I thought my god was nice. I had never known another. Just him. I was content to stay on his finger and give him my power. I was his, he created me, it was
right. Then his finger turned to ash and I was put on a chain around another's neck. He used me too, but it was not the same. He was not my god, my creator.
He had no right. Put he was soon killed and I rested in a muddy river bed. I was content there. It was peaceful and no one used me. No one called upon my
power. I just watched the water and the mud and the reeds and the fish. A hand came and grabbed me out of the peaceful mud. He saw I was shiny and wanted
me, but I was revolted by him. He did not even value my power. But there was another, close by. He would not use me. He would value me. He would treasure
me, appreciate me. Soon I was in his hand. He took me to a cave and called me his precious. He lived just for me, so I kept him alive. He thought only of me. Of
course there was another too. The other sometimes thought of other things the river the River people but most of his thoughts were of me as well. One day I felt
a hand grab me. It was not the hand of my servant or of my god. It was the hand of someone like the hand that had pulled me from the peaceful riverbed. A
simple fool. I wanted only to be rid of him. I was soon enough but then I was around the neck of another like him. I felt the pull of my master calling me home.
But the one from the cave was also there. He stilled called me his precious and still thought only of me. But the other was with him more, thinking of the one
who wore me and the river and the River people. I sensed I was closer to my god. I almost did not want to go back to him. Almost. I almost wanted to back to
the cave, and be precious. I almost wanted to go back to the riverbed and lie in peace. Almost. But I had not forsaken my creator. I knew in my fiery script that
I belonged only to him. And I was getting closer. I was getting closer until I was back with him, and precious to someone again. Then I was on a small bit of rock
in a river of lava. I knew that I would never be anyone's precious again. I knew the only riverbed I would ever see again was this one. And I knew my master
would never value me. I let the stone break up beneath me, and I knew no more.
Author's Note: Just so you know, 'the other' is Smeagol. Reviews are appreciated!