by Elvenwanderer
A sudden gust of moist wind blew the hood of my jacket from my head once again, causing my dark brow hair to whip into my face, then fall limply to my shoulders. That is a constant battle on nights like this. But I would want the weather no other way. Not for the children, so much, as the holiday that some go to such extremes to celebrate. These dark, ominous clouds and short, teasing gusts of wind seem fitting for Halloween. The orange leaves on dark trees only accentuate the mood more.
My hair flies back to reveal my ears, and I reach up almost reflectively to push them under my hood again. That was until I realized that my pointed ears do not need to be hidden tonight, as they would any other night of the year; they are even embraced to a certain extent. I can pass for normal on nights like this – I could even say I was a Prince of the Noldor, and would be believed. As to how many people, nowadays, would actually know who a son of Fëanor was... I wouldn't know. Though I do not think I would mention my name, nor my lineage, if asked, I have come to dislike both.
While I ride my red bicycle (received for services rendered to an elderly woman) down yet one more meagerly lit street, I pass another band of happy, wound-up children. This troop is filled with mostly witches and a few so- called "ninjas," although I am momentarily surprised to see one pre- adolescent girl in a different type of garment than the others. She wears a dress much like my people would have: long and flowing with an extended torso making her look quite slender and tall.
The young Lady floats on down the cement sidewalk, so oblivious to the world around her. I wonder if she knows she looks like my mother, they both have dark red hair and a wise-looking visage. Perhaps this girl, too, has some distant relation to Mahtan.
The girl's group of parents and chaperones lags not far behind. Some are dressed for the occasion, while most are not. Upon seeing me looking on, a few parents attempt to hurry the "trick-or-treaters" on to the next residence. But no need; the children hurry enough on their own, wanting only to get to the next source of sweets at a house with artificial gravestones in the front lawn. I still do not see the attraction of such things to this day.
This is not the first such group I have passed in the years, nor will it be the last. Just like the last generations of children, these goblins, witches, and various movie characters will grow up and eventually to be chaperone to their own children's Halloween antics.
Yet again, it is nights like these each year when I see families so detached from their own everyday lives, their own promises – oaths even – that I most rue what I committed myself and my brothers to in the First Age of this world. Now, more than ever, I long for my family in Valinor....
Please review.