The Stoor
It was a beautiful place, really. I fit in well enough in the beginning, though I was restless. I made friends, and while the boys at home always teased me for being small, here I was accepted. They were all Hobbits, it seemed, and I was one of them.
I got married, I can' t remember her name, now, but we were happy for a time. I had a friend, we would go fishing together, and talk. Enough things to do at one time, and I was content.
I stopped growing while I was there, too, even though I was only a boy of thirteen, and a puny one at that, when I left my old world. Here it seemed I was a full-grown adult. They called me Sméagol.
In any case, we were fishing one day, and Déagol found my birthday present.
A silly name for a precious, I know. Hush, now, and listen. We are only trying to tell our tale.
He tried to keep my present from me, and I killed him. He deserved it, and he had truly meant nothing to me, only another filler for the blank space that was my life and my thoughts.
You, now, you are more than that. Of course. You know that.
Shall I continue? Good.
I ran away from that place, where I had been living for some years at that point. Ran away, just like that.
I found a cave. It was very nice, really, and I was never bored there. Fish to catch, true, but I had finally found it, what I had needed to fill the emptiness of my soul. In the darkness, my precious was all, my light, my life. My heart, finally filled.
You know.
Disclaimer: Nothing of Tolkien's creation belongs to me.
