This little story is for Oblivian03 who wanted an "angsty story". It was really foggy this morning, so this is what I came up with.
Enjoy!
Disclaimer: The book, The Hobbit, belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien, and by no means do I own the movie. I do not own these characters and I am not making a profit from this story. I am just taking these characters out for a walk in the park and I promise to return them in one piece.
Fog.
It is an interesting phenomenon.
It occurs when the ground is cold and the air is warm… or maybe it is the other way around? I cannot remember—I cannot even think straight, let alone recall the lessons on the weather! It hurts too much.
I do not know which is worse, the pain or the fog or… being alone. Completely, totally, utterly alone.
All of those choices are awful, but together they are intolerable.
The worst of all, however, is that no one even knows where I am.
I was just hunting— I know that I should not have been out alone. Yes, it was even idiotic, especially in this weather, but we needed the food. And I had to take matters into my own hands—great idea that turned out to be.
So here I am, at the bottom of a cliff. I did not even realize how close I had strayed from the safe hunting trail until it was too late. It was this confounded fog! But there is no point in throwing around whom or what is to blame. What has been done is done and there is not a thing that I can do about it now.
I had tried to move, to get back, but the pain was too much. I nearly passed out from the agony that it caused—I still cannot figure out how I am even conscious to begin with for I had hit my head pretty hard on the way down. I might even have a concussion, and I think I broke my back.
The mist from the fog makes me shiver. It is not a particularly cold day, but I am probably going into shock. I might be bleeding, too, either externally or internally I cannot decipher. Sometimes I wish that I did not know even the most basic medical knowledge. Then I would not know the seriousness of my situation.
Each shiver brings pain, and the pain brings despair. Just like this fog, my future is murky, could hold just about anything, but is not reveling itself just yet.
Fear is a wonderful thing—it can numb the pain and the anxiety, somewhat. Something lurks in the fog, sizing me up, trying to decide if I have any fight left.
I do. I am not ready to die.
Wait, what was that? Could it have been a voice? Or am I hearing things now?
No, it is a voice! Someone is looking for me! From the sound of it they are not far from the hunting trail I had been following!
My voice is raw from screaming—for help and the pain— and is no more than a croak at this point. No one will be able to hear me!
Down here! Wait! They are moving away! They are going in the wrong direction!
A strangled sob bounces off the cliff face beside me.
No one is going to find me, are they?
The fog parts as something approaches.
What is the use in fighting?
Author's Note: If this seemed to be a little "scattered brained" I left it that way for a reason- I just hope that it wasn't too confusing. Please review! :)