Soo this is my first attempt at fanfiction. Originally I had written this prologue for a set of original characters, but I came up with a blank trying to move any further than this. Then I came up with the idea of making this a ff and bam, storyline turns up. So far I've got this and half of chapter one.
I'll shut up now so you can read... just know that I own nothing but the clothes on my back and this computer, most of the characters are creations of the lovely Tolkien (as if you didn't know).
Prologue
'Look, I know this is a big commitment but please…. Just, think about it ok?'
Anaya's voice sounds as if she's already given up on the idea of convincing her audience. Dull eyes consider the pamphlet in front; all shiny pictures and laughing smiles. Everyone there looks so happy- it's enough to make him want to puke. He looks up at his friend, whom he suddenly has decided obviously does not like him that much if this is what she comes up with. Black eyes look back as she takes the glance as a sign of encouragement.
'You know I only want the best for you.' Not bloody likely. This looks like a form of cruel and unusual torture- 'But you've just been so miserable lately.' Huh, well surprise, surprise- 'This could be the pick-me-up that you've been waiting for. Please Bilbo think about this. Don't write it off as just another one of my harebrained schemes.'
Bilbo has to bite his tongue to keep the sharp retort at bay. Instead he settles for staring at his so called closest friend.
'This place has just become so… constricting. Ever since… well…' Anaya struggles for the words then apparently gives up; he's grateful for the small mercy, 'There are too many memories here! Every time I see you it's like you've lost a little bit more of yourself. I just want to help.'
He looks around the room, grudgingly seeing the wisdom in Anaya's words. The tv cabinet hold odd patches of dust- evidence of removed picture frames- reminders of a time he can't bear to remember. Not here. Not now. Sometimes he still stands on shards of glass; further evidence of the bubbling fury from that day, pieces of a former life he can't glue back together, not without its missing piece-
Bilbo has to pinch himself to return to the situation at hand. Anaya stares at him expectantly with those eerie black eyes of hers. He sighs, glancing at clenched hands on the tabletop; his own are relaxed, lifeless.
'Fine. We'll move.' It takes too much energy to mutter those three words, it feels.
Anaya utters a small noise of surprise. It's obvious that she didn't expect such a rapid acquiescence and it's put her off her game. She gets like this sometimes, Bilbo knows. Brimming with energy and determination- the whole argument worked out in her head, fitted with deviations and unexpected outbursts in such detail that she's often disappointed when the recipient of her persuasion suddenly and unexpectedly accedes to her demands. When he looks back up, he can see the slightest hint of frustration in his friend's eyes.
He doesn't try to push down the feelings of vindictive pleasure for her reaction.
'You're right, of course.' he goes on, 'I need a change of scenery. There are too many memories here… too fresh. I need an escape.' Bilbo looks back at the glossy brochure resting on the table, lets his hands caress the faces of its smiling models.
'So… have you found a place then?'