For my sister, who's gone veggie.
The Lord Of The Wings
Frodo stared at the item in his hand with wonder. Who knew that such a delectable thing could bring so much destruction?
As he gazed at the fried chicken wing lying seductively in his palm, he thought back to what Gandalf had told him about how it had come into his possession.
The wing, as was expected of such a tasty morsel, had a violent and chaotic past. It had been created by The Enemy, Sauron the Fryer. He'd made it with the secrets he had extracted from Elves, combining all his knowledge to fry a truly deadly meal. He channelled a hefty amount of his power and evil, mixing and adding spices until he had created such a potent batter that even the most experienced and powerful fryers cowered from it.
After the defeat of the Fryer, the wing had passed down the ages unknown until it came into the possession of one pimply-faced teenager named Sméagol, or, as he liked to call himself, Da Gollum. He resided in a ramshackle cave, where he lived off unemployment benefits for many, many years. It was only with the arrival of Bilbo Baggins, the uncle of Frodo, that the wing came back into the open again.
Bilbo stole the wing from Da Gollum, and, curious to what it tasted like, and ignorant of its true nature, he bit into the crisp outer shell. It was from that moment that the wing's powers started working to take Bilbo over. Heating up from the moment his teeth connected with it, the wing seared its memory deeply into Bilbo.
The wing would never rot; neither would it ever lose its incredible taste. The chicken was the most tender and flavourful that anyone will have ever tried, and the batter a blend of otherworldly spices. It reeled you in, mouthful by mouthful, and granted the power of invisibility. The wing never finished.
After years and years in his possession, in which Bilbo took countless bites from the never ending wing, it was necessary for him to give it up if he had any hope of living. But the wing didn't give up easily, and the horror of leaving it, its tender, succulent form in the hands of another left Bilbo feeling angry and greedy.
When Bilbo came to his senses from the thrall of the wing, he knew he must give it up immediately. So he left it for his nephew Frodo to inherit, lying on a saucer on the mantelpiece.
And so today there Frodo stood, knowing the true story behind this innocent chunk of fried animal. He knew of the darkness, the evil within it. But he couldn't stop himself.
Frodo bit into the wing and his eyes rolled back in his head. Never had anything tasted so good. Fireworks exploded behind his eyes as he chewed. The dulcet tones of singing women could be heard as he swallowed, and for a brief period of time afterwards, Frodo was missing from the sight of others.
He knew he could not give it up. It was not possible. The world would fall into chaos, ruin and darkness.
But he was too busy eating to care.
This is obviously a parody. No offence meant to any vegetarians out there.