Disclaimer: none of these characters are mine, they belong to the great
professor J.R.R. Tolkien. And I'm not making any money out of this
(although, one day when I'm older I'd love to raise a dysfunctional elvish family all of my own)
Those who talk with voices
There were noises the dark. Not noise. Prettier. Something soft, clear flitting. Something rhythmic, something with an order, a call and response tune. Music perhaps? Not music. It felt familiar. Then it drifted away and he was alone in the dark again
-Do you think he can hear us?
The next time he saw them. They had very pale skin and very dark hair. Lots of dark hair, twisted into braids. Running down their backs. He thought they glowed faintly. They didn't belong here. They belong to the stars, he thought. Beautiful exiles. What do they want with me?
That night, he expected to be asked about them. He knew all the other hopeless places of safety his mind had invented. He knew them and he destroyed them. But he never asked.
I might win this after all he thought.
**************************************************************************** ****************
I don't know how it happens, but it does. I fall backwards, easy as anything and I'm there again. Maybe I'm getting better at it, at escaping. I used to have to try and try just to remember places that were not here existed at all. But this is as simple as drowning.
They were both staring at me. I thought they were twins but they 're not. One's bigger than the other, more solid. The sounds they make are different too.
When I'm in the dark I repeat to myself what they look like. The bigger one, whose voice is deeper, has got a wider nose and brown eyes. Sometimes I don't like the way he stares at me. It's like he wants something. But I like the smaller one with the sing-song voice and the blunt little nose. He makes me feel safe.
I wonder what I look like?
I dream too. I know I'm dreaming because everything is golden and soft. Everything glows. I can breathe easily and the air smells of blossom trees. That's how I remembered the noises were voices. A lady with red hair told me. She was one of them too.
-We are Quendi, those who talk with voices. She says "we" like she means us, both of us. I'm very small in the dream, her hand takes up my whole face.
Sometimes, I dream of six of them in different colours, shapes and sizes. Outside, sitting in a circle in the woods all looking at me. They all have exactly the same eyes, which makes me feel strange. The youngest two have exactly the same face too. That's how I remembered what twins were.
The little one has got those eyes from the dream. I want to say "Quendi" to him to see if he understands. I think I could manage that one word. Maybe if he knew I could speak too he'd let me stay with him and I would never have to go back into the dark again.
Although it's getting better, nobody has been to torment me for three nights. They may have lost interest. They may have forgotten I'm here. Maybe my new friends scare them. I know I am still alive because my shoulder still hurts, and my wrist hurts worse than ever.
If he looks at me again I will whisper Quendi to him
(although, one day when I'm older I'd love to raise a dysfunctional elvish family all of my own)
Those who talk with voices
There were noises the dark. Not noise. Prettier. Something soft, clear flitting. Something rhythmic, something with an order, a call and response tune. Music perhaps? Not music. It felt familiar. Then it drifted away and he was alone in the dark again
-Do you think he can hear us?
The next time he saw them. They had very pale skin and very dark hair. Lots of dark hair, twisted into braids. Running down their backs. He thought they glowed faintly. They didn't belong here. They belong to the stars, he thought. Beautiful exiles. What do they want with me?
That night, he expected to be asked about them. He knew all the other hopeless places of safety his mind had invented. He knew them and he destroyed them. But he never asked.
I might win this after all he thought.
**************************************************************************** ****************
I don't know how it happens, but it does. I fall backwards, easy as anything and I'm there again. Maybe I'm getting better at it, at escaping. I used to have to try and try just to remember places that were not here existed at all. But this is as simple as drowning.
They were both staring at me. I thought they were twins but they 're not. One's bigger than the other, more solid. The sounds they make are different too.
When I'm in the dark I repeat to myself what they look like. The bigger one, whose voice is deeper, has got a wider nose and brown eyes. Sometimes I don't like the way he stares at me. It's like he wants something. But I like the smaller one with the sing-song voice and the blunt little nose. He makes me feel safe.
I wonder what I look like?
I dream too. I know I'm dreaming because everything is golden and soft. Everything glows. I can breathe easily and the air smells of blossom trees. That's how I remembered the noises were voices. A lady with red hair told me. She was one of them too.
-We are Quendi, those who talk with voices. She says "we" like she means us, both of us. I'm very small in the dream, her hand takes up my whole face.
Sometimes, I dream of six of them in different colours, shapes and sizes. Outside, sitting in a circle in the woods all looking at me. They all have exactly the same eyes, which makes me feel strange. The youngest two have exactly the same face too. That's how I remembered what twins were.
The little one has got those eyes from the dream. I want to say "Quendi" to him to see if he understands. I think I could manage that one word. Maybe if he knew I could speak too he'd let me stay with him and I would never have to go back into the dark again.
Although it's getting better, nobody has been to torment me for three nights. They may have lost interest. They may have forgotten I'm here. Maybe my new friends scare them. I know I am still alive because my shoulder still hurts, and my wrist hurts worse than ever.
If he looks at me again I will whisper Quendi to him