Confused? So am I.
Okay people! I'm back again, this time with a fic in diary format. Ooooooh...all bow to ME!
(Crickets chirp)
...Well, this is just a little teaser. I might finish it, but only if I get lots of good reviews!
(Crickets chirp)
September 24
Dear Diary,
This is pointless. Writing, I mean. No-one's ever going to read this. Why bother? To learn about the boring life of a boring girl with the easily forgotten face? I doubt.
So why write? Because I can, that's why. Might as well, what else have I do to? Homework (check); dishes (check); voice rehearsal (la la la la la la LA check).
Except, now I have nothing to say. So, bye.
September 25
Dear Diary,
This is just as pointless as it was yesterday, yet I continue. After much thinking on my part, I draw the conclusion that I keep at it because of a deep psychological flaw in my being.
Another psychological flaw: My obsession with hobbits. And The Lord Of The Rings. And all related criteria. Yeah. Except elves. Elves I could do without.
September 27
Dear Diary,
Why could I do without elves? Well, come ON, aloof, superior, self- centered, all-knowing, absolutely gorgeous down to that split hair that never was, et cetera. Talk about knowing you're perfect. Okay, there's a BIG difference between KNOWING you're hot, and flaunting it. Hobbits, though, are adorable, and don't even know HOW to flaunt it! I betcha their idea of flirting is something along the lines of, "I like your potato patch." "You're tomatoes are pretty nice." "Yeah." "Yeah." "Wanna dance?" "Okay."
Isn't that sweet? No? Well, okay, it's LAME, but I have no idea how it REALLY goes. Jeez.
September 30
Dear Diary,
One of the cheerleaders snatched my sketchbook today, while I was in the middle of drawing a dancer in a really graceful, eloquent pose.
"What is this, porn?"
"Ew, look, she's not WEARING ANYTHING!"
"That's gross, you know, give her clothing!"
I tried in vain to explain that you have to draw the body form first THEN the clothes otherwise it'll look unnatural, but do they listen?
No.
I mean, I wasn't drawing her absolutely NAKED!!! It was the regular starter form, with the lines through the body and everything! No face, but just the lines to determine where her eyes, nose, mouth, and ears would be.
Useless cheerleader.
October 6
Dear Diary,
Weird . . . I woke up today with a pounding pain in my shoulder. I complained to my mother, but she brushed it off as 'pre-exam nerves.' I don't even HAVE an exam today!!!
Useless woman.
Dear Diary,
I'm having a dream. A nightmare. A concussion. Something. Anything.
Why am I an here? What did I do to deserve this fate? No, this isn't real. There's no other way.
. . . Right?
I mean, it isn't possible for a human to be sucked from her world into some fantasy. This isn't happening! It can't be!
Confused?
So am I.
October 7
Okay, see, it went like this. And please forgive the ink spatters, my favorite pen got turned into a quill and bottle of ink. Anyway, I came home from a regular day at school yesterday, still in my uniform. I grabbed my favoritest sweatshirt—the black one that goes down to my knees, and I had the sleeves hemmed so that they actually fit, and it looks funky—and jeans and ran into the garage to throw my uniform into the washing machine. I pulled off my shirt and pants, tossed them and some soap into the wash, and turned it on. Everything happened normally. I pulled on my sweatshirt, putting my jeans down carefully. There. Okay. I picked up my bag of stuff; it was in the way of my jeans and I was about to step on it. Ouch. Yeah.
Then I was hit by a—something. Yeah, that's right, a something. A something cold and hot at the same time. At first I thought it was Patrick and Kyle playing some kind of weird prank, blowing freezer-air and heated air at me from opposite sides, but them the something lifted my up. Up, up, up I go, until we reach . . . the stairs . . . No, wait, wrong.
But up I go. Jesus, is this Over The Rainbow or what? I thought, fully comprehending that my brain was making up witty comments to keep itself from shutting down with shock. Although, as for witty, that was definitely not my best. Then I land. Hard. Ouch, it hurt . . . my legs still hurt from where I collapsed on them.
Oh, and guess where I landed?
Middle-earth. In some foresty place.
Right in front of Frodo and Aragorn and Pippin and Merry and Sam.
I was standing before fictional characters, naked but for a baggy, oversized black sweatshirt, carrying a black leather bag. Wait, leather? I stared at the bag, still reeling from shock.
"Wow. It's . . . leather. Interesting. That's new." I looked up, gesturing at my bag. "Was cloth, you know. Cloth. Not dead cow. Or . . . horse. Or whatever. Cloth was good. Liked cloth."
Then I passed out.
Now I'm awake again, and we've just stopped to stuff Frodo onto Bill the pony . . . seems he just got stabbed on Weathertop.
That was why I felt the pain in my shoulder, exactly where Frodo was impaled.
But that doesn't EXPLAIN it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Why in the nine hells would I feel Frodo's wound?!?! There's no logic behind this!!!!!!!!!!! None at all!!!!!!!! But if we're going into LOGIC, there's no logical reason for me to BE here!!!!!!!!!!!! What's going ON?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?! HELP!!!!!!!!
This is all a dream. When we take another rest for us to sleep, I'll go to sleep, and wake up, and be in my own bed, and I'll be home again . . . This is all a dream . . . a dream . . .
October 8
Oh my God. Ohhh my God. OH MY GOD. I really am in Middle-earth. I looked into my backpack and found that all my stuff was Middle-earthed. My favorite colored pencils were nothing more than colored sticks of...color. There was no wood on them at all. Eaurgh. And my tin box of my best colored pens? A wooden box, a beautiful one, much better than my tin one, but still not my other one, filled with bottles of ink in the twelve normal colors. Red, blue, yellow, green, orange, purple, red-violet, blue-purple, yellow- orange, red-orange, blue-green and yellow-green. And instead of pens, I had paintbrushes. Paintbrushes! Never mind this, I'll make a list of everything, from what it was to what it is now:
Colored pencils – Sticks of color. Not that much of a difference, but still.
Colored pens – Bottles of colored ink and twelve paintbrushes, one for each color.
Plain black pens – Feather quills.
Regular pencils – Lead. I swear, they're now six-inch-long sticks of lead, about as thick as a pencil. I could kill something with those. Oh yeah. Fear me and my drawing device of doom.
Sketchpad – Actually, the only real difference is that the paper is thicker and creamier, and instead of being cardboard-covered and bound with a spiral wire, now its cover is leather and bound with a pale green silk ribbon. All my drawings are still there, too.
Diary – Same as the sketchbook, actually. Oh and also, I'm not writing in English. Came as a shock to me when I put quill to paper and instead of English letters, I got Elvish script. Does that mean I'm an ELF?!?!?!?!?! Could explain Pippin's adoring looks, and Sam's stares of awe and worship . . . Jesus, I hope they don't start drooling . . .
October 18
Been a while . . . We've not gotten to rest at all! Till now, obviously . . . Arwen came, bless her, and took off with Frodo. Now we get to sit and rest for, oh, ten minutes, before Aragorn dizzies himself to death from his worried pacing and the hobbits cheer and rejoice and scramble like mad after Frodo and Arwen.
Well, we're off again. No, sadly, the smelly man with the large sword is still alive and un-dizzy, I guess he's practiced worry-pacing before . . .
October 23
We made it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! We're alive!!!!!!!!!!!! Frodo is here too, but he's still unconscious . . .
I can't understand a thing the hobbits are gabbling at me . . . Judging by the excited tones, they're glad Frodo's alive but, now for the question sounds, When will he wake? or, Will he be alive if I go to sleep and wake up tomorrow?
I have no idea . . . I don't even know what they're asking me!!!!!!!
Pippin . . . is tugging . . . on my elbow. Sorry, short stuff, but the tall cold silent elf girl wants privacy please . . .
Elrond to the rescue!!!!!!! He emerged from Frodo's quarters, looking rather, er, harried, and saw at once that I was not understanding the hobbits and all their gibberish. So he translated.
Pippin: "Gibberish gibberish blah blah yakkity question sound?
Elrond: "He wants to know how you managed to appear in the forest when the Ringwraiths were sure to have passed by?"
I haven't any idea, I don't even know why I'm here, nor how I GOT here.
Sam: "GIBBERISH STUFF-I-DON'T-UNDERSTAND EXCITED QUESTIONNESS?!?!?!?!?!"
Elrond: "ARE YOU REALLY A REAL ELF LIKE EVERYONE HERE?!?!?!?!"
No. I am not a real elf. I am a mushroom.
Merry: Laughs. That I can understand.
Pippin: " . . . Gibberish?"
Elrond: " . . . Mushroom?"
Sarcasm, Pippin. I really am an elf . . . I don't know WHY, though, I was a human in my own world.
Sam: "GIBBERISH WORDS I DON'T KNOW MORE EXCITED TALKING SOUNDS?!!!!!!!!"
Elrond: Sounds thoughtful as he repeats the question-statement-discovery thing. "You come from another world, Lady Elf?" Then, to me without a translation. "My lady, do you really hail from another world, or a land seemingly otherworldly compared to this?"
I freakin' truly come from another land, I guess and alternate universe to yours, a parallel world, simply called Earth. I was washing my clothes when I fell into your world, sir, and that's the truth . . . I have my diary here! I hold it up. I wrote everything in it, sir, at every chance I got after I appeared here!
He took it and read it, laughing slightly. The hobbits, poor them, looked like they felt quite ignored. I patted the one closest, Merry, on the head, and smiled at them, glancing at Elrond to see if he was done yet. He handed it to me.
Elrond: "Indeed . . . and you say you felt Frodo's wound when he received it, though you were still in your world?"
Yep. Woke up with it. Hurt like the lowest level of hell, begging your pardon, sir.
Elrond: Thoughtfully, "Interesting . . . Well, I must tend to Mister Baggins now, my lady."
I got up to leave before I realized that I had a hobbit dangling from my dress (they graciously gave us all brand new clothing, and the hobbits got theirs specially tailoured. I got a simple light green dress with white trim . . . I actually look like someone who wouldn't break a mirror! Shocks!)
It was Sam, he was making more questions at me.
That was then. This is now. He's still making questions at me, slower, like that'll help. Ah well, the thought that counts.
Okay. I'm going to tell him, very sweetly, very slowly, VEEEEEEEEEEERY carefully, that, "Sam, honey, sweetie, darling, you adorable little hobbit you, I can't understand a word you're saying, and I'm getting tired, so can I please go to sleep?"
"Oh. Sorry miss, didn't mean to bother you, I simply wanted to know your name."
OMG. He understands Elvish!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Actually, he only understands a little, but he knew that I told him I was sleepy and wanted to go to bed, and that I didn't know what the hell he was saying. But he didn't KNOW that I wasn't understanding him, he thought I was being cold and standoffish, and he was trying very hard to charm his way into me simply telling him my name, so I hugged him, told him my name, and went to bed. I swear that hobbit was blushing.
So, whaddaya think, people?! I'm not sure how this is really going to turn out, remember, it's just a little trailor, but if people don't like it, I'll just take this thing down too. Also, to my fans of my Kili story, I'll be updating soon, but I hit one heck of a writer's block and came to a screeching halt. I'm watching TTT over and over again, trying to make SOME little DROPLET of funny pop out at me that hasn't already been used in someone else's fic, but so far, so bad.
Well, review please, and I might post the second chapter of this girl's diary!! (She doesn't even have a name yet!!! I haven't chosen one for her . . . IDEAS ANYONE?!?!?! Begs)
Okay people! I'm back again, this time with a fic in diary format. Ooooooh...all bow to ME!
(Crickets chirp)
...Well, this is just a little teaser. I might finish it, but only if I get lots of good reviews!
(Crickets chirp)
September 24
Dear Diary,
This is pointless. Writing, I mean. No-one's ever going to read this. Why bother? To learn about the boring life of a boring girl with the easily forgotten face? I doubt.
So why write? Because I can, that's why. Might as well, what else have I do to? Homework (check); dishes (check); voice rehearsal (la la la la la la LA check).
Except, now I have nothing to say. So, bye.
September 25
Dear Diary,
This is just as pointless as it was yesterday, yet I continue. After much thinking on my part, I draw the conclusion that I keep at it because of a deep psychological flaw in my being.
Another psychological flaw: My obsession with hobbits. And The Lord Of The Rings. And all related criteria. Yeah. Except elves. Elves I could do without.
September 27
Dear Diary,
Why could I do without elves? Well, come ON, aloof, superior, self- centered, all-knowing, absolutely gorgeous down to that split hair that never was, et cetera. Talk about knowing you're perfect. Okay, there's a BIG difference between KNOWING you're hot, and flaunting it. Hobbits, though, are adorable, and don't even know HOW to flaunt it! I betcha their idea of flirting is something along the lines of, "I like your potato patch." "You're tomatoes are pretty nice." "Yeah." "Yeah." "Wanna dance?" "Okay."
Isn't that sweet? No? Well, okay, it's LAME, but I have no idea how it REALLY goes. Jeez.
September 30
Dear Diary,
One of the cheerleaders snatched my sketchbook today, while I was in the middle of drawing a dancer in a really graceful, eloquent pose.
"What is this, porn?"
"Ew, look, she's not WEARING ANYTHING!"
"That's gross, you know, give her clothing!"
I tried in vain to explain that you have to draw the body form first THEN the clothes otherwise it'll look unnatural, but do they listen?
No.
I mean, I wasn't drawing her absolutely NAKED!!! It was the regular starter form, with the lines through the body and everything! No face, but just the lines to determine where her eyes, nose, mouth, and ears would be.
Useless cheerleader.
October 6
Dear Diary,
Weird . . . I woke up today with a pounding pain in my shoulder. I complained to my mother, but she brushed it off as 'pre-exam nerves.' I don't even HAVE an exam today!!!
Useless woman.
Dear Diary,
I'm having a dream. A nightmare. A concussion. Something. Anything.
Why am I an here? What did I do to deserve this fate? No, this isn't real. There's no other way.
. . . Right?
I mean, it isn't possible for a human to be sucked from her world into some fantasy. This isn't happening! It can't be!
Confused?
So am I.
October 7
Okay, see, it went like this. And please forgive the ink spatters, my favorite pen got turned into a quill and bottle of ink. Anyway, I came home from a regular day at school yesterday, still in my uniform. I grabbed my favoritest sweatshirt—the black one that goes down to my knees, and I had the sleeves hemmed so that they actually fit, and it looks funky—and jeans and ran into the garage to throw my uniform into the washing machine. I pulled off my shirt and pants, tossed them and some soap into the wash, and turned it on. Everything happened normally. I pulled on my sweatshirt, putting my jeans down carefully. There. Okay. I picked up my bag of stuff; it was in the way of my jeans and I was about to step on it. Ouch. Yeah.
Then I was hit by a—something. Yeah, that's right, a something. A something cold and hot at the same time. At first I thought it was Patrick and Kyle playing some kind of weird prank, blowing freezer-air and heated air at me from opposite sides, but them the something lifted my up. Up, up, up I go, until we reach . . . the stairs . . . No, wait, wrong.
But up I go. Jesus, is this Over The Rainbow or what? I thought, fully comprehending that my brain was making up witty comments to keep itself from shutting down with shock. Although, as for witty, that was definitely not my best. Then I land. Hard. Ouch, it hurt . . . my legs still hurt from where I collapsed on them.
Oh, and guess where I landed?
Middle-earth. In some foresty place.
Right in front of Frodo and Aragorn and Pippin and Merry and Sam.
I was standing before fictional characters, naked but for a baggy, oversized black sweatshirt, carrying a black leather bag. Wait, leather? I stared at the bag, still reeling from shock.
"Wow. It's . . . leather. Interesting. That's new." I looked up, gesturing at my bag. "Was cloth, you know. Cloth. Not dead cow. Or . . . horse. Or whatever. Cloth was good. Liked cloth."
Then I passed out.
Now I'm awake again, and we've just stopped to stuff Frodo onto Bill the pony . . . seems he just got stabbed on Weathertop.
That was why I felt the pain in my shoulder, exactly where Frodo was impaled.
But that doesn't EXPLAIN it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Why in the nine hells would I feel Frodo's wound?!?! There's no logic behind this!!!!!!!!!!! None at all!!!!!!!! But if we're going into LOGIC, there's no logical reason for me to BE here!!!!!!!!!!!! What's going ON?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?! HELP!!!!!!!!
This is all a dream. When we take another rest for us to sleep, I'll go to sleep, and wake up, and be in my own bed, and I'll be home again . . . This is all a dream . . . a dream . . .
October 8
Oh my God. Ohhh my God. OH MY GOD. I really am in Middle-earth. I looked into my backpack and found that all my stuff was Middle-earthed. My favorite colored pencils were nothing more than colored sticks of...color. There was no wood on them at all. Eaurgh. And my tin box of my best colored pens? A wooden box, a beautiful one, much better than my tin one, but still not my other one, filled with bottles of ink in the twelve normal colors. Red, blue, yellow, green, orange, purple, red-violet, blue-purple, yellow- orange, red-orange, blue-green and yellow-green. And instead of pens, I had paintbrushes. Paintbrushes! Never mind this, I'll make a list of everything, from what it was to what it is now:
Colored pencils – Sticks of color. Not that much of a difference, but still.
Colored pens – Bottles of colored ink and twelve paintbrushes, one for each color.
Plain black pens – Feather quills.
Regular pencils – Lead. I swear, they're now six-inch-long sticks of lead, about as thick as a pencil. I could kill something with those. Oh yeah. Fear me and my drawing device of doom.
Sketchpad – Actually, the only real difference is that the paper is thicker and creamier, and instead of being cardboard-covered and bound with a spiral wire, now its cover is leather and bound with a pale green silk ribbon. All my drawings are still there, too.
Diary – Same as the sketchbook, actually. Oh and also, I'm not writing in English. Came as a shock to me when I put quill to paper and instead of English letters, I got Elvish script. Does that mean I'm an ELF?!?!?!?!?! Could explain Pippin's adoring looks, and Sam's stares of awe and worship . . . Jesus, I hope they don't start drooling . . .
October 18
Been a while . . . We've not gotten to rest at all! Till now, obviously . . . Arwen came, bless her, and took off with Frodo. Now we get to sit and rest for, oh, ten minutes, before Aragorn dizzies himself to death from his worried pacing and the hobbits cheer and rejoice and scramble like mad after Frodo and Arwen.
Well, we're off again. No, sadly, the smelly man with the large sword is still alive and un-dizzy, I guess he's practiced worry-pacing before . . .
October 23
We made it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! We're alive!!!!!!!!!!!! Frodo is here too, but he's still unconscious . . .
I can't understand a thing the hobbits are gabbling at me . . . Judging by the excited tones, they're glad Frodo's alive but, now for the question sounds, When will he wake? or, Will he be alive if I go to sleep and wake up tomorrow?
I have no idea . . . I don't even know what they're asking me!!!!!!!
Pippin . . . is tugging . . . on my elbow. Sorry, short stuff, but the tall cold silent elf girl wants privacy please . . .
Elrond to the rescue!!!!!!! He emerged from Frodo's quarters, looking rather, er, harried, and saw at once that I was not understanding the hobbits and all their gibberish. So he translated.
Pippin: "Gibberish gibberish blah blah yakkity question sound?
Elrond: "He wants to know how you managed to appear in the forest when the Ringwraiths were sure to have passed by?"
I haven't any idea, I don't even know why I'm here, nor how I GOT here.
Sam: "GIBBERISH STUFF-I-DON'T-UNDERSTAND EXCITED QUESTIONNESS?!?!?!?!?!"
Elrond: "ARE YOU REALLY A REAL ELF LIKE EVERYONE HERE?!?!?!?!"
No. I am not a real elf. I am a mushroom.
Merry: Laughs. That I can understand.
Pippin: " . . . Gibberish?"
Elrond: " . . . Mushroom?"
Sarcasm, Pippin. I really am an elf . . . I don't know WHY, though, I was a human in my own world.
Sam: "GIBBERISH WORDS I DON'T KNOW MORE EXCITED TALKING SOUNDS?!!!!!!!!"
Elrond: Sounds thoughtful as he repeats the question-statement-discovery thing. "You come from another world, Lady Elf?" Then, to me without a translation. "My lady, do you really hail from another world, or a land seemingly otherworldly compared to this?"
I freakin' truly come from another land, I guess and alternate universe to yours, a parallel world, simply called Earth. I was washing my clothes when I fell into your world, sir, and that's the truth . . . I have my diary here! I hold it up. I wrote everything in it, sir, at every chance I got after I appeared here!
He took it and read it, laughing slightly. The hobbits, poor them, looked like they felt quite ignored. I patted the one closest, Merry, on the head, and smiled at them, glancing at Elrond to see if he was done yet. He handed it to me.
Elrond: "Indeed . . . and you say you felt Frodo's wound when he received it, though you were still in your world?"
Yep. Woke up with it. Hurt like the lowest level of hell, begging your pardon, sir.
Elrond: Thoughtfully, "Interesting . . . Well, I must tend to Mister Baggins now, my lady."
I got up to leave before I realized that I had a hobbit dangling from my dress (they graciously gave us all brand new clothing, and the hobbits got theirs specially tailoured. I got a simple light green dress with white trim . . . I actually look like someone who wouldn't break a mirror! Shocks!)
It was Sam, he was making more questions at me.
That was then. This is now. He's still making questions at me, slower, like that'll help. Ah well, the thought that counts.
Okay. I'm going to tell him, very sweetly, very slowly, VEEEEEEEEEEERY carefully, that, "Sam, honey, sweetie, darling, you adorable little hobbit you, I can't understand a word you're saying, and I'm getting tired, so can I please go to sleep?"
"Oh. Sorry miss, didn't mean to bother you, I simply wanted to know your name."
OMG. He understands Elvish!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Actually, he only understands a little, but he knew that I told him I was sleepy and wanted to go to bed, and that I didn't know what the hell he was saying. But he didn't KNOW that I wasn't understanding him, he thought I was being cold and standoffish, and he was trying very hard to charm his way into me simply telling him my name, so I hugged him, told him my name, and went to bed. I swear that hobbit was blushing.
So, whaddaya think, people?! I'm not sure how this is really going to turn out, remember, it's just a little trailor, but if people don't like it, I'll just take this thing down too. Also, to my fans of my Kili story, I'll be updating soon, but I hit one heck of a writer's block and came to a screeching halt. I'm watching TTT over and over again, trying to make SOME little DROPLET of funny pop out at me that hasn't already been used in someone else's fic, but so far, so bad.
Well, review please, and I might post the second chapter of this girl's diary!! (She doesn't even have a name yet!!! I haven't chosen one for her . . . IDEAS ANYONE?!?!?! Begs)
