Experiences

It has been years since I started to sort of interact with the living. In that time, I finally memorized some names to faces, learned most of all there is to know everywhere else, and being indirectly dissected by those wanting to know what it was like being dead and still on the living plane, in essence a spirit or ghost. I have met many people of different races and forgetting the majority of them.

At the current moment, I am traveling Middle Earth. I had a heck of a time convincing Gandalf and Lord Elrond to let me explore the lands outside of Imladris.

I know myself.

Or at least in the years I have lingered around the halls of marble and vegetation. If I had stayed there after finishing my studies, I wouldn't even budge in doing anything out of a routine I would set up subconsciously. I'm a kind of person who likes to settle into certain way of doing things. Wait till dawn, read, write, go to the markets to purchase craft supplies, work on various projects while interacting some with the few acceptable to me and my situation then the routine starts all over.

That is really an excuse to give myself to avoid feeling peeved by the Valar indirectly telling me to "GET OUT OF THERE! YOUR SUPPOSE TO BE DOING SOMETHING MEANINGFUL! IT'S WHY WE PUT YOU THERE!" Or that is how I interpret it anyways

I was actually crocheting a - something - I didn't know what I was turning the stitching into really … when I saw some of my yarn glow yellow-ish white before being thrown away from me and smashing into a the now dented wall, snatching the crochet needle out of my small hands and imbedding itself in a nearby cushion. To say the least, the brave few who actually tried to talk to me didn't come to my room again.

I know that being dead gave the living the sixth sense of danger to them. They would feel a chill when I'm near and a sense of foreboding. Those tingling, creepy crawly sensations are what keep those I wish to interact with on edge or simply edging away from me. It was, saddening, and, disappointing, and, understandable as it was lonely.

Well, back to the boring situation at hand, I was tromping through some dry shrubs and empty woods in the middle of winter in a hollow wooden and metal me-sized body weighed down with stuff I don't need but there anyway for a "Just in Case" kind of moment. Although it didn't weigh much to me, it defiantly weighed down my material body. I should have thought of that when I was packing. Not being able to feel any pressure is both rewarding and burdening since I have to think of the limits of the body I wear.

Back to the situation I stumbled upon, I started through the two eye holes of the fabric I use to hide my less than fleshy body at the bloody scene before me. I was not sure if feeling this detached to the horrific scene or not being remotely interested in the story behind it was okay or not, but I picked my way through the bodies of what looked to be half starved poorly clothed dwarves and dirty scruffy men and blood soaked dirt to get to the other side of the supposed campsite. My guess was the dwarves were passing through and were unlucky enough to be set upon by bandits, but then again I don't like to assume about things. It is usually what got people, who are not really a center point of information, into a whole can of worms of misunderstandings and/or hurt feelings that the unfortunate perpetrator to feeling crushing guilt over and left with the consequences.

I paused when I hear a cry and frantic shushing. It wasn't a pained cry of accidentally trolling over someone's toes or an emotional wail. It was a cry of a baby who was hungry and the frantic shushing were of a child, well children.

I slouched in the uncomfortably stuffed chair off to the side of dim sterile room too tired to really think of what to do to occupy myself with as the adults of the room talked quietly and observe the newly born infant my sister-in-law produced. The baby wailed and cried as I winced hoping it would stop. My mom just held the girl saying, "She is just stretching her lungs!" or something like that. It was night, and I was tired and irritable. I didn't care to look at the newly mother or the newly father or the new born who were probably just as tired as I was. I just wanted to go home and go to sleep.

I blinked out of my haze of my living memory as the crying got louder. I turned around as two kids shuffled out from under corpses of two dwarves. The larger but gaunt one held the crying baby as the smaller one stared me down in a pathetic display of outrage and fear. I just shrugged my ghostly shoulders and turned away with a wave of my hand for them to follow me if they wanted to. I trudged through the dead leaves crunching like brittle crackers under my feet loudly away from the blood and gore. I didn't hear any answering footsteps as the wailing grew fainter.

Understandable. I wouldn't want to follow a strange scruffy person worn with travel with a burlap sack over their head just marching over corpses without as much as a glance. Meh, their choice.

It wasn't until it became nightfall that I noticed them following me. I had stopped for the night in the nearby town of men; because, even though I didn't need to, it was common sense not to travel in the dark. I was going inside a grubby and scratched looking inn when young cries of joy sounded behind me. I turned to see the very dwarf children reunited with other dwarves that probably heard of the slaughter. I waved at the three pointed brown haired child when he looked back at me. I turned back in to inn. I stumbled on a loose board, and I was glared at balefully by the inn keeper when I moved to get up from mud trodden in splintered wood.

I was kneeling now and was about to slouch up when I was kicked out into the dusty road. The door slammed in front of me. I winced. It wasn't the first time this happened, so I just got up and moved to a darkish safe-ish corner of town to set my stuff down and tune up my body. I could hear the squeak and creak of my joints and the groan of an over weighed down wooden body. I sat down and took out my tools, oils, and cloths. I pulled off my unnecessary boots and rolled up my trousers a bit to get access to my ankles.

I heard a muffled gasp. My head shot up to look around. I shoved my ankles under the fabric of my trousers as I saw the dwarf child peek around once more. I pursed my lips as he bravely – stupidly – came closer to me. At that moment, I wanted to scare him, to teach him never to do what he is doing right now: approaching a stranger without an adult. I was going to pull out a knife to scare him away until he spoke.

"What is your foot made of?"

I eyed him for a moment wondering if he really was interested.

"Wood"

"O-oh"

He jumped at my voice, probably expecting me to be male. He fidgeted as he glanced at my hidden unnatural feet. I sighed. I slipped them out and started to work on cleaning the gears used to help me walk properly. I saw him staring so I flicked some oil at him. He flinched then flushed. I smirked before frowning.

"You might want to leave me be. There are people here who don't like change, and I could very well be a definition of it. It is best to be alone for me. Here take these just in case and this advice: Know everything and anything, unlike me who knows nothing and just a something."

I opened a compartment in my calf and tossed a couple of my throwing knives to his feet. He looked to have nimble hands, so he should be able to use them. He didn't stoop to get them and looked angry. I sighed wearily. I looked at him through the thread bare threads.

"Call it compensation for not caring a lick about two kids and baby in a gory scene. I'm not all that great with kids so skedaddle before I threaten you to leave me alone!"

He started with wide eyes before scooping up the knives and high-tailing it out of my corner. I huffed and continued to clean my joints in dark silence.