DISCLAIMER: I do not own the characters or happenings of middle earth. They belong to J. R. R. Tolkien and sometimes Peter Jackson's stuff might fall in too. I only own my OC. Please, feel free to leave any comments and questions. Follow the story in which ever way you would like, but make your thoughts known. Thank you!
~~~~~~~~~~Shishi~~~~~~~~~~
CHAPTER 1
It all started in a hole in the ground. Yes, a dirty, smelly, wet hole. It had sleeted earlier in the day and the streets were a mixture of caked on dirt from tires as well as muddy, clumpy, half-frozen water. You see, this hole in the ground was a New York City pothole and that means discomfort. My name is Thia and this is my story about how I had the adventure of a lifetime.
Sitting on my bed, hugging my body pillow and practicing japanese on my 3DS as I often do, my brother walks into my room as if he owned it. Being that we live in an apartment, you can guess that in all honesty us freeloading children own very little. Without looking up I can see him leaning his thin frame against the door as he haughtily informs me that our family is going to IHOP and that I need to get a move on. I take my time responding, but not because I dislike the destination of the outing. Quite the opposite really; I love pancakes almost as much as I love sleep. 'And that's saying something.' I hesitate in answering simply because I hate being told what to do by people I feel have no authority over me. And because I'm probably too stubborn for my own good. WAY too stubborn.
"Get dressed, we're leaving."
"Hn."
"Did you hear me?" he says, sounding a little more irritated. Not that I can say I really care. He is the younger sibling after all; I'm supposed to annoy him "I said get up."
"Hmm."
"Don't make me come over there little girl."
If it isn't for his audible grin, he would almost sound like he means to intimidate me. 'Cute.' Now let me just be clear: I am the second oldest child of eight children. Don't cry for me; I cry enough for myself. This has given me an "I tell you, you don't tell me" mentality. Not to say I don't have respect. On the contrary, I am very respectful and honor titles and placements as well as I am able. However I require that respect in return. I'm not a lady or a baroness but I don't take kindly to being called out of my name. As such, none of my siblings tell me what to do, except my only older sister and she isn't here at the moment. However my brother, who is only a year younger than I, is trying to get me to roll over. And he wouldn't be the first. Standing at only 5'2 with a petite build and a baby face, often gives people the impression that I am 14 instead of my full 22 years. Being quiet and avoiding eye contact doesn't help my case. The whole kid thing annoys me greatly, and my brother knows this. Well then, two can play at that game.
"Don't get smart with me, shorty."
His smirking face quickly turns south into a deep frown at my retort. At 5'8 he isn't really considered short, but the men in my family are all at least 6'0; making him the shortest by a landslide. Waving my hand dismissively at him I rise from my bed like the queen I'll never be and with a huff, he turns from the doorway and disappears. I save the progress of my game and hook it up delicately to the charger before searching for an outfit to wear. I have to hurry; pancakes are waiting. I probably said this already but, I love pancakes.
"I love pancakes, yes I do. I love pancakes, how about you?"
After selecting my favorite pink hoodie and placing it on over a plain white camisole, I begin to hunt for my jeans in my floor turned dresser space. I rarely put my pants away, thus the floor became their permanent place. Locating the elusive garments, I dress and pack my bag. I always carry way too much stuff, to point where I look like I could spend the night out when I only intended to go… well… eat for example. I was a girl scout for about 5 years and I take the motto "be prepared" very seriously. Picking up my green, fuzzy frog bag I shove my stuff into it while murmuring a list as I go along.
"Pens… scrunchy… keys… wallet. What else do I need? Phone… iPod… kindle… money."
Glancing in the bag I notice that it already holds lotion, hand sanitizer, a comb, and pads. Remembering that I had used the bag for my visit with my grandparents the week before clues me in since I usually don't carry lotion. 'A little ash never killed anyone.' Too lazy to take them out, I close the bag and set about dealing with IT.
"We meet again..."
Cautiously I grab a brush and run it through my hair. At least, I would have if it hadn't gotten stuck. The mass of dark cottony curls gather atop my head like headphones in a pocket. The joys of being mixed. With more than a few meaningful tugs and a heavy duty head band, I consider myself as ready as I'm going to get. Snatching up my coat, bag, and glasses I head for the door only to nearly run smack into my brother. He is once again smirking as a result of my near collision. Due to my social anxiety I have a …. slight aversion… to social situations, including but not limited to a distaste for physical contact. Another thing my brother likes to exploit with his creepy attempts of hugs in the false pretense of "sibling bonding." Shudder.
"What do you want now?" I question in exasperation
"Nothing. Just checking on you. You're taking forever."
We would have stayed there and argued but my mother calls for us to help her with our two youngest siblings. At just a mere seven and four years of age, they can a handful at times. Eventually, everyone is thankfully ready and the five of us set out. It isn't the whole family but that is rare since there were so many of us. With the children's schooling, us older kids in college, and my parents long time divorce it is unlikely for the whole family to gather. We are all spread nicely along the East coast better than the ocean.
We file out of the house and begin our trek to the wonderful International House of Pancakes. There isn't much to see, living in a city can be rather repetitive. 'Car. Car. Light post. Homeless man. Car.' Then again, I'm sure a country girl would say the same thing about grass and… cows I guess. Speaking of the county, not looking where I am going I walk into one of the few trees on our block. 'A tree grows in Brooklyn. A tree as in singular.' Bouncing back, I rub my nose and check for blood even though I knew there would be none. Thankfully, my family wasn't paying attention either and the only punishment I suffer is a bruised ego and a sprint to catch up to them.
"No one saw that? Good."
Looking back, I honestly don't know how they got far enough for me to have to run to catch up to them. Nor do I know how I missed a TREE. Or how a giant hole in the ground didn't alert me to, oh I don't know, go around? Still, it happened and in my mad dash across the street I fell into a deep dark hole that wasn't called depression. No, it was called middle earth.
They better have pancakes here.
~~~~~~~~~~Shishi~~~~~~~~~~
Welcome to the reupload...tion... of An adventure of a Lifetime. Some of you may have enjoyed this story before, and some of you may be new. I welcome you all the same. Some of you may ask why I deleted the original story and the answer is simple: It had so many typos that it was too difficult to read without sighing. Since I have to go though each and every chapter, I decided just to start over. That being said, everyone should be happy to know that since the story is fully written, that there shall be no delays. Unless I am physically or technologically incapable of uploading. Other than that, you can expect at most multiple uploads a week and a single upload if push comes to shove. I do love comments and I encourage you to do so, please and thank you!
