Chapter 6: A short interlude
Ok, this is a very short chapter, but it has a purpose. There's going to be more very short chapters like this with only on aim in mind. Please R and R as per usual and thanks for the r
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She left his office. She walked down the hall a few feet, thinking when someone jumped out behind her and put there hand on her shoulders. She squealed. She turned around to see Sam grinned from ear to ear.
'Sam, where the hell have you come from?' She said, almost laughing.
'I forgot my books, so I came back. Then I saw you leaving his office. I had to surprise you.' He said, still grinning like a maniac.
'Anything else?' she said grinning as well as she played with her hair.
'I also have good news for you.' He said, playing it pretty cool, 'We all joined the walking club.'
'What?' she exclaimed. This couldn't be happening. She finds out in one day that she's a death trap, and then she gets friends? She also gets Sam coming with her for a month, which is nice, of course, but she didn't want to risk his life. How could he?
'Come on Froda, it isn't that bad. Anyway, it's like you don't want us to come with you or something.' She tried to argue, but he interrupted, 'Maybe you don't, maybe you hate us, but we'll be there for Merry and Kavamir, even if you don't want us to be there for you.'
'I'm sorry, I just don't think it's your scene…'
'Froda, we're coming, weather you like it or not!' God that girl is so infuriating! Thought Sam, When you think she likes you, she turns out to hate you. When you fell most certain who she is, she turns out to be some one else. He wanted her, but…. how can you want some one who won't stay the same person for five minutes! He wanted to be with her, but…. she didn't want him. She teased him, like a cat playing with a mouse.
'See ya tomorrow Froda.' He said with a hint of disgust, 'But leave your issues at home.' He left her standing in the hall.
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Froda walked home alone. She was about an hour late, but she knew mum would be home late this evening. She always was. She stepped over a body in the gutter. Probably not a good idea to find out weather it was alive or dead. She felt a presents behind her. Her reaction was automatic. She grabbed a piece of broken bottle off the street and turned around.
Nothing, but a groaning body in the gutter, swearing mildly. She walked down an ally. She felt the presents again. She turned around swiftly and threw the bottle at the wall. She swore she saw an unusual shadow. She was about to turn around again, when she heard the swish of a cloak. She turned to her left. She saw a corner of cloak.
She picked up a piece of wood from a trashcan, and held it like a sword. 'Come out, who ever you are!' she said, her voice shaking, 'I'll kick your ass.'
She didn't hear anything. Then she heard a rush of footsteps and the sound of a bird. Not the usual types of city birds that sang beautifully for their type, but the sound of a bird in pain. Not a small bird, a bird that was at least four-foot tall and had vocal cords that could strangle a troll into submission.
She stood totally still for a minute, too scared to move. She heard the bird sound again. She gripped the wood harder. There was a slow clank of footsteps coming up to her. She turned around slowly, so that no one would notice.
Over her stood a man (She assumed it was a man because she had never seen a ghost that looked so solid). It was dressed in black, a back coat, with black shirt and a black pair of tight jeans. A black hat and a black scarf covered the face. Her reaction was spontaneous. She quickly, before either of them had time to think, brought the plank down hard on his shins.
The man let out a shrill, bird like sound and felt to the ground with no sound. That was odd. There should have been a thud, or a crack of bones breaking. Froda watched cautiously to the body. It was gone. All that was left were empty clothes. She gasped and then ran away, leaving the pile of expensive rags.
Later, the man in the gutter crawled over to where the old hobbit girl had been. He saw the clothes. He looked at his clothes. Well, no point of leaving them to waste. He picked them up from the gutter, but as he did he saw a sinister figure in front of him.
A sound of a man screaming into the afternoon rang throughout the streets of the Shire. Well, only in the bad part.
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Froda ran into the kitchen and locked the door feverishly, like a dog trying to lock a door. She lent against the door and hyperventilated. She took in a deep breath of air and gulped, trying to slow down her heart rate. What she saw was probably a shadow and probably the piercing screaming of a bird wasn't that of a nazgul, it was probably someone playing a trick, or a wading bird. Wading bird? They weren't even near a river!
She strongly suspected that she wasn't the only one that knew the power of the ring. She also had a horrible fear that she had seen one of them. She waited for a short eternity at the door, breathing, gulping occasionally for air. She waited for it to be safe. She held out her hand hesitantly, and, like a snake it worked it's way to the knife on the side. She held it against her body, breathing laboriously, hoping in the cold steel to be her saviour.
There was a knock at the door.
She screamed and turned around as a key moved in the lock. As the door opened she threw the knife at the doorway. Luckily it hit the door. Roland came in.
'What the fuck is up with you?' he said in his husky voice. He pushed back the tight coal black curls on his head and wiped his continually sweating brow. Froda started to relax as much as anyone who had seen a rider could.
'Err…I nearly got mugged on the way home. ' She explained.
He took off his lettermen jacket and threw it on a kitchen chair. 'Whatever Freak child.'
Froda decided to try to pretend everything was normal until she stopped herself shivering.
'Oh yeah,' he said sitting down, grabbing a beer from the fridge, 'Some of my friends are coming 'round next Monday. I don't want you in the house. Could give me a bad name.'
'Well,' said Froda, remembering she still had to get the form filled out, 'I've got this trip coming up….'
'I'm not wasting my time getting you a trip to a museum….'He started.
'No Roland, this is different. This means that I'm out of your sight and hair for at least a month. Please, don't tell Mum.' Froda pleaded.
'Ok then. If it means that you will leave the house for a month I'm in.' Roland stumbled through into his room. Froda brought the paper out of her pocket. It was crumpled and dog-eared, but otherwise it was fine.
He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and slid it over the table to her with a biro. I was a note with Mum's signature on it. Froda studied it for a few seconds and picked up the pen. The chain around her neck slipped over her top and dangled seductively as she wrote. Roland starred at it. It spun slightly from side to side, shinning like a precious thing.
He couldn't resist it. It seemed to taunt him and call something terrible, primeval and terrible from the deepest pit of his mind. Beads of sweat broke out on his head. Why not? He thought to himself, She doesn't deserve it, it's too precious for a freak like her to hold. He thrust out his hand at snake speed and grabbed it. Unfortunately the chain attached Froda to it.
'Roland, what the hell do you think….'
'Shut up bitch! Give it to me! My precious! I want my precious!' He screamed at her. His brown eyes seemed to have become red and bloodshot in a matter of seconds and his perfect white teeth where bared at her.
'No Roland, this is my ring. Get the hell offa me!' She shouted back. She slapped him hard. His grip didn't lessen, but increased. She gulped and slipped out of the chain around her neck.
Roland held it, all his own. His Precious! He laughed maniacally, as if he didn't know weather to break down crying or dance in joy. He never thought that it would be so easy!
'It's mine!' He screamed to the world in general. Then a metallic thud filled his word with darkness and shadows. It was Froda hitting him over the head with a metal frying pan. As his body hit the ground she smiled. She was in danger and could get killed. Finally she was in a situation she could relate properly to.
His hand was open and the ring fell on the floor with a dainty clatter. She picked it up and slipped it back on. She put the pan on the side and checked that Roland was still alive. Yes, he was breathing, and, if he did have brain damage, no one would probably notice. She dragged his body to his room. She pulled him onto the bed and lay him down. He probably wouldn't wake for a few minutes, and she knew that he would never admit that he even knew her, let alone admit that she had smashed him up.
She returned to her room, removing the knife from the kitchen door. She took it with her. She grabbed a rucksack and threw in some changes of clothes, a book or two, chocolate and her sleeping bag. It was dilapidated and ancient, but it would serve hopefully. She did up the toggle and sat down on her bed panting. Well, apart from food, packing was done. She sighed. She had a feeling this wasn't going to be her month.
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Froda sat watching her clock. She had to be up in exactly seven minutes. Her eyes were wide like a cat's. One second, two seconds, three seconds. She wanted to get up, but somehow the snakes in her belly made sure that she couldn't get up. She had to walk to school with her bag, but that was no problem for her. It was the fact she would be leaving home for a month. It wasn't like she usually was at any place longer than a year, but she would be leaving behind her home, her small family and not much else.
That was it, she thought, She didn't want to lose what she didn't even have. What a screw up!
Four minutes to go. She rolled over. She stuck her foot out of the bed. How the hell was she going to convince Mum that she had signed it? She knew that she was pretty absent-minded but this was ridiculous! She wasn't that stupid. Froda looked at the clock. 6:57. Those three minutes could be damned to hell! She threw off the bed covers and put on a pair of trousers and a tee shirt.
She studied herself in the mirror. They where navy grunge trousers and a black T-shirt reading, 'The few, the proud and the strange'* She looked pretty damn good, even in her own opinion. She put on some make up out of habit and threw it into her pocket. She checked the ring around her neck.
When she thought about it, it was just another move, but this time she would be carrying less. She grabbed a black sweater and pulled it down over her head. It was a band shirt, but the band it had previously advertised had peeled off with the picture, with a faint out line of where it had peeled off and faded. She grabbed the knife she had in her room last night and the rucksack. Now it was ten past seven. She would need a good head start if she were going to be there on time.
She walked into the kitchen and put down the rucksack. She opened the fridge and grabbed some leftovers from yesterday. She ate them gladly and put the bowl in the sink. She washed it up with the knife she had last night. If you had watched the water, you would have seen a brown/red coloured liquid run down the sink with the remainders of the leftovers.
She grabbed a coat from the hall and threw it over her. It wasn't thick and just about kept the rain out. She picked up her rucksack. Then Mum came in.
'Froda, what are you doing up at this time in the morning?' she said. She was bleary eyed and looked a bit of a mess. She hadn't removed her make up the night before and it was smeared across her face like a road crash. Froda put the bowl away and said, 'Mum, I'm going off on a trip today. Don't you remember?'
'Trip? Today? Since when? You're lying!'
'No Mum, you signed it. I'm going today.' She said, showing the paper with the well-forged signature. Mum inspected it.
'Ok, but I'm not giving you a lift, you should have reminded me last night. You know what I'm like.'
'Ok mum. ' She said. She lifted the rucksack onto her back and left.
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Ok, this is a very short chapter, but it has a purpose. There's going to be more very short chapters like this with only on aim in mind. Please R and R as per usual and thanks for the r
____________________________
She left his office. She walked down the hall a few feet, thinking when someone jumped out behind her and put there hand on her shoulders. She squealed. She turned around to see Sam grinned from ear to ear.
'Sam, where the hell have you come from?' She said, almost laughing.
'I forgot my books, so I came back. Then I saw you leaving his office. I had to surprise you.' He said, still grinning like a maniac.
'Anything else?' she said grinning as well as she played with her hair.
'I also have good news for you.' He said, playing it pretty cool, 'We all joined the walking club.'
'What?' she exclaimed. This couldn't be happening. She finds out in one day that she's a death trap, and then she gets friends? She also gets Sam coming with her for a month, which is nice, of course, but she didn't want to risk his life. How could he?
'Come on Froda, it isn't that bad. Anyway, it's like you don't want us to come with you or something.' She tried to argue, but he interrupted, 'Maybe you don't, maybe you hate us, but we'll be there for Merry and Kavamir, even if you don't want us to be there for you.'
'I'm sorry, I just don't think it's your scene…'
'Froda, we're coming, weather you like it or not!' God that girl is so infuriating! Thought Sam, When you think she likes you, she turns out to hate you. When you fell most certain who she is, she turns out to be some one else. He wanted her, but…. how can you want some one who won't stay the same person for five minutes! He wanted to be with her, but…. she didn't want him. She teased him, like a cat playing with a mouse.
'See ya tomorrow Froda.' He said with a hint of disgust, 'But leave your issues at home.' He left her standing in the hall.
______________
Froda walked home alone. She was about an hour late, but she knew mum would be home late this evening. She always was. She stepped over a body in the gutter. Probably not a good idea to find out weather it was alive or dead. She felt a presents behind her. Her reaction was automatic. She grabbed a piece of broken bottle off the street and turned around.
Nothing, but a groaning body in the gutter, swearing mildly. She walked down an ally. She felt the presents again. She turned around swiftly and threw the bottle at the wall. She swore she saw an unusual shadow. She was about to turn around again, when she heard the swish of a cloak. She turned to her left. She saw a corner of cloak.
She picked up a piece of wood from a trashcan, and held it like a sword. 'Come out, who ever you are!' she said, her voice shaking, 'I'll kick your ass.'
She didn't hear anything. Then she heard a rush of footsteps and the sound of a bird. Not the usual types of city birds that sang beautifully for their type, but the sound of a bird in pain. Not a small bird, a bird that was at least four-foot tall and had vocal cords that could strangle a troll into submission.
She stood totally still for a minute, too scared to move. She heard the bird sound again. She gripped the wood harder. There was a slow clank of footsteps coming up to her. She turned around slowly, so that no one would notice.
Over her stood a man (She assumed it was a man because she had never seen a ghost that looked so solid). It was dressed in black, a back coat, with black shirt and a black pair of tight jeans. A black hat and a black scarf covered the face. Her reaction was spontaneous. She quickly, before either of them had time to think, brought the plank down hard on his shins.
The man let out a shrill, bird like sound and felt to the ground with no sound. That was odd. There should have been a thud, or a crack of bones breaking. Froda watched cautiously to the body. It was gone. All that was left were empty clothes. She gasped and then ran away, leaving the pile of expensive rags.
Later, the man in the gutter crawled over to where the old hobbit girl had been. He saw the clothes. He looked at his clothes. Well, no point of leaving them to waste. He picked them up from the gutter, but as he did he saw a sinister figure in front of him.
A sound of a man screaming into the afternoon rang throughout the streets of the Shire. Well, only in the bad part.
________________________________
Froda ran into the kitchen and locked the door feverishly, like a dog trying to lock a door. She lent against the door and hyperventilated. She took in a deep breath of air and gulped, trying to slow down her heart rate. What she saw was probably a shadow and probably the piercing screaming of a bird wasn't that of a nazgul, it was probably someone playing a trick, or a wading bird. Wading bird? They weren't even near a river!
She strongly suspected that she wasn't the only one that knew the power of the ring. She also had a horrible fear that she had seen one of them. She waited for a short eternity at the door, breathing, gulping occasionally for air. She waited for it to be safe. She held out her hand hesitantly, and, like a snake it worked it's way to the knife on the side. She held it against her body, breathing laboriously, hoping in the cold steel to be her saviour.
There was a knock at the door.
She screamed and turned around as a key moved in the lock. As the door opened she threw the knife at the doorway. Luckily it hit the door. Roland came in.
'What the fuck is up with you?' he said in his husky voice. He pushed back the tight coal black curls on his head and wiped his continually sweating brow. Froda started to relax as much as anyone who had seen a rider could.
'Err…I nearly got mugged on the way home. ' She explained.
He took off his lettermen jacket and threw it on a kitchen chair. 'Whatever Freak child.'
Froda decided to try to pretend everything was normal until she stopped herself shivering.
'Oh yeah,' he said sitting down, grabbing a beer from the fridge, 'Some of my friends are coming 'round next Monday. I don't want you in the house. Could give me a bad name.'
'Well,' said Froda, remembering she still had to get the form filled out, 'I've got this trip coming up….'
'I'm not wasting my time getting you a trip to a museum….'He started.
'No Roland, this is different. This means that I'm out of your sight and hair for at least a month. Please, don't tell Mum.' Froda pleaded.
'Ok then. If it means that you will leave the house for a month I'm in.' Roland stumbled through into his room. Froda brought the paper out of her pocket. It was crumpled and dog-eared, but otherwise it was fine.
He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and slid it over the table to her with a biro. I was a note with Mum's signature on it. Froda studied it for a few seconds and picked up the pen. The chain around her neck slipped over her top and dangled seductively as she wrote. Roland starred at it. It spun slightly from side to side, shinning like a precious thing.
He couldn't resist it. It seemed to taunt him and call something terrible, primeval and terrible from the deepest pit of his mind. Beads of sweat broke out on his head. Why not? He thought to himself, She doesn't deserve it, it's too precious for a freak like her to hold. He thrust out his hand at snake speed and grabbed it. Unfortunately the chain attached Froda to it.
'Roland, what the hell do you think….'
'Shut up bitch! Give it to me! My precious! I want my precious!' He screamed at her. His brown eyes seemed to have become red and bloodshot in a matter of seconds and his perfect white teeth where bared at her.
'No Roland, this is my ring. Get the hell offa me!' She shouted back. She slapped him hard. His grip didn't lessen, but increased. She gulped and slipped out of the chain around her neck.
Roland held it, all his own. His Precious! He laughed maniacally, as if he didn't know weather to break down crying or dance in joy. He never thought that it would be so easy!
'It's mine!' He screamed to the world in general. Then a metallic thud filled his word with darkness and shadows. It was Froda hitting him over the head with a metal frying pan. As his body hit the ground she smiled. She was in danger and could get killed. Finally she was in a situation she could relate properly to.
His hand was open and the ring fell on the floor with a dainty clatter. She picked it up and slipped it back on. She put the pan on the side and checked that Roland was still alive. Yes, he was breathing, and, if he did have brain damage, no one would probably notice. She dragged his body to his room. She pulled him onto the bed and lay him down. He probably wouldn't wake for a few minutes, and she knew that he would never admit that he even knew her, let alone admit that she had smashed him up.
She returned to her room, removing the knife from the kitchen door. She took it with her. She grabbed a rucksack and threw in some changes of clothes, a book or two, chocolate and her sleeping bag. It was dilapidated and ancient, but it would serve hopefully. She did up the toggle and sat down on her bed panting. Well, apart from food, packing was done. She sighed. She had a feeling this wasn't going to be her month.
_____________________________________
Froda sat watching her clock. She had to be up in exactly seven minutes. Her eyes were wide like a cat's. One second, two seconds, three seconds. She wanted to get up, but somehow the snakes in her belly made sure that she couldn't get up. She had to walk to school with her bag, but that was no problem for her. It was the fact she would be leaving home for a month. It wasn't like she usually was at any place longer than a year, but she would be leaving behind her home, her small family and not much else.
That was it, she thought, She didn't want to lose what she didn't even have. What a screw up!
Four minutes to go. She rolled over. She stuck her foot out of the bed. How the hell was she going to convince Mum that she had signed it? She knew that she was pretty absent-minded but this was ridiculous! She wasn't that stupid. Froda looked at the clock. 6:57. Those three minutes could be damned to hell! She threw off the bed covers and put on a pair of trousers and a tee shirt.
She studied herself in the mirror. They where navy grunge trousers and a black T-shirt reading, 'The few, the proud and the strange'* She looked pretty damn good, even in her own opinion. She put on some make up out of habit and threw it into her pocket. She checked the ring around her neck.
When she thought about it, it was just another move, but this time she would be carrying less. She grabbed a black sweater and pulled it down over her head. It was a band shirt, but the band it had previously advertised had peeled off with the picture, with a faint out line of where it had peeled off and faded. She grabbed the knife she had in her room last night and the rucksack. Now it was ten past seven. She would need a good head start if she were going to be there on time.
She walked into the kitchen and put down the rucksack. She opened the fridge and grabbed some leftovers from yesterday. She ate them gladly and put the bowl in the sink. She washed it up with the knife she had last night. If you had watched the water, you would have seen a brown/red coloured liquid run down the sink with the remainders of the leftovers.
She grabbed a coat from the hall and threw it over her. It wasn't thick and just about kept the rain out. She picked up her rucksack. Then Mum came in.
'Froda, what are you doing up at this time in the morning?' she said. She was bleary eyed and looked a bit of a mess. She hadn't removed her make up the night before and it was smeared across her face like a road crash. Froda put the bowl away and said, 'Mum, I'm going off on a trip today. Don't you remember?'
'Trip? Today? Since when? You're lying!'
'No Mum, you signed it. I'm going today.' She said, showing the paper with the well-forged signature. Mum inspected it.
'Ok, but I'm not giving you a lift, you should have reminded me last night. You know what I'm like.'
'Ok mum. ' She said. She lifted the rucksack onto her back and left.
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