Disclaimer: I have a fairly sufficient IQ, however, my brilliance would have been exhausted simply writing the title page of **The Fellowship of the Ring** Tolkien's brilliance will long outshine any I might possibly possess.
In short: I'm quite simply not J.R.R Tolkien, and thus his works do not belong to me in any way shape or form. I am simply borrowing and degrading them.
Hello, and welcome to my little piece of Fanfiction.net! Now, why am I here, you may ask? It's a complicated question, with an equally complicated answer. You see, I am here to write another Modern Teenager in Middle-Earth. Yes, I hear those groans.
As you may well know, there are many stories about jaded, bitter, and cynical teenage females coming to Middle-Earth. But, since I am truly, truly jaded, bitter, and cynical teenage female I find many of these stories are a bit off the mark. Now, I know that not everyone writing these stories is jaded, bitter, and cynical teenage female, and I don't really hold anything against them. But they still seem to be a little off the mark to me.
In so many of them, it seems like as soon as they get kissed by one of the more ... attractive male characters, they suddenly change their whole philosohpy of life. Or, as soon as they arrive in the Shire/Rivendell/Wherever, their life is perfect. In my opinion, a truly jaded, bitter, and cynical person would be the exact same person they are in Middle-Earth as they are in Earth.
Now, to expedite the point. I'm writing this to see if I can hopefully do it right. It's not a direct self-insert, but I predict that I'll be drawing **heavily** off my life experience. Also, I'm not quite sure yet whether or not this will be book or movie based, or a combination of the two. But to forewarn you, most likely movie.
Please note that this is my first attempt at anything so magnanimous. I am not fond of flames, or cryptic reviews that leave you puzzled as to what the other person means (is any writer here?) but I am expecting them.
So now you've read (and most likely been bored to tears by) my explanation of this whole business, I believe that you can decide whether or not you would like to read this.
Before we go on, I have a couple of simple housekeeping duties to complete:
The double set of * marks (**) will be used for things in italics, such as thoughts.
I will occasionally use songs in the story, and this chapter isn't exempt. The song featured in this chapter is from:
Artist: Eels
Album: Beautiful Freak
Title: Novocain For The Soul
And now, finally, after this long and tedious initial reading, the chapter.
________________
Chapter One
________________
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Life is hard and so am I
You better give me something
So I don't die
Novocain for the soul
Before I sputter out
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My bed is an oasis of calm and thought, where the world can't get me. I used it more for meditation that for sleep. And that was where I was now. I was sitting on it, running the edge of a pair of scissors over the sensitive part of my feet, just above the soles and below the tops. I wasn't drawing blood, or trying to. Just stimulating the nerves.
If you stimulate the nerves of your hands or feet (and there are quite a lot of them in those areas, believe me) by running something sharp over them, it's the most wonderful feeling. It's a spark of ecstasy, a spark of ... life. It makes me feel like I am actually living, like I do truly exist in this black and white, paint by numbers world. It makes me feel that I'm completely alive, that I'm not a ghost or a shadow or some kind of spirit.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Life is white and I am black
Jesus and his lawyer
Are coming back
Oh my darling will you be here
Before I sputter out
Guess who's living here
With the great undead
This paint by number's life is fucking with my head
Once again
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
What reason did I really have to be miserable? I could make several self-pitying excuses, such as my obesity or apostasy in regards to the Catholic Church, but the truth is ... I'm a selfish shit. I care too much about myself and not about others. Welcome to Social Darwinism. I sighed and put the scissors back on my desk, where they would look innocent and still be convenient.
The buzz of the teasing (for lack of a better word) was wonderful beyond a description, but sadly short-lived. I went to get my homework from my backpack, a symbol of slavery to Education and Catholicism that weighed as much as a small elephant.
I hated St. Francis' Catholic Academy, but if I went somewhere else, I would be just as miserable. St. Francis' bombarded its students with Catholic Doctrine, shoving it down their throats. I was used to the same religious bombardment from my devoutly Catholic father.
For years, I've dreamed of telling him of my apostasy, but he is a very black-and-white person. To him, things are either right or wrong. And what is "wrong" he has to immediately jump in and correct. I would think that apostasy is most definitely "wrong." My mother knows and understands my plight, but simply advocates a "put up and shut up" approach.
Well, that "put up and shut up" approach has been killing me slowly, inside to out. But every time I try to speak out, my protests are muffled. So I thus have to keep it all inside. It's like a thousand pound anvil sitting on top of a bell jar of steaming, bubbling liquid. The liquid cannot possibly escape the bell jar, so the bell jar will simply have to implode.
I know that one day, I'm going to simply implode. Just like that. I'm not going to be able to reach the blessed personal freedom that college will offer.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Life is good and I feel great
'Cause mother says I was
A great mistake
Novocain for the soul
You better give me something
To fill the hole
Before I sputter out
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I come out of my thoughts to realize that I'm standing in months worth of **Time** magazines. I mentally shake myself and head towards the corner I store my backpack in. Unfortunately, that requires me to pass the full length mirror hung on my door.
Truthfully, if I weren't so obese, I would be pretty. Short, thick dark brown hair, a wonderfully unique shade of green-gray eyes, thick eyelashes, and a suspiciously clear complexion for a fifteen year old. Then you get below the neck. To be found there are one-hundred-plus extra pounds. (I couldn't tell you exactly how many; I stopped even bothering to step on the scale after I reached two-hundred and fifty pounds.) I mouthed the words "I hate you, you nasty, selfish shit" to the mirror and proceeded to get my backpack.
I then half-heartedly completed the weekend's homework. After that, I changed into my "One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish" pajamas and turned off the lights. I set the alarm and crawled into bed, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling. I wondered, as I had on so many other nights, whether I would be able to drag myself out of bed the next morning. I wondered whether I should just plunder the medicine cabinet or something of the like and take the easy way out.
I knew it was just speculation, though. I'd already considered that path, but had long ago ruled it out as too flashy and melodramatic. Also, there was the small and unbelievably remote hope that maybe there was something far away from here, something better. I rolled over and spent the next two hours quieting my thoughts down so that I could get some sleep. Finally, the blessed release of it came.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Novocain for the soul
You better give me something
To fill the hole
Before I sputter out
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
______________________
______________________
**Looks around to find that the readers are fast asleep** Oh, dear. Well, now that I've bored you with my as-of-yet unnamed character's baggage, I'm done. Next chapter should be the whole Middle-Earth-Arrival chapter, which will most likely be a long time in coming. Before then, I would love for you to share your comments, criticisms, or philosophical ramblings...
In short: I'm quite simply not J.R.R Tolkien, and thus his works do not belong to me in any way shape or form. I am simply borrowing and degrading them.
Hello, and welcome to my little piece of Fanfiction.net! Now, why am I here, you may ask? It's a complicated question, with an equally complicated answer. You see, I am here to write another Modern Teenager in Middle-Earth. Yes, I hear those groans.
As you may well know, there are many stories about jaded, bitter, and cynical teenage females coming to Middle-Earth. But, since I am truly, truly jaded, bitter, and cynical teenage female I find many of these stories are a bit off the mark. Now, I know that not everyone writing these stories is jaded, bitter, and cynical teenage female, and I don't really hold anything against them. But they still seem to be a little off the mark to me.
In so many of them, it seems like as soon as they get kissed by one of the more ... attractive male characters, they suddenly change their whole philosohpy of life. Or, as soon as they arrive in the Shire/Rivendell/Wherever, their life is perfect. In my opinion, a truly jaded, bitter, and cynical person would be the exact same person they are in Middle-Earth as they are in Earth.
Now, to expedite the point. I'm writing this to see if I can hopefully do it right. It's not a direct self-insert, but I predict that I'll be drawing **heavily** off my life experience. Also, I'm not quite sure yet whether or not this will be book or movie based, or a combination of the two. But to forewarn you, most likely movie.
Please note that this is my first attempt at anything so magnanimous. I am not fond of flames, or cryptic reviews that leave you puzzled as to what the other person means (is any writer here?) but I am expecting them.
So now you've read (and most likely been bored to tears by) my explanation of this whole business, I believe that you can decide whether or not you would like to read this.
Before we go on, I have a couple of simple housekeeping duties to complete:
The double set of * marks (**) will be used for things in italics, such as thoughts.
I will occasionally use songs in the story, and this chapter isn't exempt. The song featured in this chapter is from:
Artist: Eels
Album: Beautiful Freak
Title: Novocain For The Soul
And now, finally, after this long and tedious initial reading, the chapter.
________________
Chapter One
________________
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Life is hard and so am I
You better give me something
So I don't die
Novocain for the soul
Before I sputter out
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My bed is an oasis of calm and thought, where the world can't get me. I used it more for meditation that for sleep. And that was where I was now. I was sitting on it, running the edge of a pair of scissors over the sensitive part of my feet, just above the soles and below the tops. I wasn't drawing blood, or trying to. Just stimulating the nerves.
If you stimulate the nerves of your hands or feet (and there are quite a lot of them in those areas, believe me) by running something sharp over them, it's the most wonderful feeling. It's a spark of ecstasy, a spark of ... life. It makes me feel like I am actually living, like I do truly exist in this black and white, paint by numbers world. It makes me feel that I'm completely alive, that I'm not a ghost or a shadow or some kind of spirit.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Life is white and I am black
Jesus and his lawyer
Are coming back
Oh my darling will you be here
Before I sputter out
Guess who's living here
With the great undead
This paint by number's life is fucking with my head
Once again
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
What reason did I really have to be miserable? I could make several self-pitying excuses, such as my obesity or apostasy in regards to the Catholic Church, but the truth is ... I'm a selfish shit. I care too much about myself and not about others. Welcome to Social Darwinism. I sighed and put the scissors back on my desk, where they would look innocent and still be convenient.
The buzz of the teasing (for lack of a better word) was wonderful beyond a description, but sadly short-lived. I went to get my homework from my backpack, a symbol of slavery to Education and Catholicism that weighed as much as a small elephant.
I hated St. Francis' Catholic Academy, but if I went somewhere else, I would be just as miserable. St. Francis' bombarded its students with Catholic Doctrine, shoving it down their throats. I was used to the same religious bombardment from my devoutly Catholic father.
For years, I've dreamed of telling him of my apostasy, but he is a very black-and-white person. To him, things are either right or wrong. And what is "wrong" he has to immediately jump in and correct. I would think that apostasy is most definitely "wrong." My mother knows and understands my plight, but simply advocates a "put up and shut up" approach.
Well, that "put up and shut up" approach has been killing me slowly, inside to out. But every time I try to speak out, my protests are muffled. So I thus have to keep it all inside. It's like a thousand pound anvil sitting on top of a bell jar of steaming, bubbling liquid. The liquid cannot possibly escape the bell jar, so the bell jar will simply have to implode.
I know that one day, I'm going to simply implode. Just like that. I'm not going to be able to reach the blessed personal freedom that college will offer.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Life is good and I feel great
'Cause mother says I was
A great mistake
Novocain for the soul
You better give me something
To fill the hole
Before I sputter out
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I come out of my thoughts to realize that I'm standing in months worth of **Time** magazines. I mentally shake myself and head towards the corner I store my backpack in. Unfortunately, that requires me to pass the full length mirror hung on my door.
Truthfully, if I weren't so obese, I would be pretty. Short, thick dark brown hair, a wonderfully unique shade of green-gray eyes, thick eyelashes, and a suspiciously clear complexion for a fifteen year old. Then you get below the neck. To be found there are one-hundred-plus extra pounds. (I couldn't tell you exactly how many; I stopped even bothering to step on the scale after I reached two-hundred and fifty pounds.) I mouthed the words "I hate you, you nasty, selfish shit" to the mirror and proceeded to get my backpack.
I then half-heartedly completed the weekend's homework. After that, I changed into my "One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish" pajamas and turned off the lights. I set the alarm and crawled into bed, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling. I wondered, as I had on so many other nights, whether I would be able to drag myself out of bed the next morning. I wondered whether I should just plunder the medicine cabinet or something of the like and take the easy way out.
I knew it was just speculation, though. I'd already considered that path, but had long ago ruled it out as too flashy and melodramatic. Also, there was the small and unbelievably remote hope that maybe there was something far away from here, something better. I rolled over and spent the next two hours quieting my thoughts down so that I could get some sleep. Finally, the blessed release of it came.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Novocain for the soul
You better give me something
To fill the hole
Before I sputter out
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
______________________
______________________
**Looks around to find that the readers are fast asleep** Oh, dear. Well, now that I've bored you with my as-of-yet unnamed character's baggage, I'm done. Next chapter should be the whole Middle-Earth-Arrival chapter, which will most likely be a long time in coming. Before then, I would love for you to share your comments, criticisms, or philosophical ramblings...