe they are coming after you."
Frodo nearly choked on the calcium. "Why me?"
"They must've heard of the heroism of your uncle Bilbo, and want to make sure you will pose no danger. You must leave, and soon!"
* * * * *
Frodo did take Gandalf's advice and, with his trusty friend Sam (also a platelet), set off in the direction of Clavidell. They were not a moment too soon. Heading along the artery, Frodo paused to look back and saw a strange looking creature on his front doorstep, angrily pounding on the door, demanding entrance. (Frodo was in no mood to deal with door-to-door salesmen at the moment) Along the way, they met up with fellow friends Merry and Pippin, two lively platelets that vowed to aid Frodo's quest in any way they could.
The four saw many strange and adventurous sites, including nearly escaping some dreaded Orcs that were tracing them. (They decided to avoid the main artery from there out, sneaking their way along the lymph system instead: staying close to the artery but hidden from it.) They also met a rather eccentric Helper T cell named Tom Bombadil who helped them escape from a leucocyte looking for a fight. With his guidance, the group made their way to Bree, a small meeting place for cells of all kinds, and an inn therein named "The Prancing Plastid".
The group enjoyed some delightful tasting Vitamin K and met a new friend: Strider, a white blood cell who approached them about leading them to Clavidell. The group was cautious at first, but after receiving a DNA message from Gandalf telling them to trust a man named Strider (whose real name was Aragorn), and after a strange night of boarding up the inn against Orcs come to destroy all they could see, the group quickly gained trust in their new friend. (After all the platelets decided, a cell more than two times their own size could come in handy)
The fellowship of platelets and the white blood cell continued on their quest the next day, setting off towards Clavidell. However, one dark and stormy night led them well nigh to their deaths...
* * * * *
"Where are we, Strider?" Frodo whispered, nervous. The artery no longer looked kind and happy; rather, it looked frightful and dark. Strider, gritting his teeth, looked down to the small platelet.
"This is Weathertop, my friend. I had hoped to find Gandalf here, but he has apparently moved on without us. Not unbelievable, since the valves here keep cells from moving backwards."
The group looked about the small cavity with apprehension, especially Frodo who felt his heart leap at every sound. However, a small rustling near the valve before them caused him to jump. (No easy task when the path is one cell thick)
"Did you hear tha..." He never finished his sentence, for from behind the valve jumped several large Orcs, blades out and devilish looking grins on their faces (Well, faces in a figurative sense of the word...) as they ran towards Frodo.
"Elbereth!" he screamed as an Orc's sword pierced a corner of his shapeless figure. The Orcs, hearing the name he had shouted, turned and fled.
Frodo and company continued on. When they were nearly within sight of Clavidell, they were again attacked by the Orcs. This time, instead of pausing to fight, they ran for all they were worth. Seeing that they would be unable to outrun the foreign creatures, they shouted for help. Instantly, to their great relief, lymph flooded the capillary and washed the Orcs far away. Frodo collapsed as soon as he had entered the great house of Clavidell.
* * * * *
"Where am I?" Frodo asked, sitting up slowly in bed. Gandalf cracked a small smile.
"You made it to Clavidell, my boy. Congratulations."
Frodo rubbed his sore head.
"What's happened?"
"Well," Gandalf said, trying to look nonchalant. "We've discovered that a major component of this deadly virus has been entangled in your thromboplastin; this explains why it had such a great hold over both Bilbo and Gollum. We've decided to send someone to carry this virus to Mt. Urethra-Doom and destroy it once and for all."
"Who's going to do this?" Frodo asked, suddenly worried.
Gandalf coughed.
"Well, um, you."
"WHAT? I'm a platelet! My job is to fix scrapes, make scabs! Not carry waste! Besides, this is dangerous!"
* * * * *
Frodo, however, had little say in the matter. Going against all he knew to be good and safe, Frodo wearily agreed and settled himself to the task. After being outfitted with special armor and instructions from his uncle to remember everything so that he may insert it into Bilbo's next book, Frodo was sent on his way with his friends Sam, Merry, Pippin, and Aragorn, as well as a few new acquaintances. Legolas, the Killer T cell from the Elvish part of the body, Gimli, another Killer T cell, but from the Dwarfish part of the body, Boromir, a white blood cell, and Gandalf the Helper T cell all joined the fellowship of the virus and set off to join Frodo on his quest southward.
They journeyed for quite some time, the thromboplastin weighing heavily upon Frodo's soul. However, they soon ran across an obstruction.
"Curses!" Gandalf cried, seeing the artery they planned to take coated with fatty substances and various junk food. "I knew Eru should've cut back on fried foods!"
"Pardon?" Frodo asked. Gandalf brushed him aside.
"Never mind, we shall simply have to alter our course and go through a little tissue here until we can get back to the vein."
Aragorn spoke up quickly. "But, Gandalf! The tissue in this area is known to be corrupted by the virus! We run a great chance going through it."
"Yes, but there is no way around, is there?"
Aragorn grumpily acquiesced, and the group began to filter their way through the tissues.
* * * * *
"Do you hear something?" Merry whispered loudly up to Frodo. Frodo turned his head slightly, trying to remain on the path forged ahead by Gandalf.
"Of course not. Platelets haven't any ears!"
Merry sneered at him. "I know that. But for the sake of the story..."
"Well, for the sake of the story, yes, I did hear that low scratching noise."
Merry nodded and continued on. A few seconds later...
"Do you hear the noise anymore?"
"Yes, it seems to be getting louder, wouldn't you say?"
"Yes, quite louder... ACK!!!"
A large virus had, without warning, appeared and loomed over the fellowship, which cowered back against the tissue walls. The virus smirked evilly and, if had had a mustache, it would've been twirling it. Gandalf stepped forward.
"Run, boys!"
"But...!" Frodo cried.
"Run!"
They needed no further urging, in fact, all but Frodo had run, screaming like little girls, at his first urging. Gandalf drew forth his powers as a Helper T cell, hoping that the tissue was not as yet too corrupt.
* * * * *
The Fellowship, now minus Gandalf, finally stumbled forth out of the tissue and into the hepatic artery, happy to be alive but sad for the loss of their good friend.
"Where are we now?" Pippin asked, annoyed that he had lost his way. Legolas, however, was quick with an answer.
"In the hepatic artery, my good platelet," he said with a smile.
"How did you know that?" Pippin asked, scratching what I suppose could be considered his head for the moment, as it was facing up as they floated along. Legolas smiled.
"Good Pippin, you really should learn to read the text above you. However, with my knowledge of the body, I also know that this artery should lead us to LothLiverion, a land of cleansing and rejuvenation."
Legolas was indeed correct and the fellowship soon entered LothLiverion's fertile lands that quickly stripped them of all pain, suffering, weakness, and waste that they had accumulated during their trip. They even were met by the Lady Galadriel, another Helper T cell who aided in their rejuvenation and gave them much good advice. Upon exiting LothLiverion, they made their way down the descending aorta, altered their paths to run quickly through a kidney, and got onto the great river Ureter.
"Wow, Legolas!" Pippin cried. "You're right! I've learned quite a bit from reading along!"
Legolas smiled. "Yes, reading is fun-damental!"
After the necessary groans, talk lasted for days that threatened to throw Legolas into the river for his bad pun.
"It's not my fault!" he exclaimed. "The author made me say it!"
Legolas was soon hit over the head by a large piece of bile that, quite mysteriously, was thrown from the river. Glaring up at the author while he rubbed his head, he quickly learned that blaming the author is not a safe thing to do in humorous parodies.
"Master Frodo," Sam asked, glancing behind him.
"Yes, Sam?"
"I think we're being followed..."
Frodo looked behind him and, must to his amazement, saw that Sam was right. Something that appeared in a form somewhat like a platelet seemed to be following them at a distance trying to disguise himself as lymph. It, needless to say, was not working too well. Frodo threw a hard piece of bile (courtesy of Legolas) at him, and the disturbance seemed to trail off after that.
"Let's pause here a moment," Boromir the white blood cell who, sad to say, has been quite neglected up to this point, said. The fellowship agreed and, pulling their way out of the river of wastes, water, and various kinds of acid, sat to the side of the tube.
"We must consider what we're going to do next," Boromir said, looking around them. The virus has infected many parts, but the greatest seems to be the tissue near where the cut occurred, in Minas Humorous. I know our task was to destroy the key essentials of the virus, (his eyes glinted greedily towards Frodo) but I believe our help is most needed in Minas Humorous. Who's with me?"
The group fell undecided and Frodo asked for some time to think it over. The group separated and wandered about the tissue to the side.
I can't lead my friends to Mt. Urethra-Doom. I was the one assigned to destroy the virus, I must do it myself. Perhaps if I go on my own, they shall simply go to Minas Humorous on their own.
His mind made up, he snuck back to the river Ureter, only to be tackled by Sam.
"Sam! What are you doing?"
"I read your thoughts, master Frodo, and I can't let you go alone!"
"Well... alright," Frodo said. "But just you."
Happy with this arrangement, the two joined the river once more and began their journey towards Mt. Urethra-Doom. We will leave them for now, for our attention must be taken elsewhere.
~ BOOK TWO: THE TWO LYMPH NODES ~
Aragorn was wandering about aimlessly when he heard the sound of battle coming from nearby. Fearing for the rest of the fellowship, he raced back to where they had stood minutes before.
"Boromir!" Aragorn cried, running to the side of the dying white leucocyte. "Are you hurt badly?"
Boromir gave Aragorn a sharp glance, but refrained from saying, "Nah, I'm just dying!" simply to cough and sputter. Giving a truly angstful look to Aragorn, he spoke his final words.
"Aragorn, you've always been like a brother to me. Well, not really a brother. More like a distant cousin that you never really see, except at Christmas and birthdays. But, that doesn't matter now. Never mind." He grabbed Aragorn's arm sharply, to let the confused white blood cell know that his next words were actually important. "But, you must go find Merry and Pippin! The Orcs attacked us while we were waiting here, and they dragged the platelets off. They might try to infect them. You must save them where I have failed. Promise me you'll save them."
A tear slid down Aragorn's shapeless... er, face. "I promise."
And with that emotional scene over, Boromir died. Aragorn took a moment to let out a vengeful scream, and leaped to his feet. Ever the ones for good timing, Gimli and Legolas burst forward from the tissue they had been running through.
"The Orcs captured Merry and Pippin!" They exclaimed in unison. Aragorn took a quick look back to the great river, and whispered a word of encouragement to Sam and Frodo, wherever they might yet be, and set off with the Killer T Cells to search for the other platelets.
* * * * *
The Orcs, dreaded virus cells that flooded the lymph system, destroying everywhere they went, carried Merry and Pippin by their shapeless bodies, foolishly forgetting the proximity of their knives to the platelets.
"Hey, you mind slowing down a little?" Merry screamed, kicking the virus as best as his shapeless body could. The virus only grunted unintelligibly in response.
Pippin, on the other hand, read the introduction paragraph and, with a cunning smile, sliced the bonds that held them capture. Screaming "Hey, Merry!" to the other platelet, he broke free and grabbed the platelet. They began a long chase through the lymph system, finally eluding the Orcs by ducking behind a lymph node. As they stood there, praying the Orcs wouldn't find them again, they were startled by a sound from behind them.
"Hullo, there," the tall creature said.
"ACK!!!" the platelets screamed, turning and breathing in a sigh of relief to not see the virus cells before them. The creature was, instead, a rather tall cell that introduced itself as an macrophage named Treebeard.
"A wandering macrophage, I might add!" he added, quite pleased with himself. "And what, pray tell, are you?"
"Halfling," Merry replied politely, much to Treebeard's bepuzzlement.
"What's a halfling?"
"Oh, well, it's a name that the red blood cells gave us, seeing that we're half their size. Go figure. We're also called platelets."
"Hmphmmm..." Treebeard thought this over. The platelets grew impatient.
"We don't mean to be rude, but we really have to be running. There's some viruses that are chasing us, intent on destroying both us and the place where we're headed, Minas Humorous."
"VIRUSES!" Treebeard exclaimed. "Viruses destroyed many of my friends..." he sniffled. "A bunch of dear fixed macrophages, a lymph node, they didn't even see it coming... The bacteria overwhelmed the node and now... *sniffle* it's just a growing dish for more bacteria..." After another sniffle, Treebeard grew determined. "Wait here a moment. My group of macrophages will accompany you to Minas Humorous, and we'll help destroy those viruses, once and for all!"
* * * * *
"They can't be far now," Aragorn said.
Legolas and Gimli grumbled.
"How would you know? White blood cells aren't meant for tracking! They're meant for killing, just like us Killer T cells!"
It was now Aragorn's turn to grumble. "But hark!" he cried, pointing ahead on the path to a rather familiar looking Helper T cell...
"Gandalf?!" the three called in unison. Gandalf, indeed it was he! turned and waved to the three. They instantly ran to his side.
"But we thought you were dead!"
"Dead? Heavens no!" Gandalf said, laughing. "I used my powers as a Helper T cell to create many more T cells, that quickly killed off that virus. Now, we must get to Minas Humorous right away. We haven't a moment to lose!"
So, they set out right away, taking the subclavian artery. When they arrived, they discovered that Gandalf was indeed correct. While the platelets had succeeded in somewhat closing off the cut, many new viruses were swarming about, killing, infecting, and generally making a great mess of things.
"Aragorn!" came a voice from near the fighting. He turned to see another white cell approaching. "You came just in time," the General of the Army of white blood cells said. "We need all the help we can get."
"We'll see what we can do," he said, nodding to the Killer T cells and the Helper T cell, which promptly got to work.
Even the addition of these four strong cells, the battle wouldn't have been conquered by the body cells, without the sudden appearance of *duh duh duh* the Macrophages!
"We go, we go, we go to war, to hew the stone and break the door!" the macrophages sung, arriving on the scene and looking greedily at the viruses. Too late, the viruses learned of their doom. The macrophages quickly engulfed the bacteria, eating it up and spitting it back out, in a way that most superheroes can only speak of. Soon, the battle was won. Everyone cheered. Aragorn and Gandalf, however, were not entirely pleased.
"There is still work to be done. We must rid of the body of this infection. If you are not wounded or dead, you will begin your route throughout the body to kill all viruses you find!"
* * * * *
Frodo and Sam, meanwhile, were about halfway down the great river Ureter and still fretting over Frodo's great task. That is, they were fretting about it when they heard a great *splash* behind them. Looking over their shoulders, they saw a rather bedraggled platelet jump up to great them.
"Hello..."
"Gollum!" Frodo cried, clutching hold of the thromboplastin even tighter. "What do you want?"
"Simply to help you... I wouldn't want any harm to come to the virus, and I don't want the Orcs to get it any more than you do..."
Despite Gollum's generous words, Frodo could still see the lust in Gollum's eye and knew that the virus still had a hold over the old platelet's mind. "Just let me help you..."
With a motion so quick neither Sam nor Frodo could move, Gollum gave Frodo a mighty push and shoved him into a lymph node... a lymph node covered in bacteria...
~ BOOK THREE: THE RETURN OF THE HELPER T CELL
or
THE WAR OF THE VIRUS ~
Sam, enraged by this sudden act of violence against his master Frodo, (as well as realizing the sudden length of this, oops, short assignment) screamed a great cry of vengeance (doesn't that sound like fun?) and ran into the lymph node. Therein, he saw a great virus leaning over Frodo, a great and tall virus that, had Sam ever seen a spider, he would say looked a lot like a spider. From behind him, Gollum also entered the lymph node.
"Just remember, Shelob, I get the virus!"
Sam punched him in the nose, sending him flying back into the river. Stepping up to Shelob with a defiant air, he covered her in platelet thromboplastin which, after she accidentally hit her head on the wall, began to turn into thrombin when he threw some of the calcium he had in his lunch sack at her. The thrombin quickly turned into fibrinogen and, when she leaned her now very heavy head against the wall, turned into fibrin and attached her to the wall permanently. Triumphant, Sam grabbed Frodo and the two made their way back out into the river, for the final leg of their journey.
* * * * *
The others (Merry, Pippin, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Gandalf, the various white blood cells from the fight, the macrophages, and all the others) were at this time busily wiping out the system of its various viruses that were starting to go into hiding. As their occupation was the same, and the thought on their minds the same, we shall simply record that they were all hoping that Frodo would send the last great virus piece into Mt. Urethra-Doom without fail, and with that we shall let them again pursue their quest without interruption.
* * * * *
Sam and Frodo, by the miracle of author editing, (Poor Professor Tolkien is rolling in his grave at all I've cut out) finally arrived at the edge of the two sphincter muscles that separated the river Ureter from Blordor, the great land of desolation and destruction, where only the most vile of wastes were wont to go. Frodo and Sam stood there awhile, staring in awe at a sight that they, as platelets, never expected to see. Frodo held out the thromboplastin, taking one last look at the virus that could destroy them all.
"Aieeeeeeeeeee!" came a loud scream from behind them and with a "what in the heck?" from Frodo, Gollum suddenly stood before them.
"You can't destroy my precious!" he screamed, clawing at Frodo to steal the virus back from him. "PRECIOUS!!!!"
Despite Frodo's hardest grasp, Gollum managed to grab the virus away from them and, with a gloating look on his face, clutched it to his chest with glee.
"Now I am the master of the precious! All mine!" he screamed... that is, before he took a wrong step and, oops!, fell feet-first in Blordor.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," the dying platelet screamed as he began to mix with the water, urea, acid, and various other wastes that now surrounded him. Frodo and Sam threw themselves back, glad to finally be rid of the dreaded thing, but sad that Gollum had to die in such a horrible way. After finally patching themselves back up, they slowly headed back towards Minas Humorous. (Author's Note: Yes, I know cells cannot travel backwards, especially through the Ureter. I also realize that Minas Humorous was completely out of their way, and it would've been quicker for them to just go home. However, I think that I've done enough damage to Professor Tolkien's incredible story that you can allow me this last indulgence, alright?)
* * * * *
"Frodo, Sam!" Aragorn cried, seeing his friends suddenly arrive.
"Frodo, Sam!" Legolas cried, seeing his friends suddenly arrive.
"Frodo, Sam!" Gimli cried... well, you get the picture.
"Aragorn! Legolas! Gimli! Gandalf! Merry! Pippin!" cried Frodo, happy to see his friends again.
"Aragorn! Legolas! Gimli! Gandalf! Merry! Pippin!" cried Sam, happy yadda yadda yadda.
The friends embraced, glad to see each other again. Gandalf, happy as he was to see the two hobbits again, spoke direly.
"My friends, you will doubtlessly be wishing to return to your home, Shiraorta, soon, but I must warn you. The Sauron virus has left much changes, and your work will be difficult back home."
"We'll do our best, Gandalf!" the platelets cried and, bidding farewell to Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas, the platelets headed home.
There they found that Gandalf had spoken the truth. Their dear Shiraorta had been clogged by bacteria, fats, and other icky stuff. It took determination, willpower, and strength to clean up the area, but the platelets fell to the task easily. Soon, all was as it had been before...
* * * * *
"Eru!" Yavanna called from her corner of the room. "How're you feeling?"
Eru, rubbing a little at the little scab on his arm, smiled and walked over to her science fair display: The Importance of Fruits in Your Diet. "I'm doing better. Just a little virus, I think. Nothing too serious."
"Glad to hear it," she said, arranging the fruits in a lovely fashion. "You had all of us worried. Oh look!" she said, pointing to Eru's own science fair project. "You got one of the awards!"
He smiled. "I'm glad I didn't miss this!" he said, smiling. "My immune system has saved the day!"
And with that cheesy sentiment, this story has but two more words to say:
The End
The author wishes to make known that she does not in any way follow the allusions and analogies as placed in the original novels by J.R.R. Tolkien. We thank Mr. Tolkien, posthumously as we must, for his understanding and for these great novels he has given to us. We also thank his lawyers for their understanding in not suing us.
The Lord of the Immune System
Based upon The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien
Written by Bonnie Prather
PowerPoint presentation by Amber Matthai
~ PREFACE ~
Ilúvatar, or Eru as his friends called him, found himself engaged in a most exciting lab experiment during sixth period, this bright sunny day of May. The air, warmed to a pleasant degree by the sun outside, wafted in through the window, filling the high school biology room with the smell of freshly mowed grass and the sound of children playing on the big toy. Smiling, Eru made a final notation and turned to his lab partners.
"Our experiment is a success! It appears, music does affect plant life. The science fair is ours!"
He and his friends exchanged high fives and took another quick look at the plants flourishing on the windowsill, lulled to life by the sounds of Beethoven, Broadway, as well as the not-so-lively plant listening to Limp Bizkit. However, with their backs turned, they failed to notice the class goof-off, Melkor, playing around with a paperclip he had been dipping in the fishbowl. As Eru turned around, Melkor accidentally sliced his forearm.
"Ack!" he said, clutching his arm with his freehand. Melkor, with a startled face, fled.
"You alright?" Tulkas asked, pulling off his goggles. Eru grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser and placed it over the cut, which was already drawing blood.
"Yeah," he said, wincing. "Just a little scratch. Nothing big..."
~ BOOK ONE: THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE VIRUS ~
The day had come at last. The Shiraorta, a comfortable little spot near the heart where platelets liked to hang out between patching up cuts, was hosting the birthday party of Bilbo Platelet and his nephew Frodo. Bilbo, known for his extravagance, his love for his nephew, and his various adventures over the years, was hailed far and wide as a good host of parties and nearly all the platelets in town had cleared their calendars so as to be sure to attend. As the time drew nigh, the little children platelets ran about the town, gawking and gossiping. The parent platelets were hardly better, although who could blame them? Rumor had gone about the Shiraorta that Gandalf the Helper T Cell wizard was on the scene and was planning something big.
The party turned out a great success. Gandalf had, in truth, arrived and set off an amazing display of lymphatic fireworks, delighting all. Oxygen and vitamin K were in abundance and the platelets had a great time. However, if one kept an eye open and a head clear, he might've noticed Bilbo heading back to his platelet hole by himself.
Bilbo gathered up his things, carefully remembering his book he was writing of his adventurous life ("There And Back Again: A Tale of My Journey To Save The Body From A Cold Virus Named Smaug") and placing his will somewhere where Frodo would be sure to see it. Gandalf entered the room silently, watching this scene.
"He'll be fine, Bilbo. I'll look after him."
Bilbo jumped at the words, but smiled at the great Helper T cell.
"Yeah..."
"And Clavidell will be just the place for you," Gandalf added, referring to Bilbo's current destination, a small but wonderful little place near the shoulder wherein dwelt many kind of cells needing a rest and a break. Bilbo nodded again, and attempted to leave.
"Aren't you forgetting something, Bilbo?" Gandalf asked, looking sternly upon the platelet. Bilbo blushed, a difficult thing for a colorless, shapeless cell, and placed the collection of thromboplastin upon the desk. ("There And Back Again" described how Bilbo stole this great substance from a platelet named Gollum who was hoarding it, and how it, for some strange reason, began to control his life...)
"Are you sure I can't take it with me? What use will Frodo have for it?" he whined, looking eagerly back at the substance. Gandalf glared.
"Leave it."
Bilbo, shrugging his shoulders, accepted this last word and left the platelet home, whistling and singing as he made his way down the artery to Clavidell.
* * * * *
Frodo returned from the party himself, not but a few minutes after Bilbo had left. He looked sadly to Gandalf, who had remained in the room to warm himself by the fire. (Get it? Fire by the aorta... heartburn... *heehee*)
"He's gone, isn't he?"
"Yes," Gandalf said simply, looking to the small platelet. "His will is left and I have no doubt you will find everything left to you."
Frodo nodded, not really understanding anything in his sadness. However, his eyes were brought to rest on the string of thromoplastin as was left by Bilbo. Gandalf turned to him suddenly.
"I advise you, my young platelet, NOT to touch that! It has powers that I am yet unaware of. I must leave you now, to discover truth out of the rumors I have been hearing lately. However, I shall return soon and will bring to you news of your destiny."
With an impressive sweep, Gandalf exited the room, leaving a very confused platelet in his wake. However, Frodo was soon to learn the truth...
* * * * *
"I'm glad you returned, Gandalf."
"You won't be when you learn the news I have learned," Gandalf said, slouching back in one of Frodo's easy chairs. Frodo looked puzzled.
"What news do you bring me?"
"News of great import. A foreign substance has entered the body, unlike the diseases either T or B memory cells remember. Its legions are so great, it passed the first lymph node without even an odd look. After that, however, it has been attacking nodes left and right, destroying innocent erythrocytes, and, in short, destroying the body."
"'Tis awful, Gandalf!" Frodo said, setting down in a chair opposite Gandalf with a large piece of calcium to chew on. "But what does this have to do with me?"
Gandalf leaned forward. "The foreign object calls itself Sauron, and has sent its minons (which we call Orcs) towards the Shiraorta. We believe they are coming after you."
Frodo nearly choked on the calcium. "Why me?"
"They must've heard of the heroism of your uncle Bilbo, and want to make sure you will pose no danger. You must leave, and soon!"
* * * * *
Frodo did take Gandalf's advice and, with his trusty friend Sam (also a platelet), set off in the direction of Clavidell. They were not a moment too soon. Heading along the artery, Frodo paused to look back and saw a strange looking creature on his front doorstep, angrily pounding on the door, demanding entrance. (Frodo was in no mood to deal with door-to-door salesmen at the moment) Along the way, they met up with fellow friends Merry and Pippin, two lively platelets that vowed to aid Frodo's quest in any way they could.
The four saw many strange and adventurous sites, including nearly escaping some dreaded Orcs that were tracing them. (They decided to avoid the main artery from there out, sneaking their way along the lymph system instead: staying close to the artery but hidden from it.) They also met a rather eccentric Helper T cell named Tom Bombadil who helped them escape from a leucocyte looking for a fight. With his guidance, the group made their way to Bree, a small meeting place for cells of all kinds, and an inn therein named "The Prancing Plastid".
The group enjoyed some delightful tasting Vitamin K and met a new friend: Strider, a white blood cell who approached them about leading them to Clavidell. The group was cautious at first, but after receiving a DNA message from Gandalf telling them to trust a man named Strider (whose real name was Aragorn), and after a strange night of boarding up the inn against Orcs come to destroy all they could see, the group quickly gained trust in their new friend. (After all the platelets decided, a cell more than two times their own size could come in handy)
The fellowship of platelets and the white blood cell continued on their quest the next day, setting off towards Clavidell. However, one dark and stormy night led them well nigh to their deaths...
* * * * *
"Where are we, Strider?" Frodo whispered, nervous. The artery no longer looked kind and happy; rather, it looked frightful and dark. Strider, gritting his teeth, looked down to the small platelet.
"This is Weathertop, my friend. I had hoped to find Gandalf here, but he has apparently moved on without us. Not unbelievable, since the valves here keep cells from moving backwards."
The group looked about the small cavity with apprehension, especially Frodo who felt his heart leap at every sound. However, a small rustling near the valve before them caused him to jump. (No easy task when the path is one cell thick)
"Did you hear tha..." He never finished his sentence, for from behind the valve jumped several large Orcs, blades out and devilish looking grins on their faces (Well, faces in a figurative sense of the word...) as they ran towards Frodo.
"Elbereth!" he screamed as an Orc's sword pierced a corner of his shapeless figure. The Orcs, hearing the name he had shouted, turned and fled.
Frodo and company continued on. When they were nearly within sight of Clavidell, they were again attacked by the Orcs. This time, instead of pausing to fight, they ran for all they were worth. Seeing that they would be unable to outrun the foreign creatures, they shouted for help. Instantly, to their great relief, lymph flooded the capillary and washed the Orcs far away. Frodo collapsed as soon as he had entered the great house of Clavidell.
* * * * *
"Where am I?" Frodo asked, sitting up slowly in bed. Gandalf cracked a small smile.
"You made it to Clavidell, my boy. Congratulations."
Frodo rubbed his sore head.
"What's happened?"
"Well," Gandalf said, trying to look nonchalant. "We've discovered that a major component of this deadly virus has been entangled in your thromboplastin; this explains why it had such a great hold over both Bilbo and Gollum. We've decided to send someone to carry this virus to Mt. Urethra-Doom and destroy it once and for all."
"Who's going to do this?" Frodo asked, suddenly worried.
Gandalf coughed.
"Well, um, you."
"WHAT? I'm a platelet! My job is to fix scrapes, make scabs! Not carry waste! Besides, this is dangerous!"
* * * * *
Frodo, however, had little say in the matter. Going against all he knew to be good and safe, Frodo wearily agreed and settled himself to the task. After being outfitted with special armor and instructions from his uncle to remember everything so that he may insert it into Bilbo's next book, Frodo was sent on his way with his friends Sam, Merry, Pippin, and Aragorn, as well as a few new acquaintances. Legolas, the Killer T cell from the Elvish part of the body, Gimli, another Killer T cell, but from the Dwarfish part of the body, Boromir, a white blood cell, and Gandalf the Helper T cell all joined the fellowship of the virus and set off to join Frodo on his quest southward.
They journeyed for quite some time, the thromboplastin weighing heavily upon Frodo's soul. However, they soon ran across an obstruction.
"Curses!" Gandalf cried, seeing the artery they planned to take coated with fatty substances and various junk food. "I knew Eru should've cut back on fried foods!"
"Pardon?" Frodo asked. Gandalf brushed him aside.
"Never mind, we shall simply have to alter our course and go through a little tissue here until we can get back to the vein."
Aragorn spoke up quickly. "But, Gandalf! The tissue in this area is known to be corrupted by the virus! We run a great chance going through it."
"Yes, but there is no way around, is there?"
Aragorn grumpily acquiesced, and the group began to filter their way through the tissues.
* * * * *
"Do you hear something?" Merry whispered loudly up to Frodo. Frodo turned his head slightly, trying to remain on the path forged ahead by Gandalf.
"Of course not. Platelets haven't any ears!"
Merry sneered at him. "I know that. But for the sake of the story..."
"Well, for the sake of the story, yes, I did hear that low scratching noise."
Merry nodded and continued on. A few seconds later...
"Do you hear the noise anymore?"
"Yes, it seems to be getting louder, wouldn't you say?"
"Yes, quite louder... ACK!!!"
A large virus had, without warning, appeared and loomed over the fellowship, which cowered back against the tissue walls. The virus smirked evilly and, if had had a mustache, it would've been twirling it. Gandalf stepped forward.
"Run, boys!"
"But...!" Frodo cried.
"Run!"
They needed no further urging, in fact, all but Frodo had run, screaming like little girls, at his first urging. Gandalf drew forth his powers as a Helper T cell, hoping that the tissue was not as yet too corrupt.
* * * * *
The Fellowship, now minus Gandalf, finally stumbled forth out of the tissue and into the hepatic artery, happy to be alive but sad for the loss of their good friend.
"Where are we now?" Pippin asked, annoyed that he had lost his way. Legolas, however, was quick with an answer.
"In the hepatic artery, my good platelet," he said with a smile.
"How did you know that?" Pippin asked, scratching what I suppose could be considered his head for the moment, as it was facing up as they floated along. Legolas smiled.
"Good Pippin, you really should learn to read the text above you. However, with my knowledge of the body, I also know that this artery should lead us to LothLiverion, a land of cleansing and rejuvenation."
Legolas was indeed correct and the fellowship soon entered LothLiverion's fertile lands that quickly stripped them of all pain, suffering, weakness, and waste that they had accumulated during their trip. They even were met by the Lady Galadriel, another Helper T cell who aided in their rejuvenation and gave them much good advice. Upon exiting LothLiverion, they made their way down the descending aorta, altered their paths to run quickly through a kidney, and got onto the great river Ureter.
"Wow, Legolas!" Pippin cried. "You're right! I've learned quite a bit from reading along!"
Legolas smiled. "Yes, reading is fun-damental!"
After the necessary groans, talk lasted for days that threatened to throw Legolas into the river for his bad pun.
"It's not my fault!" he exclaimed. "The author made me say it!"
Legolas was soon hit over the head by a large piece of bile that, quite mysteriously, was thrown from the river. Glaring up at the author while he rubbed his head, he quickly learned that blaming the author is not a safe thing to do in humorous parodies.
"Master Frodo," Sam asked, glancing behind him.
"Yes, Sam?"
"I think we're being followed..."
Frodo looked behind him and, must to his amazement, saw that Sam was right. Something that appeared in a form somewhat like a platelet seemed to be following them at a distance trying to disguise himself as lymph. It, needless to say, was not working too well. Frodo threw a hard piece of bile (courtesy of Legolas) at him, and the disturbance seemed to trail off after that.
"Let's pause here a moment," Boromir the white blood cell who, sad to say, has been quite neglected up to this point, said. The fellowship agreed and, pulling their way out of the river of wastes, water, and various kinds of acid, sat to the side of the tube.
"We must consider what we're going to do next," Boromir said, looking around them. The virus has infected many parts, but the greatest seems to be the tissue near where the cut occurred, in Minas Humorous. I know our task was to destroy the key essentials of the virus, (his eyes glinted greedily towards Frodo) but I believe our help is most needed in Minas Humorous. Who's with me?"
The group fell undecided and Frodo asked for some time to think it over. The group separated and wandered about the tissue to the side.
I can't lead my friends to Mt. Urethra-Doom. I was the one assigned to destroy the virus, I must do it myself. Perhaps if I go on my own, they shall simply go to Minas Humorous on their own.
His mind made up, he snuck back to the river Ureter, only to be tackled by Sam.
"Sam! What are you doing?"
"I read your thoughts, master Frodo, and I can't let you go alone!"
"Well... alright," Frodo said. "But just you."
Happy with this arrangement, the two joined the river once more and began their journey towards Mt. Urethra-Doom. We will leave them for now, for our attention must be taken elsewhere.
~ BOOK TWO: THE TWO LYMPH NODES ~
Aragorn was wandering about aimlessly when he heard the sound of battle coming from nearby. Fearing for the rest of the fellowship, he raced back to where they had stood minutes before.
"Boromir!" Aragorn cried, running to the side of the dying white leucocyte. "Are you hurt badly?"
Boromir gave Aragorn a sharp glance, but refrained from saying, "Nah, I'm just dying!" simply to cough and sputter. Giving a truly angstful look to Aragorn, he spoke his final words.
"Aragorn, you've always been like a brother to me. Well, not really a brother. More like a distant cousin that you never really see, except at Christmas and birthdays. But, that doesn't matter now. Never mind." He grabbed Aragorn's arm sharply, to let the confused white blood cell know that his next words were actually important. "But, you must go find Merry and Pippin! The Orcs attacked us while we were waiting here, and they dragged the platelets off. They might try to infect them. You must save them where I have failed. Promise me you'll save them."
A tear slid down Aragorn's shapeless... er, face. "I promise."
And with that emotional scene over, Boromir died. Aragorn took a moment to let out a vengeful scream, and leaped to his feet. Ever the ones for good timing, Gimli and Legolas burst forward from the tissue they had been running through.
"The Orcs captured Merry and Pippin!" They exclaimed in unison. Aragorn took a quick look back to the great river, and whispered a word of encouragement to Sam and Frodo, wherever they might yet be, and set off with the Killer T Cells to search for the other platelets.
* * * * *
The Orcs, dreaded virus cells that flooded the lymph system, destroying everywhere they went, carried Merry and Pippin by their shapeless bodies, foolishly forgetting the proximity of their knives to the platelets.
"Hey, you mind slowing down a little?" Merry screamed, kicking the virus as best as his shapeless body could. The virus only grunted unintelligibly in response.
Pippin, on the other hand, read the introduction paragraph and, with a cunning smile, sliced the bonds that held them capture. Screaming "Hey, Merry!" to the other platelet, he broke free and grabbed the platelet. They began a long chase through the lymph system, finally eluding the Orcs by ducking behind a lymph node. As they stood there, praying the Orcs wouldn't find them again, they were startled by a sound from behind them.
"Hullo, there," the tall creature said.
"ACK!!!" the platelets screamed, turning and breathing in a sigh of relief to not see the virus cells before them. The creature was, instead, a rather tall cell that introduced itself as an macrophage named Treebeard.
"A wandering macrophage, I might add!" he added, quite pleased with himself. "And what, pray tell, are you?"
"Halfling," Merry replied politely, much to Treebeard's bepuzzlement.
"What's a halfling?"
"Oh, well, it's a name that the red blood cells gave us, seeing that we're half their size. Go figure. We're also called platelets."
"Hmphmmm..." Treebeard thought this over. The platelets grew impatient.
"We don't mean to be rude, but we really have to be running. There's some viruses that are chasing us, intent on destroying both us and the place where we're headed, Minas Humorous."
"VIRUSES!" Treebeard exclaimed. "Viruses destroyed many of my friends..." he sniffled. "A bunch of dear fixed macrophages, a lymph node, they didn't even see it coming... The bacteria overwhelmed the node and now... *sniffle* it's just a growing dish for more bacteria..." After another sniffle, Treebeard grew determined. "Wait here a moment. My group of macrophages will accompany you to Minas Humorous, and we'll help destroy those viruses, once and for all!"
* * * * *
"They can't be far now," Aragorn said.
Legolas and Gimli grumbled.
"How would you know? White blood cells aren't meant for tracking! They're meant for killing, just like us Killer T cells!"
It was now Aragorn's turn to grumble. "But hark!" he cried, pointing ahead on the path to a rather familiar looking Helper T cell...
"Gandalf?!" the three called in unison. Gandalf, indeed it was he! turned and waved to the three. They instantly ran to his side.
"But we thought you were dead!"
"Dead? Heavens no!" Gandalf said, laughing. "I used my powers as a Helper T cell to create many more T cells, that quickly killed off that virus. Now, we must get to Minas Humorous right away. We haven't a moment to lose!"
So, they set out right away, taking the subclavian artery. When they arrived, they discovered that Gandalf was indeed correct. While the platelets had succeeded in somewhat closing off the cut, many new viruses were swarming about, killing, infecting, and generally making a great mess of things.
"Aragorn!" came a voice from near the fighting. He turned to see another white cell approaching. "You came just in time," the General of the Army of white blood cells said. "We need all the help we can get."
"We'll see what we can do," he said, nodding to the Killer T cells and the Helper T cell, which promptly got to work.
Even the addition of these four strong cells, the battle wouldn't have been conquered by the body cells, without the sudden appearance of *duh duh duh* the Macrophages!
"We go, we go, we go to war, to hew the stone and break the door!" the macrophages sung, arriving on the scene and looking greedily at the viruses. Too late, the viruses learned of their doom. The macrophages quickly engulfed the bacteria, eating it up and spitting it back out, in a way that most superheroes can only speak of. Soon, the battle was won. Everyone cheered. Aragorn and Gandalf, however, were not entirely pleased.
"There is still work to be done. We must rid of the body of this infection. If you are not wounded or dead, you will begin your route throughout the body to kill all viruses you find!"
* * * * *
Frodo and Sam, meanwhile, were about halfway down the great river Ureter and still fretting over Frodo's great task. That is, they were fretting about it when they heard a great *splash* behind them. Looking over their shoulders, they saw a rather bedraggled platelet jump up to great them.
"Hello..."
"Gollum!" Frodo cried, clutching hold of the thromboplastin even tighter. "What do you want?"
"Simply to help you... I wouldn't want any harm to come to the virus, and I don't want the Orcs to get it any more than you do..."
Despite Gollum's generous words, Frodo could still see the lust in Gollum's eye and knew that the virus still had a hold over the old platelet's mind. "Just let me help you..."
With a motion so quick neither Sam nor Frodo could move, Gollum gave Frodo a mighty push and shoved him into a lymph node... a lymph node covered in bacteria...
~ BOOK THREE: THE RETURN OF THE HELPER T CELL
or
THE WAR OF THE VIRUS ~
Sam, enraged by this sudden act of violence against his master Frodo, (as well as realizing the sudden length of this, oops, short assignment) screamed a great cry of vengeance (doesn't that sound like fun?) and ran into the lymph node. Therein, he saw a great virus leaning over Frodo, a great and tall virus that, had Sam ever seen a spider, he would say looked a lot like a spider. From behind him, Gollum also entered the lymph node.
"Just remember, Shelob, I get the virus!"
Sam punched him in the nose, sending him flying back into the river. Stepping up to Shelob with a defiant air, he covered her in platelet thromboplastin which, after she accidentally hit her head on the wall, began to turn into thrombin when he threw some of the calcium he had in his lunch sack at her. The thrombin quickly turned into fibrinogen and, when she leaned her now very heavy head against the wall, turned into fibrin and attached her to the wall permanently. Triumphant, Sam grabbed Frodo and the two made their way back out into the river, for the final leg of their journey.
* * * * *
The others (Merry, Pippin, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Gandalf, the various white blood cells from the fight, the macrophages, and all the others) were at this time busily wiping out the system of its various viruses that were starting to go into hiding. As their occupation was the same, and the thought on their minds the same, we shall simply record that they were all hoping that Frodo would send the last great virus piece into Mt. Urethra-Doom without fail, and with that we shall let them again pursue their quest without interruption.
* * * * *
Sam and Frodo, by the miracle of author editing, (Poor Professor Tolkien is rolling in his grave at all I've cut out) finally arrived at the edge of the two sphincter muscles that separated the river Ureter from Blordor, the great land of desolation and destruction, where only the most vile of wastes were wont to go. Frodo and Sam stood there awhile, staring in awe at a sight that they, as platelets, never expected to see. Frodo held out the thromboplastin, taking one last look at the virus that could destroy them all.
"Aieeeeeeeeeee!" came a loud scream from behind them and with a "what in the heck?" from Frodo, Gollum suddenly stood before them.
"You can't destroy my precious!" he screamed, clawing at Frodo to steal the virus back from him. "PRECIOUS!!!!"
Despite Frodo's hardest grasp, Gollum managed to grab the virus away from them and, with a gloating look on his face, clutched it to his chest with glee.
"Now I am the master of the precious! All mine!" he screamed... that is, before he took a wrong step and, oops!, fell feet-first in Blordor.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," the dying platelet screamed as he began to mix with the water, urea, acid, and various other wastes that now surrounded him. Frodo and Sam threw themselves back, glad to finally be rid of the dreaded thing, but sad that Gollum had to die in such a horrible way. After finally patching themselves back up, they slowly headed back towards Minas Humorous. (Author's Note: Yes, I know cells cannot travel backwards, especially through the Ureter. I also realize that Minas Humorous was completely out of their way, and it would've been quicker for them to just go home. However, I think that I've done enough damage to Professor Tolkien's incredible story that you can allow me this last indulgence, alright?)
* * * * *
"Frodo, Sam!" Aragorn cried, seeing his friends suddenly arrive.
"Frodo, Sam!" Legolas cried, seeing his friends suddenly arrive.
"Frodo, Sam!" Gimli cried... well, you get the picture.
"Aragorn! Legolas! Gimli! Gandalf! Merry! Pippin!" cried Frodo, happy to see his friends again.
"Aragorn! Legolas! Gimli! Gandalf! Merry! Pippin!" cried Sam, happy yadda yadda yadda.
The friends embraced, glad to see each other again. Gandalf, happy as he was to see the two hobbits again, spoke direly.
"My friends, you will doubtlessly be wishing to return to your home, Shiraorta, soon, but I must warn you. The Sauron virus has left much changes, and your work will be difficult back home."
"We'll do our best, Gandalf!" the platelets cried and, bidding farewell to Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas, the platelets headed home.
There they found that Gandalf had spoken the truth. Their dear Shiraorta had been clogged by bacteria, fats, and other icky stuff. It took determination, willpower, and strength to clean up the area, but the platelets fell to the task easily. Soon, all was as it had been before...
* * * * *
"Eru!" Yavanna called from her corner of the room. "How're you feeling?"
Eru, rubbing a little at the little scab on his arm, smiled and walked over to her science fair display: The Importance of Fruits in Your Diet. "I'm doing better. Just a little virus, I think. Nothing too serious."
"Glad to hear it," she said, arranging the fruits in a lovely fashion. "You had all of us worried. Oh look!" she said, pointing to Eru's own science fair project. "You got one of the awards!"
He smiled. "I'm glad I didn't miss this!" he said, smiling. "My immune system has saved the day!"
And with that cheesy sentiment, this story has but two more words to say:
The End