Okay. I have no idea what prompted me to write this. But when the plot
bunny attacks, you write. Though, this is one of the darker fics that I
have written.
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"And now he shall endure the slow torment of years, as long and slow as our arts in the Great Tower can contrive, and never be released, unless maybe when he is changed and broken, so that he may come to you, and you shall see what you have done."
Spoken by the Mouth of Sauron at the Black Gate.
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I was thrown out.
I knew not why He suddenly demanded my release, but I had no choice in the matter. I have had no choice since the day I stepped foot in this cursed land. For the longest time, I lay slumped in the blistering ashes, not even feeling the burns on my skin. My skin . . . I can vaguely remember a time when it was not coated in layers of bruises, burns and scars. It has been long since the true color of my skin has shone through.
Shuddering, I begin to crawl. I know not where I was going. I had no desire to go anywhere. If I could, I would let myself sink into the blackness of Mordor, and rid the world of my pitiful existence. But that would not be enough for Him.
I hear noise, and freeze. I shake my head, desperately. It is a small group of slaves, driven on by the whips of orcs cracking at their heels. Slaves. I envy them. They, who believe their life could not get worse. I laugh bitterly. One look at me would open their eyes. That thought drives a hard spike of fear into me. I cannot let them see me. I could not bear it for anyone to see my as I am now. They must pass me by . . .
But they get closer . . .
And closer . . .
They stop right in front of my crumpled form. I slowly lift my head. All of their eyes are directed at me. Have they nothing better to do with themselves! I shiver, their gazes driving nail into me. I can't stand it. I will not be the subject of their horror and disgust!
At last, I notice a smaller slave coming even closer. Who is this? He is not like the other slaves. Why does he come closer! Suddenly, I realize why. The black fog of my mind is pierced by the presence of this . . . hobbit.
He suddenly bursts out running. "Mr. Frodo!" He calls frantically. But I know that he is mistaken. There is no Frodo here. Frodo does not exist anymore.
Why do the orc guards permit this? They should be punishing this slave for leaving the group! But why did this group stop here in the first place? Oh no . . . they were commanded to do this. All for His entertainment . . .
The hobbit reaches my side and pulls me into his lap. I hiss in pain as my sorely beaten back is touched. He is shaking me, telling me to wake up. "No . . . no . . ." I whimper. I am awake, but I dare not open my eyes. Eyes are windows to the soul, and I'm afraid of what this hobbit may see behind mine.
"Mr. Frodo!" He calls again, sobs tearing at his throat. How I wish I could let my feelings out with tears as he does now, but my eyes are dry. I am dead of emotion. He has seen to that.
"Go away . . ." I whisper. He has to leave. I want him here no longer. I cannot bear him here any longer! "Go away!" I say more forcefully, eliciting a gasp of pain and surprise from the hobbit.
An orc comes to my rescue. "Okay," He snarls. "That's enough you little rats! You! Get back over here!" I hear the familiar sound of the crack of a whip, and to me blessed relief I am laid back down. The hobbit is leaving. The sobs are growing fainter. Sam is gone.
I claw at the dirt. Sam is gone. That is what I wanted. But why do I feel such agony now? It is worse than before. I can almost hear His laughter ringing in my ears. How I curse that sound! I wish I could die. . .
But He denies me even that one desire.
The End.
******************************************************
"And now he shall endure the slow torment of years, as long and slow as our arts in the Great Tower can contrive, and never be released, unless maybe when he is changed and broken, so that he may come to you, and you shall see what you have done."
Spoken by the Mouth of Sauron at the Black Gate.
******************************************************
I was thrown out.
I knew not why He suddenly demanded my release, but I had no choice in the matter. I have had no choice since the day I stepped foot in this cursed land. For the longest time, I lay slumped in the blistering ashes, not even feeling the burns on my skin. My skin . . . I can vaguely remember a time when it was not coated in layers of bruises, burns and scars. It has been long since the true color of my skin has shone through.
Shuddering, I begin to crawl. I know not where I was going. I had no desire to go anywhere. If I could, I would let myself sink into the blackness of Mordor, and rid the world of my pitiful existence. But that would not be enough for Him.
I hear noise, and freeze. I shake my head, desperately. It is a small group of slaves, driven on by the whips of orcs cracking at their heels. Slaves. I envy them. They, who believe their life could not get worse. I laugh bitterly. One look at me would open their eyes. That thought drives a hard spike of fear into me. I cannot let them see me. I could not bear it for anyone to see my as I am now. They must pass me by . . .
But they get closer . . .
And closer . . .
They stop right in front of my crumpled form. I slowly lift my head. All of their eyes are directed at me. Have they nothing better to do with themselves! I shiver, their gazes driving nail into me. I can't stand it. I will not be the subject of their horror and disgust!
At last, I notice a smaller slave coming even closer. Who is this? He is not like the other slaves. Why does he come closer! Suddenly, I realize why. The black fog of my mind is pierced by the presence of this . . . hobbit.
He suddenly bursts out running. "Mr. Frodo!" He calls frantically. But I know that he is mistaken. There is no Frodo here. Frodo does not exist anymore.
Why do the orc guards permit this? They should be punishing this slave for leaving the group! But why did this group stop here in the first place? Oh no . . . they were commanded to do this. All for His entertainment . . .
The hobbit reaches my side and pulls me into his lap. I hiss in pain as my sorely beaten back is touched. He is shaking me, telling me to wake up. "No . . . no . . ." I whimper. I am awake, but I dare not open my eyes. Eyes are windows to the soul, and I'm afraid of what this hobbit may see behind mine.
"Mr. Frodo!" He calls again, sobs tearing at his throat. How I wish I could let my feelings out with tears as he does now, but my eyes are dry. I am dead of emotion. He has seen to that.
"Go away . . ." I whisper. He has to leave. I want him here no longer. I cannot bear him here any longer! "Go away!" I say more forcefully, eliciting a gasp of pain and surprise from the hobbit.
An orc comes to my rescue. "Okay," He snarls. "That's enough you little rats! You! Get back over here!" I hear the familiar sound of the crack of a whip, and to me blessed relief I am laid back down. The hobbit is leaving. The sobs are growing fainter. Sam is gone.
I claw at the dirt. Sam is gone. That is what I wanted. But why do I feel such agony now? It is worse than before. I can almost hear His laughter ringing in my ears. How I curse that sound! I wish I could die. . .
But He denies me even that one desire.
The End.