"The One Ring"
A day in the life of an unusually discordant piece of gold jewelry
by UbiquitousPitt
It's mostly been an overcast day. Everyday is an overcast day. You find that not much changes from the inside of somebody's pocket. I'm not unlike most creatures. I'm not quite sure how I ended up in such a shabby lot of property with such a miserable view. Why, that day fifty years ago, when I decided I was strong enough to roll off on my own-- I'd finally managed to pry myself from that miserable sickly collection of green lumps and bumped around the old place a little before deciding I was better off. Then I hit bottom. You don't know you're on the bottom, till it hits you. Or you hit it. And then you're there. And being all trod upon. And you wonder why you ever left that green little git behind you. At least he used to stroke you. At least then, you were somebody's precious.
Alone. So alone.
Then there was him...
Now I simply lie in a silk-coated velveteen world. Sure, maybe it's comfortable for a while, when you're not getting rolled upon during the night. But would he wait for me for three thousand years? I know I was destined for more. I am beautiful. And unique. Surely I've done a lot of wrong in the past. But haven't we all? Everything would be fine for me if I could just move on past Sauron and rid my soul of the desire to KILL...
I suppose the pocket is always softer on the other side.
I attempted to move today. I meditated on it a long while and tried to locate the white ball of positive energy that apparently exists within us all. But I just lay remote. Life has lost it's meaning. I haven't gotten a voice message from Sauron since the second age. And to think, we used to be like 'that'. I'm trying to move into some sort of shape that would signify 'this'. Or 'that'. My white ball of light fails me again. I've had enough of living amongst these damned hippies.
Focused instead on purposely enlarging myself... so that I might some day fit around the smaller slow-looking hobbit's neck and then suddenly shrink back to pinky size. Have come to the conclusion that those 'enlargement' advertisements are pure rubbish.
We ate. Rather, he ate: the older hobbit whom I loathe, he filled his robust stomach and made things uncomfortable for me. I hope to utterly destroy his life-force over time, but perhaps I'm just being self-centered. Though how you can be introverted when you don't have a center is beyond me. And then we walked around. I got fiddled with by sweaty hands. He had eaten bacon. Apparently. And he didn't wash up afterwards. My fire-of-doom finish is all smudged, now. I sit uneasily. There's no respect left in this world for good craftsmanship.
Then the old one dropped me on the table because his muffins were burning. 'Questionable looking with the obvious eating disorder' hobbit eyed me with suspicion. How dare he eye me. He knows I'm loved more than him! If I could sprout legs, I'd run over and wrap my band around him until his face turned a pretty shade of ceylon to match his eyes. I must fight to remember that my desire to kill is setting me apart from the rest of society. I also don't wear pants.
On the flip side, I find it disturbing that my thoughts have meandered to the observation of proper accessorization. As time passes, I am beginning to feel more like a'something to go with your evening gown rather than the WEAPON OF DEATH AND DESTRUCTION I was created to be.
Wonder if I'm going senile. I must meditate more often upon my 'purpose'.
Feeling lonely, I suppose. Old hobbit took me out and fondled me for a long while. Doesn't make up for the piece of me that's missing. He treats everything as if it were a possession. No wonder he doesn't have a girlfriend.
Today I tried to focus briefly on the meaning of life. I think it used to have meaning, when Sauron was around. We'd joke, we'd laugh, we'd decimate a few weaker beings... now I feel so empty. As if there is a hole right in the middle of me.
What's it all about..?
Time to check voice mail again.
Sometimes I just feel invisible.
----------------------------------------------------------------
This short is dedicated to my mother,
Theresa, who is as confused as a ring of power
and a sack fulla two-headed ostriches.
A day in the life of an unusually discordant piece of gold jewelry
by UbiquitousPitt
It's mostly been an overcast day. Everyday is an overcast day. You find that not much changes from the inside of somebody's pocket. I'm not unlike most creatures. I'm not quite sure how I ended up in such a shabby lot of property with such a miserable view. Why, that day fifty years ago, when I decided I was strong enough to roll off on my own-- I'd finally managed to pry myself from that miserable sickly collection of green lumps and bumped around the old place a little before deciding I was better off. Then I hit bottom. You don't know you're on the bottom, till it hits you. Or you hit it. And then you're there. And being all trod upon. And you wonder why you ever left that green little git behind you. At least he used to stroke you. At least then, you were somebody's precious.
Alone. So alone.
Then there was him...
Now I simply lie in a silk-coated velveteen world. Sure, maybe it's comfortable for a while, when you're not getting rolled upon during the night. But would he wait for me for three thousand years? I know I was destined for more. I am beautiful. And unique. Surely I've done a lot of wrong in the past. But haven't we all? Everything would be fine for me if I could just move on past Sauron and rid my soul of the desire to KILL...
I suppose the pocket is always softer on the other side.
I attempted to move today. I meditated on it a long while and tried to locate the white ball of positive energy that apparently exists within us all. But I just lay remote. Life has lost it's meaning. I haven't gotten a voice message from Sauron since the second age. And to think, we used to be like 'that'. I'm trying to move into some sort of shape that would signify 'this'. Or 'that'. My white ball of light fails me again. I've had enough of living amongst these damned hippies.
Focused instead on purposely enlarging myself... so that I might some day fit around the smaller slow-looking hobbit's neck and then suddenly shrink back to pinky size. Have come to the conclusion that those 'enlargement' advertisements are pure rubbish.
We ate. Rather, he ate: the older hobbit whom I loathe, he filled his robust stomach and made things uncomfortable for me. I hope to utterly destroy his life-force over time, but perhaps I'm just being self-centered. Though how you can be introverted when you don't have a center is beyond me. And then we walked around. I got fiddled with by sweaty hands. He had eaten bacon. Apparently. And he didn't wash up afterwards. My fire-of-doom finish is all smudged, now. I sit uneasily. There's no respect left in this world for good craftsmanship.
Then the old one dropped me on the table because his muffins were burning. 'Questionable looking with the obvious eating disorder' hobbit eyed me with suspicion. How dare he eye me. He knows I'm loved more than him! If I could sprout legs, I'd run over and wrap my band around him until his face turned a pretty shade of ceylon to match his eyes. I must fight to remember that my desire to kill is setting me apart from the rest of society. I also don't wear pants.
On the flip side, I find it disturbing that my thoughts have meandered to the observation of proper accessorization. As time passes, I am beginning to feel more like a'something to go with your evening gown rather than the WEAPON OF DEATH AND DESTRUCTION I was created to be.
Wonder if I'm going senile. I must meditate more often upon my 'purpose'.
Feeling lonely, I suppose. Old hobbit took me out and fondled me for a long while. Doesn't make up for the piece of me that's missing. He treats everything as if it were a possession. No wonder he doesn't have a girlfriend.
Today I tried to focus briefly on the meaning of life. I think it used to have meaning, when Sauron was around. We'd joke, we'd laugh, we'd decimate a few weaker beings... now I feel so empty. As if there is a hole right in the middle of me.
What's it all about..?
Time to check voice mail again.
Sometimes I just feel invisible.
----------------------------------------------------------------
This short is dedicated to my mother,
Theresa, who is as confused as a ring of power
and a sack fulla two-headed ostriches.