A/N: Greetings, fellow Tolkien fans! So, few years ago, I attempted to begin a fanfiction (albeit at the time it was a heavy Mary-Sue fanfic) depicting the story of a girl names Kayla Harris, and her adventures throughout Middle Earth. It was a BoromirxOC fic and, sadly, I never ended up finishing it. I have thought back on occasion to the story, and wanted to finish it one day. My writing style in the last five years has changed drastically, however, so when I went back to re-read the story, and perhaps continue it, I shuddered immensely. So, after some thought, and a LOT of talking aloud to myself, I decided to just start over. I scrapped the old story, kept with the basic premise, and here we are!
WARNING TO READERS: while this story is NOT as heavily Mary-Sue as the last, there are inevitably going to be Mary-Sue qualities. Such as, first off, a girl falling into Middle Earth. Let's be honest, who wouldn't want to be sucked into their favorite story? That being said, who wouldn't want to be sucked into their favorite story and have everyone go perfectly? That is not this story. People will die, characters will hate each other, and there will be tears. Kayla will have some luck, but not in the beginning. I want to try to keep the cutesy, sometimes silly feel of Mary-Sue stories, but also add as much realism as I can (at least, I will try.)
Anyway, I have ranted enough, you have all been warned. If you do not like Mary-Sues, or Mary-Sue like stories, kindly click away now. If not, read on, and enjoy! Feedback and suggestions are welcome; R&R, please!
Disclaimer: I own nothing except Kayla Harris. All rights for Lord of the Rings belong to J.R.R. Tolkien and his family. I also do not own any other references made throughout this story.
Journey to a Curious Place
Chapter One:
Kayla Harris
I was chewing on my thumbnail again.
It was something I had done from the time I was a little girl. I only ever did it when I was either concentrating really hard, or nervous about something. I could feel the nail beginning to bend and tear against my teeth, as my saliva wore it down. It was only when the jagged edge nearly sliced my lip open that I finally stopped, and pulled my hand back to examine the crude remains of the now chipped purple nail polish. I frowned, and rubbed my index finger over the tip, feeling it scrape against my skin.
I exhaled slowly, and my eyes drifted back to the screen of my laptop, the essay I was only partially finished glaring back at me. The dull hum of the AC unit on my ceiling blended in with the drone of the cooling pad I had resting underneath my beast of a computer. I had three-hundred more words to write before I would hit the minimum word count for my essay, and it was proving to be the bane of my existence. I was in my last semester of college, and with the final weeks of school looking ahead of me, the world seemed to be slowing down. I was finding it harder and harder to stay focused in class, discovering that my mind would wander to other, more interesting things than my weekly English Literature lectures. I would daydream about the current video game I was playing, or my favorite movie or book I was into at the time. Sometimes, I would get so bored that I would spend the entire class on my phone, scrolling through Tumblr or Facebook. It would take great restraint to not start giggling like a moron in the middle of class over something I had found on either, and occasionally I would whisper and show a friend or two, which would sometimes earn us a disapproving glare from the professor.
It wasn't that I had a bad life – I really didn't. I just sometimes felt that I didn't belong in this one. I know that sounds pretty morbid, but hear me out. I am not saying I am suicidal or anything, and am not saying I want to "leave this life to go to next" or something like that, but honestly, there were days where I really felt like a foreigner in my own home, school, and city. I had grown up in a small, wealthy town in Western Canada, so most of my hometown consisted of elderly people, and Conservatives. Not that there anything wrong with either, but my wistful, sometimes "left-wing" way of thinking often earned me stern lectures from my parents or colleagues. The friends I had weren't like that, and I adored them, but with school ending soon, we would all be going out own ways, and it left me having huge bouts of upcoming separation anxiety.
I normally turned to reading or video games as a means of passing the time when I couldn't concentrate but, as I already said, it was getting harder and harder to concentrate, even on the things I loved the most. Part of me wished I had enough money to just pack up and run somewhere far away, or even just escape in to the woods.
But then I remembered that I am a huge wimp who wouldn't last one day on her own. I barely leave my room as it is – I already looked like a goddamn ghost next to the rest of my family. I like being pale, though. I am a hermit, and proud of it.
I blew a raspberry with my lips, and scrunched my face up as tight as I could. I was so tired, but I still had one more night class to go to. It started at 6pm and ended at 9pm, and let me tell you, I really didn't want to go. It had been such a long day of studying for midterms, and trying to finish the godforsaken essay that I was in no mood to sit in a three hour lecture. But, I knew my anxiety would get the best of me before I could skip class, and I would spend the rest of the evening being a guilt-ridden mess, wondering what I missed, and how badly it would affect my grade, and overall GPA.
I pushed myself away from my desk, and closed my laptop, taking care to save my essay one last time before I ran to catch the city bus to the college. Unfortunately where I live, the busses are so terrible that I would end up at school about an hour before my class even started. That was the only time I could get there, because the next bus from my house wouldn't get me there until an hour into my class. Sometimes I wanted to write an angry letter to the city, complaining about the poor bus system, but then I would chicken out, not wanting to make anyone angry. One day I would bitch someone out about the busses. Maybe. If I was sure it wouldn't backfire. And I didn't freak out beforehand. Maybe.
I threw on some adult clothing, tossing my pyjamas that I had been wearing all day onto my bed. I yanked on my favorite pair of black leggings, and threw a loose t-shirt and mini skirt over that. I had opted out of wearing jeans about six months before, when my friend Kiera gave me a pair of beautiful navy leggings she didn't want anymore. After that, I had discarded all but two pairs of jeans, which I kept in case I had no other clothing. Jeans suck to try and squat in, anyway. Not that I did a lot of squatting, but still.
I put on a pair of mismatched socks, and hurriedly packed the rest of my crap into my backpack. Because I was a poor student, I was still living at home, though since my parents had been divorced for a number of years, every other week I had to travel back and forth between houses, meaning the amount I had to carry in my bag was twice as much two times a week, and I hated it. Tonight was one of those nights. I had to stuff my laptop, toiletry kit, all my school stuff, hair straightener, and phone charger into my already too small backpack. When I was done, it weighed probably the same as a small child, and I had to lug it around with me for the rest of the night until I went to my Mother's house after I was finished class. Not a fun time.
I ran a brush through my just-past-my-chin length hair, tucked it behind my ears, threw the brush in my bag, and raced upstairs to put on my shoes and run for the bus. I had maybe another ten minutes before it came by, but I had to move quickly or else I'd be late for class. As I came up the stairs, I found my Father in the kitchen, making dinner.
"Hey, sweetheart, want some spaghetti? It'll be done in about fifteen," He was stirring a huge pot of what I assumed was tomato sauce, and it smelled so good.
I regretfully declined his offer, despite my stomach gurgling in protest. "Sorry, Dad, I can't. I have class in a little over an hour. Gotta run to catch the bus."
He nodded once, "Right, sorry, I forgot." He turned back to his pot for a second to stir the contents, before turning back to me. "Well, there's still some leftover casserole from last night in the fridge in a container. If you take it with you, maybe you can heat it up at school and at least have eaten something before you go to class." I nodded, and scurried to the fridge to grab said container before I had to escape to the dreaded outside world. I was about to run out the door, when he called out to me one more time.
"Oh, your brother also made some Iced Tea, and saved you some. It's in the fridge too. You might want to drink it now, before I do." He winked at me, and turned back to making dinner. I rolled my eyes, but couldn't pass up a glass of Iced Tea – I loved the stuff. I threw open the fridge again, and saw the glass with the drink in it, and grabbed it. I barely had time to chug it back before I realized I only had five minutes left to get to the bus.
Wiping a bit of excess tea off my lip, I bid farewell to my Father, before tearing out the front door, down the steps, and towards the bus stop. I made it there just in time and, seeing how the street was so quiet, figured I had at least a few minutes before the bus would get there. I put my backpack down on the ground, and sat on it, so as to not get my butt dirty from the dusty sidewalk. It was late March, but I lived close to one of the only deserts in Canada, so some days could be very hot and dry here. I hated it. I have very dry skin, so I would get nosebleeds every summer at least three times a week.
As I stood at the bus stop, staring up at the already almost completely dark sky, I could see a few stars twinkling. I felt a small smile curve on my lip. I had always liked star-gazing. I had only seen a handle of shooting stars in my twenty-one years on Earth, and each time the wish had been the same, just for fun:
I wish I could live in one of my favorite stories.
I mean, I know it's cliché and a little ridiculous. But who wouldn't love that? From the time I was a little girl, I had always wondered what it would be like to be a part of some of my favorite stories: Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, Game of Thrones (the last is more so for the scenery – I would probably die if I was stuck in Westeros), or the Dragon Age, World of Warcraft, or Elder Scrolls worlds. Evidently I have a weakness for RPGs, and fantasy worlds. My world is just so damn boring. Don't try to argue – Earth really does just suck sometimes.
Anyway, I would always wish that on a star for fun – don't ask me why. Maybe it's because I knew it was wistful, and that it would never happen, but I could still hope as a little kid would. That was something I hoped I never lose: my ability to imagine and wonder. Most adults, to me anyway, seemed to lose that aspect of themselves at a certain age. I think my parents' divorce more solidified that part of me, rather than killed it. I think part of my conscience reverted to that of a daydreaming little girl, rather than a hardened, cold adult.
It was in that moment during my internal monologue that I happened to glance up at the night sky, and saw, for a brief instant, something silver shoot across the darkness above me. A shooting star! I thought excitedly. I quickly squeezed my eyes shut as tight as I could, and clasped my hands together like the young me had done every time I had seen a shooting start from the time I was about eight years old, until now. I even curled my toes within my sneakers a little bit, as a means of crossing them along with my fingers as I interlaced them.
"I wish I could live in a story." My voice sounded harsh against the silence of the street, and it rang into the night as I felt a small, innocent smile play across my face. In times of great stress, in this case the stress coming from the end of my last year of college ever, wishing on stars like a Disney Princess was one of the only things I could do to keep me grounded.
Suddenly, I began to feel kind of odd. With my eyes still shut, I could feel the ground shift beneath me; or at least, I thought it did. I began to feel very dizzy, and I opened my eyes, trying to steady myself.
"What the fuck," I mumbled aloud, rubbing my eyes. I quickly sat down on my backpack, trying to ease the spinning. Sometimes I had random dizzy spells, but this didn't feel like one of those. It felt like I was on one of those metal things in old playground that kids would sit on, and their friends would spin them around, and around. It literally felt like the earth was beginning to spin faster and faster below me. I tried to take a breath in, but found that my lungs felt like they were closing up. Oh God, was I having an allergic reaction to the Iced Tea or something? What the hell had my brother put in it?
I began to freak out. What if I was going into anaphylactic shock? What if I died? No one would find me until the morning, or at least until the bus came by, but by then it could be too late! I began to wrack my brain; was I actually allergic to anything? I couldn't remember, although that could just be my brain starting to have a panic attack, and not letting me remember anything.
My breath was coming out in short bursts, and I was starting to hyperventilate. No, no, no, no. I could feel my eyes beginning to get heavy. Oh God, I'm dying. I tried to will my legs to move, or to scream to do anything! But my body refused to obey my will. As I could feel the last of my strength leaving my body, the voice in my head started screaming bloody murder.
No, no, no, no, no no no no no no nonononononononononono!
Everything went black.
I tasted dirt.
My lips, which felt cracked and dry, began to struggle to spit out what I was almost two-hundred percent sure was dirt out of my mouth. I could feel small bits of grass, and what I guessed could be pebbles and grit in my mouth, as well. It tasted awful, and I gagged. The sudden movement caused me to open one eye, and then the other. It took my gaze a second to adjust, as my face was being almost directly hit by sunlight. I lifted my head slowly, hardly daring to move or breathe. I had never been so scared in my life. Where the hell was I? My heart was thudding against my rib cage, and my throat felt tight. I had now raised my head entirely, and could take in my surroundings. What I saw made me want to start screaming again.
I had absolutely no idea where I was.
It looked like a forest, similar to the ones bordering my hometown; similar to the ones that I had never actually ventured into before – at least not since I was probably five or six. I seemed to be laying in what appeared to be a small clearing, and the trees towered above me. At first glance, I could've really thought that I had just been dumped somewhere near my home.
That is, if it hadn't been a completely different season, wherever I was.
It had been late March when I had left the house, but wherever the fuck I was now was clearly autumn, or some variant of that. The leaves that still clung to the trees were gold, red and brown, and the forest floor I now lay upon felt crunchy and kind of dead. I sat up slowly, each vertebrae at a time, until my back was ramrod straight. I was not fully sitting up, and hands keeping me up, and my legs out straight in front of me. Beside me, out of the corner of my eye, I could see my backpack was with me still, which I would have found odd, if I wasn't currently about to have a panic attack.
I was in the middle of the forest. I had no idea where I was, or how I got there. I had potentially drank some Iced Tea that my stupid brother might've laced with some kind of hallucinogen just to screw with me. Or maybe someone had hit me over the head at the bus stop and kidnapped me? But, if they had kidnapped me, why did I still have all my stuff? Why was my body cut and abrasion free? Why did I still feel in perfect health, other than still having the taste of dirt in my mouth? Why, why, why?!
I was lost, I was alone, and I felt like a little girl again. I felt scared, angry, and confused. I whipped out my phone, unlocking it to check if I could find out where I was. I had no bars, no service. Nothing.
Nothing.
I should have told myself to calm down. I should have gotten up off my butt, and tried to look around to see if I could find my bearings. I should have checked to make sure I was in fact intact, and that none of my stuff was stolen. I should have anything other than what I did next. I opened my mouth as wide as I could.
"FUCK!"
A/N: I hope you all enjoyed the first chapter! I wanted to establish Kayla as a character first before I got into anything more with her story. I really hope I was able to convey the feelings of terror when she realizes something is wrong. I kind of based it off of what having a panic attack feels like – tightness in lungs, shortness of breath, etc. Anyway, more to come ASAP! R&R, please!