Separate Woods
DISCLAIMER: Tolkien's characters, lands, and concepts of his work belong in NO WAY to me. This fan fiction is based off of his works, but the only characters I actually own are my own, the ones not written in the ingenious writer's works.
Papers fluttered to the floor freely, hitting it with soft scratching noises as they settled on the chestnut surface. And yet, they fell without any attempt to gather them, the solitary figure situated at the desk they were flying from paying less and less attention to the parchment pandemonium that was arising around itself. Of course, the figure seemed to have valid reason to do so, as the pile mounted higher and higher atop the desktop as well as below it, and soon nothing could be seen save the copious stacks of yellowed papers acting as an opaque border. A light, yet firm, huff was heard from behind the wall, and the figure rose.
The girl that slid up from upon her seat to stare at the slight amount of work she had finished, looking as if she had been working years bent over that same desk, her eyes never removing themselves from the papers that she worked so assiduously on. She seemed rather plain in appearance, dark auburn hair falling around her shoulders with a slight curl at the end, and her eyes, although having a slight glimmer to them, were blank and dark, sitting in her narrow face. Her thin, pale fingers were playing with something around her neck, idly, as if she had no intention of having a to- do at the moment. Her other hand, however, seemed to bring about the sharp reality that she indeed needed to finish whatever dictation she was working on, (and it seemed to be a quite lengthy one at that) as it tapped the last paper that she had been editing. She let out an exceptionally audible sigh that only clarified all the more that she had no desire to finish the project that littered the majority of the small, shady room she occupied. Her hand clasped around the parchment her fingers tapped at, and she brought it up to her face, scanning it once more.
"Ah, what is the use? If I even attempt to finish tonight, what is the use when I will fall asleep in the noon, when dictating it?" She thought this bleakly, and tossed the paper to the floor among the others. Writing was something she enjoyed, and it was a rare thing that she would object to filling empty space with her firm handwriting, but this was different. A topic in which she did not agree with, nor find any pleasure in enlightening others on when she was not even remotely interested in wasting time over the monotonous subject. "He at least could of provided that our own interests are incorporated." Shrugging her shoulders with the air of someone who has stretched their will to the brink and collapsed, she kicked the pile over into a corner, her eyes half shut, and her feet directing themselves to the bedroom without consent of their owner.
However, tired and exhausted as she was, sleep was not hers to claim just yet. There were things to get to before collapsed into her bed. The laundry was to be shoved into the most compact pile possible for the large mass, the dishes washed, and laundry that she had managed keeping an eye on that day folded, ironed, and put in their proper places. Picking up a dust rag that was laying carelessly limp at the end of the dryer, she began to wipe the area down, starting with that, and soon ending with the mantelpiece in her living room, the area spotlessly immaculate. She was meticulous in whatever she did, and the detestable task of cleaning her house was no different. The pile of papers that had accumulated were soon swept up, sorted into piles, some of them ending up in the "circular file" and the others in either "done" and "to be completed" sections. Slamming her books hazardously into her school bag, she tossed it into the nearest corner she saw, along with the dust rag that she felt to weary to place in its rightful spot.
It was later than sooner that the bed in the adjoining room found itself in use and its linen all a rumple with the girl's thin figure submerged between the chenille fabrics. The moonlight filtered in through the windows and lit up her darkened room slightly, illuminating several things with its pale ethereal shimmer. The windows were splayed open, letting the warm midsummer air drift in and adroitly entwine the room in its sweet scent. Her hands lay plopped atop of the covers, a book splayed upon her lap with a bookmark jutting out from between the pages. However, her eyes were darting around the room, and finally landed on the notepad and pen beside her. Grabbing the items and sliding her knees up as a means of a surface, she began to jot down several things at once, including little memo's to finish the paper when her spirits were up to standards, drop by and grab bird food from the store, as well as simple little household things such as reminders to finish the mounting laundry pile that was taking over the hallway. Smirking slightly as she wrote that last one, her head hit the pillows again, and she snuggled down into them, still doodling on the pad sleepily. The book that had been perched on her lap tumbled off to the glossy floor, and snapped shut around the bookmark, the cover on the thick novel bearing the title "The Lord of the Rings". Her eyes, despite the loud snap the book had made, remained on her scribbles, the small yet detailed sketch of a tower taking shape below her list. At last she stood back and surveyed the rough yet accurate draft (That is, in contrast the Movie's perspective of the Tower) of the menacing tower, and grinned rather cheekily.
"Aye, what a.sight.." She yawned now, and tossed the pen and pad to the floor along with the book, her eyes giving the dark doodle a last sweeping glance, before they closed, and indeed never opened in that bedroom again.
DISCLAIMER: Tolkien's characters, lands, and concepts of his work belong in NO WAY to me. This fan fiction is based off of his works, but the only characters I actually own are my own, the ones not written in the ingenious writer's works.
Papers fluttered to the floor freely, hitting it with soft scratching noises as they settled on the chestnut surface. And yet, they fell without any attempt to gather them, the solitary figure situated at the desk they were flying from paying less and less attention to the parchment pandemonium that was arising around itself. Of course, the figure seemed to have valid reason to do so, as the pile mounted higher and higher atop the desktop as well as below it, and soon nothing could be seen save the copious stacks of yellowed papers acting as an opaque border. A light, yet firm, huff was heard from behind the wall, and the figure rose.
The girl that slid up from upon her seat to stare at the slight amount of work she had finished, looking as if she had been working years bent over that same desk, her eyes never removing themselves from the papers that she worked so assiduously on. She seemed rather plain in appearance, dark auburn hair falling around her shoulders with a slight curl at the end, and her eyes, although having a slight glimmer to them, were blank and dark, sitting in her narrow face. Her thin, pale fingers were playing with something around her neck, idly, as if she had no intention of having a to- do at the moment. Her other hand, however, seemed to bring about the sharp reality that she indeed needed to finish whatever dictation she was working on, (and it seemed to be a quite lengthy one at that) as it tapped the last paper that she had been editing. She let out an exceptionally audible sigh that only clarified all the more that she had no desire to finish the project that littered the majority of the small, shady room she occupied. Her hand clasped around the parchment her fingers tapped at, and she brought it up to her face, scanning it once more.
"Ah, what is the use? If I even attempt to finish tonight, what is the use when I will fall asleep in the noon, when dictating it?" She thought this bleakly, and tossed the paper to the floor among the others. Writing was something she enjoyed, and it was a rare thing that she would object to filling empty space with her firm handwriting, but this was different. A topic in which she did not agree with, nor find any pleasure in enlightening others on when she was not even remotely interested in wasting time over the monotonous subject. "He at least could of provided that our own interests are incorporated." Shrugging her shoulders with the air of someone who has stretched their will to the brink and collapsed, she kicked the pile over into a corner, her eyes half shut, and her feet directing themselves to the bedroom without consent of their owner.
However, tired and exhausted as she was, sleep was not hers to claim just yet. There were things to get to before collapsed into her bed. The laundry was to be shoved into the most compact pile possible for the large mass, the dishes washed, and laundry that she had managed keeping an eye on that day folded, ironed, and put in their proper places. Picking up a dust rag that was laying carelessly limp at the end of the dryer, she began to wipe the area down, starting with that, and soon ending with the mantelpiece in her living room, the area spotlessly immaculate. She was meticulous in whatever she did, and the detestable task of cleaning her house was no different. The pile of papers that had accumulated were soon swept up, sorted into piles, some of them ending up in the "circular file" and the others in either "done" and "to be completed" sections. Slamming her books hazardously into her school bag, she tossed it into the nearest corner she saw, along with the dust rag that she felt to weary to place in its rightful spot.
It was later than sooner that the bed in the adjoining room found itself in use and its linen all a rumple with the girl's thin figure submerged between the chenille fabrics. The moonlight filtered in through the windows and lit up her darkened room slightly, illuminating several things with its pale ethereal shimmer. The windows were splayed open, letting the warm midsummer air drift in and adroitly entwine the room in its sweet scent. Her hands lay plopped atop of the covers, a book splayed upon her lap with a bookmark jutting out from between the pages. However, her eyes were darting around the room, and finally landed on the notepad and pen beside her. Grabbing the items and sliding her knees up as a means of a surface, she began to jot down several things at once, including little memo's to finish the paper when her spirits were up to standards, drop by and grab bird food from the store, as well as simple little household things such as reminders to finish the mounting laundry pile that was taking over the hallway. Smirking slightly as she wrote that last one, her head hit the pillows again, and she snuggled down into them, still doodling on the pad sleepily. The book that had been perched on her lap tumbled off to the glossy floor, and snapped shut around the bookmark, the cover on the thick novel bearing the title "The Lord of the Rings". Her eyes, despite the loud snap the book had made, remained on her scribbles, the small yet detailed sketch of a tower taking shape below her list. At last she stood back and surveyed the rough yet accurate draft (That is, in contrast the Movie's perspective of the Tower) of the menacing tower, and grinned rather cheekily.
"Aye, what a.sight.." She yawned now, and tossed the pen and pad to the floor along with the book, her eyes giving the dark doodle a last sweeping glance, before they closed, and indeed never opened in that bedroom again.