Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even my own characters. *sobs* I'm poor,
alone, trying to get by on the streets of Toronto, and someone just stole
my pants. Don't ask me how I'm typing this.
A/N: Some of you may remember, this story was posted a while ago on fanfiction.net. I haven't updated in a while, due to issues in my personal life, but I'm at it again, so I'm reposting this thing!
*I* don't think this is a Mary Sue at all, but you can judge it for yourself. It's the first chapter in a series where a girl trips, falls, and finds herself in Middle-earth. The only problem is, she thinks she's been drugged and dumped somewhere in rural Quebec. Well, read it, and review to tell me what you think! Enjoy! :-D
It all started on a rainy Monday afternoon in early March. The worst kind of day imaginable. As usual, the local weather channel had been wrong when it predicted sunny skies and warm temperatures. I shivered as I pulled the sleeves of my sweater down over my hands.
This was not a good day. Not a good day at all. I was standing, outside, in the freezing rain waiting for my father to pick me up from school. As usual, he was late. My family must have a problem with punctuality, though, because I had been late for school that very morning, resulting in a most unfair detention. After that, I had the misfortune to get stuck with Betty Miler as a lab partner, and anyone who knows the girl wishes they didn't. She talked my ear off through the entire lesson. A bad day got worse when the marks of our French tests came in - a C+ for me, while my friend condescendingly shoved her 'A' in my face.
I should have taken an umbrella. Rain was dripping from my nose, a puddle was forming around my feet, my hair hung in loose, wet strands and I'm sure I looked like a complete idiot.
Finally, after fifteen minutes of bearing the harsh onslaught; bitter winds, hail, and sleet (all right, I'm exaggerating, but it was bad, really), I decided it was time to take matters into my own hands. I was going to walk home.
Now this would have been a good plan, were it not for the fact that I had only moved to the city a month before, had no idea how to get to my house from the school, and conveniently failed to remember that it took me twenty minutes to *drive* to school in the morning.
So I started out at a somber pace, head lowered against the elements, the bitter gail tearing at my exposed skin. I'm telling you, it was harsh. I had covered the heroic distance of about three blocks, and you'll never guess what happened.
I tripped.
Normally I would have picked myself back up again, but when I reached for the sidewalk it wasn't there. Imagine that! Instead, I came up with a handful of damp earth, grass, dirt, a worm, the whole bit.
I shook my head and stood up. I appeared to be somewhere in the country side, as there was no cement, streetlights, wires, cars, bums or alley ways, all tell-tale signs of the city. I couldn't even smell the familiar pollution that usually hung in the air. Strange. Strange indeed.
Now naturally, the first scenario that came to mind was that I had fallen, struck my head, been knocked unconcious, picked up by some crazy person, possibly drugged, and dumped out in the middle of nowhere. This seemed like the most realistic possibility at the time. I congratulated myself on my good reasoning. Now all I had to do was find a house. Or a strategically located telephone booth. Either would do.
Unfortunatly, I found neither of these things, and ended up walking most of the day. The terrain was rugged and hilly, not perfect for someone in dress shoes. The sun was just beginning to set, and I was just beginning to panic as I reached a path in the midst of the nothingness.
I heaved a sigh of relief. A path! It wasn't very large, of course, and it was made of dirt, but it would do. As most educated people who have reached the prime age of sixteen know, if there's a path in front of you, it must lead somewhere. And if you're lost in the middle of nowhere and you've possibly been drugged, you should definitely consider following that path.
Well I'm rather intelligent for my age, so I didn't have to consider it at all. As the sun was setting behind me, I was setting off forward down the path. I walked on gallantly into the night, until, understandibly, I passed out from sheer exhaustion.
Apon waking, I got another frightening surprise. My hands and feet had been bound and there were midgets standing all around me. "Gulliver's Travels?" The title of the book which I had recently finished reading for English class (well, I read Coles Notes, and that counts too) instantly escaped my lips.
The midgets, or dwarves, or vertically challenged persons, or whatever the politically correct word for them is, stared at me incredulously.
"What are you looking at?" I said with more than a hint of annoyance, as I stood up. They seemed to be blinking at me in confusion. "What? What's the matter? You've never seen a tall person before?"
One of the dwarves turned and said something to another beside him, and the other replied in the same strange language that the first had used.
I pondered this for a moment, and then smiled in realisation. "Oh, I get it now! You must be French!" I had known that I would have to encounter some French people when I moved to Montreal, Quebec from Windsor, North Carolina, but I had never expected that the French people I encountered would be midgets who dressed weird. "Sorry, I just failed my French exam, but I'll try anyway. Salut! Bonjour! Je suis Colleen! Comment ca va?"
All I got was a dozen blank stares from my captors.
"Ah screw it," I sighed. "Are you going to untie me?"
The midgets shuffled nervously and whispered to each other again.
"You work for the circus, don't you? Are you planning to sell me to the circus? Is that why I was drugged and dumped out in the wilderness? Look, I've heard about the circuses that go on in Quebec, and frankly I'm not too keen on being in one. So if you'll just untie me," I took the liberty of raising my hands which were bound with rope to make a point, "I'll be on my way."
One of the dwarves looked at me suspiciously, then stepped forward and untied the ropes from my hands.
"Thanks, now why don't you do the same for my feet?" I pointed downwards.
They shook their heads, turned around, and started heading off down the path.
"Hey! Hey! Where do you think you're going?! Get back here, you freaks! Fine then, when the police've arrested your sorry asses, you'll be... Sorry!" I sat down and started trying to untie the rope that was knotted snuggly around my ankles.
After half an hour I gave up. The knots were too tight. There was nothing left for me to do but hop. So I hopped. It was slow going, but I finally came to a farmer's field. I figured that if I hopped far enough through the field, I'd come to the edge of it. And, like I said before, I'm quite intelligent for my age, so I knew that there would either be a road, or a house in view when I got to the other side.
Six hours later, I hopped, exhausted from amidst the corn. There was indeed a house in front of me, if that's what you wanted to call it. It was really more of a hole in the side of a hill. I rolled my eyes. What luck! Without knocking, I pushed open the odd looking door, and - whacked my head on the top of the doorframe.
"Fuck!" I swore loudly. I should have known. The dwarves must live here. Well maybe they had a computer, or a phone, or a telegraph, or someway I could communicate with the police. I didn't want to call my dad, because I knew he wouldn't be on time.
Rubbing my head, I entered the house and looked around. There was a corridor in front of me, and rooms leading off at either side. I followed the sound of voices until I came to a large room near the back where two people were sitting. One a midget, similar to the ones I had met before, and the other a tall, old looking man.
"Oh thank God! You're tall! And you're probably bilingual! Look, Mister, you've got to help me. I was captured by one of your French friends here, and they tried to sell me to the circus. I'm not sure where the hell I am, but maybe you can help me. Do you have a cell phone or something...?"
In my excitement I had failed to notice that the man appeared to be wearing a long, grey bathrobe and matching pointy hat. He stared blankly at me, then whispered something to his vertically challenged friend.
"Oh good Lord, you don't speak English either? Well you might as well kill me now, then," this he seemed to understand, and took what I said a bit too literally at that, as he promptly walked over, and tapped me a little harder than nessessary on the head with the large pole he was holding.
A/N: Some of you may remember, this story was posted a while ago on fanfiction.net. I haven't updated in a while, due to issues in my personal life, but I'm at it again, so I'm reposting this thing!
*I* don't think this is a Mary Sue at all, but you can judge it for yourself. It's the first chapter in a series where a girl trips, falls, and finds herself in Middle-earth. The only problem is, she thinks she's been drugged and dumped somewhere in rural Quebec. Well, read it, and review to tell me what you think! Enjoy! :-D
It all started on a rainy Monday afternoon in early March. The worst kind of day imaginable. As usual, the local weather channel had been wrong when it predicted sunny skies and warm temperatures. I shivered as I pulled the sleeves of my sweater down over my hands.
This was not a good day. Not a good day at all. I was standing, outside, in the freezing rain waiting for my father to pick me up from school. As usual, he was late. My family must have a problem with punctuality, though, because I had been late for school that very morning, resulting in a most unfair detention. After that, I had the misfortune to get stuck with Betty Miler as a lab partner, and anyone who knows the girl wishes they didn't. She talked my ear off through the entire lesson. A bad day got worse when the marks of our French tests came in - a C+ for me, while my friend condescendingly shoved her 'A' in my face.
I should have taken an umbrella. Rain was dripping from my nose, a puddle was forming around my feet, my hair hung in loose, wet strands and I'm sure I looked like a complete idiot.
Finally, after fifteen minutes of bearing the harsh onslaught; bitter winds, hail, and sleet (all right, I'm exaggerating, but it was bad, really), I decided it was time to take matters into my own hands. I was going to walk home.
Now this would have been a good plan, were it not for the fact that I had only moved to the city a month before, had no idea how to get to my house from the school, and conveniently failed to remember that it took me twenty minutes to *drive* to school in the morning.
So I started out at a somber pace, head lowered against the elements, the bitter gail tearing at my exposed skin. I'm telling you, it was harsh. I had covered the heroic distance of about three blocks, and you'll never guess what happened.
I tripped.
Normally I would have picked myself back up again, but when I reached for the sidewalk it wasn't there. Imagine that! Instead, I came up with a handful of damp earth, grass, dirt, a worm, the whole bit.
I shook my head and stood up. I appeared to be somewhere in the country side, as there was no cement, streetlights, wires, cars, bums or alley ways, all tell-tale signs of the city. I couldn't even smell the familiar pollution that usually hung in the air. Strange. Strange indeed.
Now naturally, the first scenario that came to mind was that I had fallen, struck my head, been knocked unconcious, picked up by some crazy person, possibly drugged, and dumped out in the middle of nowhere. This seemed like the most realistic possibility at the time. I congratulated myself on my good reasoning. Now all I had to do was find a house. Or a strategically located telephone booth. Either would do.
Unfortunatly, I found neither of these things, and ended up walking most of the day. The terrain was rugged and hilly, not perfect for someone in dress shoes. The sun was just beginning to set, and I was just beginning to panic as I reached a path in the midst of the nothingness.
I heaved a sigh of relief. A path! It wasn't very large, of course, and it was made of dirt, but it would do. As most educated people who have reached the prime age of sixteen know, if there's a path in front of you, it must lead somewhere. And if you're lost in the middle of nowhere and you've possibly been drugged, you should definitely consider following that path.
Well I'm rather intelligent for my age, so I didn't have to consider it at all. As the sun was setting behind me, I was setting off forward down the path. I walked on gallantly into the night, until, understandibly, I passed out from sheer exhaustion.
Apon waking, I got another frightening surprise. My hands and feet had been bound and there were midgets standing all around me. "Gulliver's Travels?" The title of the book which I had recently finished reading for English class (well, I read Coles Notes, and that counts too) instantly escaped my lips.
The midgets, or dwarves, or vertically challenged persons, or whatever the politically correct word for them is, stared at me incredulously.
"What are you looking at?" I said with more than a hint of annoyance, as I stood up. They seemed to be blinking at me in confusion. "What? What's the matter? You've never seen a tall person before?"
One of the dwarves turned and said something to another beside him, and the other replied in the same strange language that the first had used.
I pondered this for a moment, and then smiled in realisation. "Oh, I get it now! You must be French!" I had known that I would have to encounter some French people when I moved to Montreal, Quebec from Windsor, North Carolina, but I had never expected that the French people I encountered would be midgets who dressed weird. "Sorry, I just failed my French exam, but I'll try anyway. Salut! Bonjour! Je suis Colleen! Comment ca va?"
All I got was a dozen blank stares from my captors.
"Ah screw it," I sighed. "Are you going to untie me?"
The midgets shuffled nervously and whispered to each other again.
"You work for the circus, don't you? Are you planning to sell me to the circus? Is that why I was drugged and dumped out in the wilderness? Look, I've heard about the circuses that go on in Quebec, and frankly I'm not too keen on being in one. So if you'll just untie me," I took the liberty of raising my hands which were bound with rope to make a point, "I'll be on my way."
One of the dwarves looked at me suspiciously, then stepped forward and untied the ropes from my hands.
"Thanks, now why don't you do the same for my feet?" I pointed downwards.
They shook their heads, turned around, and started heading off down the path.
"Hey! Hey! Where do you think you're going?! Get back here, you freaks! Fine then, when the police've arrested your sorry asses, you'll be... Sorry!" I sat down and started trying to untie the rope that was knotted snuggly around my ankles.
After half an hour I gave up. The knots were too tight. There was nothing left for me to do but hop. So I hopped. It was slow going, but I finally came to a farmer's field. I figured that if I hopped far enough through the field, I'd come to the edge of it. And, like I said before, I'm quite intelligent for my age, so I knew that there would either be a road, or a house in view when I got to the other side.
Six hours later, I hopped, exhausted from amidst the corn. There was indeed a house in front of me, if that's what you wanted to call it. It was really more of a hole in the side of a hill. I rolled my eyes. What luck! Without knocking, I pushed open the odd looking door, and - whacked my head on the top of the doorframe.
"Fuck!" I swore loudly. I should have known. The dwarves must live here. Well maybe they had a computer, or a phone, or a telegraph, or someway I could communicate with the police. I didn't want to call my dad, because I knew he wouldn't be on time.
Rubbing my head, I entered the house and looked around. There was a corridor in front of me, and rooms leading off at either side. I followed the sound of voices until I came to a large room near the back where two people were sitting. One a midget, similar to the ones I had met before, and the other a tall, old looking man.
"Oh thank God! You're tall! And you're probably bilingual! Look, Mister, you've got to help me. I was captured by one of your French friends here, and they tried to sell me to the circus. I'm not sure where the hell I am, but maybe you can help me. Do you have a cell phone or something...?"
In my excitement I had failed to notice that the man appeared to be wearing a long, grey bathrobe and matching pointy hat. He stared blankly at me, then whispered something to his vertically challenged friend.
"Oh good Lord, you don't speak English either? Well you might as well kill me now, then," this he seemed to understand, and took what I said a bit too literally at that, as he promptly walked over, and tapped me a little harder than nessessary on the head with the large pole he was holding.
