Bits of Books That
Always Get Left Out
"I am cold, and the harsh winds blow, for winter is at hand, and our doom is neigh!" the dust speck cried into the lonely mist of morning. Shivers ran through the meadow and the dread of frost and ice settled deep into every heart. Yet one voice cried out against the other.
"Nay, oh one who brings tidings of evil fate, for the winter shall note smote all that lies in its path! There are those that shall be saved, for things beyond the reach of cruel winds has yet a will to fight! We shall not be lost forever in darkness!" For it was the flower that spoke, and who knew of wiser things than despair.
"Winter spares not even the boldest at heart, and you cannot resist against the forces of fate. We must not flee! We cannot remain here! There is no option but to join forces with that of ultimate power! Join, and you shall not be smote by the host of the enemies of even the plants!"
"Despair not my friend!" Insisted the flower. "For if we join now, there is still hope of gathering followers for yet a last stand against the evil! Perhaps then this world shall not perish in flame and defeat! There is yet hope of saving Middle Earth! You and I shall collect supporters and the armies of meadow plants shall undo the evil that has befallen all of Middle Earth! With the enemy vanquished, all the creatures of the Middle Earth shall return and all the lands shall be glad when good prevails! The hillsides shall be clad in green once again!"
"Do as you wish, but be warned, a mere dandelion cannot hinder the will of the nameless! It is foolish even to try! I shall go now to him and you shall be left in your roots to rot!" And the speck of dust was gone in the wind, never to return to the valley.
The flower, with new spirit and meaning, sent out seeds with tidings of great rebellion against the forces of evil. The wind spread them hither and thither across the field and soon it was stirring like the ocean before a storm. In no time at all a plan was formed and they were ready. All that was left was to wait.
They came, not without warning. The thudding of their horny boots and clinking of metal armor and hideous weapons gave them away a mile in all directions. Yet they approached swiftly toward the waiting field. Soon the orcs were upon the grasses and few scattered trees.
Suddenly, in a flurry of rage, the grasses and creatures leapt at the army. Grasses grabbed and threw the orcs upon the ground! The trees did more than their share of strangling of orc necks, and cleaving of ork heads. Insects buzzed and preyed gruesomely on their enemies, their only weapon. Choking and killing of orcs, slashing and hacking of plants and trees, the war continued on. Much of the grass was hewn nearly to nothing, and still more orcs marched in. Something had to be done.
The answer came as the flower brought down a small orc. As it hit the ground, flint and steel flew out of its pocket. The nearby grass that had been praying for an answer saw this and began to chant. "Fire! Fire! The orcs will be destroyed!" It began quietly, but within moments, the field was roaring. This made the orcs angry, and they flung themselves against the leaves and grasses. The flower picked up the flint and steel and struck them together. A spark flew and caught one of his leaves. It became a flame and engulfed the flower. The flame burst to all the surrounding plants, spreading rapidly. The crowd of trees and grasses cheered, accepting death in return for a hope of Middle Earth renewed. Soon everything was ablaze. Fire leapt to the clothing of the orcs and they were running about on fire screaming. Within ten minutes, all was ash. The army of orcs was defeated, the plants were burned and dead, and the once green valley was a baron wasteland. And so it was, that the plants of the meadow took their part in the war against Mordor.
(It's funny how nobody writes about this kind of thing.)