'Koite Urdu' - (Quenya) Living Death
Hey, it's me again! Haven't written in ages. Bloody muse is on strike. And now, this is just a little thing that I'm thinking of entering into a contest for my evil bloody, Sauron-ruled school newspaper.
Disclaimer: Tolkien owns this, he won't share. It's a sad thing.
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The land they now walked through was bleak and colorless, just charred rocks, void of all life. Frodo, however, hardly seemed to notice this. He was weighed down now. The Ring was constantly whispering its lies and promises to him. Sometimes, he could barely see what was around him, his vision filled by the Eye that pierced him, flesh and bone
This land seemed natural to Frodo now. The Ring was slowly burning away his memory of all things that grew, that lived. No longer would the image of green, living things come to his mind. It seemed as though he had been lost in this blasted wasteland for his whole life.
The Hobbit felt little emotion beside the constant fear. Sometimes, though, when he looked at his faithful Sam, he could feel guilt stir within himself. The guilt of knowing he had brought his friend out here. Guilt because he was leading his friend to a death he didn't deserve. But even these moments were becoming few. The Ring was killing him, hollowing him out, and crushing his soul.
It had been a long while since he had slept. Sleep was no longer a haven; only nightmares came to him now. He was burnt by a Flaming Eye. Something he could not hide from always watching, always seeing. But that was more of a reality than a dream, the reality that Sauron really could see them, searching for what was his.
Now Frodo would welcome death. Anything to be freed from this torment he was living. He would not finish this quest, it was impossible. Yet, he still walked on, hopelessly trying to accomplish a task far too big for him.
Sometimes Frodo believed he was dead already.
Hey, it's me again! Haven't written in ages. Bloody muse is on strike. And now, this is just a little thing that I'm thinking of entering into a contest for my evil bloody, Sauron-ruled school newspaper.
Disclaimer: Tolkien owns this, he won't share. It's a sad thing.
-----
The land they now walked through was bleak and colorless, just charred rocks, void of all life. Frodo, however, hardly seemed to notice this. He was weighed down now. The Ring was constantly whispering its lies and promises to him. Sometimes, he could barely see what was around him, his vision filled by the Eye that pierced him, flesh and bone
This land seemed natural to Frodo now. The Ring was slowly burning away his memory of all things that grew, that lived. No longer would the image of green, living things come to his mind. It seemed as though he had been lost in this blasted wasteland for his whole life.
The Hobbit felt little emotion beside the constant fear. Sometimes, though, when he looked at his faithful Sam, he could feel guilt stir within himself. The guilt of knowing he had brought his friend out here. Guilt because he was leading his friend to a death he didn't deserve. But even these moments were becoming few. The Ring was killing him, hollowing him out, and crushing his soul.
It had been a long while since he had slept. Sleep was no longer a haven; only nightmares came to him now. He was burnt by a Flaming Eye. Something he could not hide from always watching, always seeing. But that was more of a reality than a dream, the reality that Sauron really could see them, searching for what was his.
Now Frodo would welcome death. Anything to be freed from this torment he was living. He would not finish this quest, it was impossible. Yet, he still walked on, hopelessly trying to accomplish a task far too big for him.
Sometimes Frodo believed he was dead already.