Life: Young and Old (for lack of a better title)
Chapter 1: Life (one-shot - a ficlet)
Disclaimer: Well you probably know the rigmarole (story), but I'll say it anyway. most of the places, people, or things in this story come from Lord of the Rings. They are J.R.R. Tolkien's and not mine.
Background: When Gandalf fell in Moria he said he wandered through time and space finally coming to rest at Lorien. This is one place he may have wandered then. I am approximating this part from the book and movie, I don't feel like looking it up, sorry.
Note: I may have gotten some facts wrong, and if I did, and you notice, please tell me and I will try to change it asap.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I sat on the park bench staring at the traffic that sped by me. The wind from the cars and trucks stirred my clothes into a restless fury and loose strands of brown hair whipped my face. Suddenly I felt someone sit down next to me, I didn't look at them, but out of the corner of my eye I saw white hair and gray rags; my curiosity was peaked.
I turned my head and saw an old man with long white hair and a big beard sitting next to me. He was dressed in gray robes that looked like they had been charred. I wondered it he was part of a play or if he had been in a fire and had no home to go to. But he looked wise and strong and his face was lined with wrinkles. It seemed as if ages were carved into the crows feet and the bags by his eyes. He seemed to exude a strength; maybe it was self-assurance, but it seemed to be waning as if he too doubted himself and his purpose in this world as much as I did.
Unexpectedly he said, "Why so sad little girl?"
Weird; I mean he was dressed in robes, and he was asking me what was wrong? I'm no actor but everyone in the 21st century learns quickly to hide the depression they all have. But something in me responded to him, he seemed sincere, no some old perverted man, and without thinking I answered,
"I don't know sir. Maybe it's the culture of today, maybe it's me, or my family, or my friends. Heck, it might just be all of the above or none of the above. Or maybe it is too much or too little of the above. I don't know old man, I simply don't know."
He was quiet for a while and then he said, "You don't know little girl? Are you so sure?" He turned his head and looked at me kindly. His eyes struck me then, and I will always remember those pools of gray and silver. I could see the pain that he too held deep within himself. Maybe this culture today sickened him as it did me every time I walked past a news- stand or flicked by the news channel with my remote.
"It may be life old man, life in all its toils and hardships. Is life worth all this? You seemed to have lived through all of the centuries in the world, tell me, is this-" I waved to the traffic and people before us, "worth it?"
At the mention of centuries a emotion passed over his face too quickly to discern, all I could tell was of it's passing swiftness. Then his deep voice answered my question, "Yes it is little girl. Life with all of the pains is worth it. It has its moments just like a mountain of rocks has its gems. Each rock is precious; treasure it. Within all of the rocks of daily life are scattered the gems, the truly happy memories. Treasure them little girl, they are too precious to waste, even one." He gaze seemed to bore into my very being and I wondered at this man. I wondered at his outfit, what he had gone through, what he had seen, and what he knew.
I had only one answer to that piercing gaze, "I shall try old man, I shall try." The way I addressed him was not done mockingly, but with respect for truly, he was old; but also wise, I could see it in the slump of his shoulder and the thinness of his lips. He bore knowledge like Atlas bore the world. And truly, next to him I was a little girl.
"That is all I ask little girl, that is all I ask."
Abruptly he stood up, I would have thought it a slow and tedious project from the age of his looks, but it was a smooth graceful motion. He walked forward, his gray robes whispering about his tall frame. At the curb he didn't stop, but kept right on going into the oncoming traffic. I gasped and ran after him, calling for him to stop and he would get hurt. But I had lost sight of him among the whizzing cars. Soon traffic cleared and I searched for him. I must admit, my first glace was to the ground, but my following thoughts that he was perhaps plastered to a car or on the other side of the street, but he was nowhere to be seen.
His words echoed in my mind along with his piercing gaze. While I stood next to the roaring traffic that whipped my pants and t-shirt into a frenzy and the babble of traffic filled my ears, his words fell deeply inside me and I remembered his words, "Treasure them little girl, they are too precious to waste, even one. - Try, that is all I ask."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This is related with a poem-ish thing I did. I thought of that part of LotR where Gandalf wanders and tied it in with the poem. I am actually pretty pleased with how this turned out, hope you are!
~Kit ;)
Chapter 1: Life (one-shot - a ficlet)
Disclaimer: Well you probably know the rigmarole (story), but I'll say it anyway. most of the places, people, or things in this story come from Lord of the Rings. They are J.R.R. Tolkien's and not mine.
Background: When Gandalf fell in Moria he said he wandered through time and space finally coming to rest at Lorien. This is one place he may have wandered then. I am approximating this part from the book and movie, I don't feel like looking it up, sorry.
Note: I may have gotten some facts wrong, and if I did, and you notice, please tell me and I will try to change it asap.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I sat on the park bench staring at the traffic that sped by me. The wind from the cars and trucks stirred my clothes into a restless fury and loose strands of brown hair whipped my face. Suddenly I felt someone sit down next to me, I didn't look at them, but out of the corner of my eye I saw white hair and gray rags; my curiosity was peaked.
I turned my head and saw an old man with long white hair and a big beard sitting next to me. He was dressed in gray robes that looked like they had been charred. I wondered it he was part of a play or if he had been in a fire and had no home to go to. But he looked wise and strong and his face was lined with wrinkles. It seemed as if ages were carved into the crows feet and the bags by his eyes. He seemed to exude a strength; maybe it was self-assurance, but it seemed to be waning as if he too doubted himself and his purpose in this world as much as I did.
Unexpectedly he said, "Why so sad little girl?"
Weird; I mean he was dressed in robes, and he was asking me what was wrong? I'm no actor but everyone in the 21st century learns quickly to hide the depression they all have. But something in me responded to him, he seemed sincere, no some old perverted man, and without thinking I answered,
"I don't know sir. Maybe it's the culture of today, maybe it's me, or my family, or my friends. Heck, it might just be all of the above or none of the above. Or maybe it is too much or too little of the above. I don't know old man, I simply don't know."
He was quiet for a while and then he said, "You don't know little girl? Are you so sure?" He turned his head and looked at me kindly. His eyes struck me then, and I will always remember those pools of gray and silver. I could see the pain that he too held deep within himself. Maybe this culture today sickened him as it did me every time I walked past a news- stand or flicked by the news channel with my remote.
"It may be life old man, life in all its toils and hardships. Is life worth all this? You seemed to have lived through all of the centuries in the world, tell me, is this-" I waved to the traffic and people before us, "worth it?"
At the mention of centuries a emotion passed over his face too quickly to discern, all I could tell was of it's passing swiftness. Then his deep voice answered my question, "Yes it is little girl. Life with all of the pains is worth it. It has its moments just like a mountain of rocks has its gems. Each rock is precious; treasure it. Within all of the rocks of daily life are scattered the gems, the truly happy memories. Treasure them little girl, they are too precious to waste, even one." He gaze seemed to bore into my very being and I wondered at this man. I wondered at his outfit, what he had gone through, what he had seen, and what he knew.
I had only one answer to that piercing gaze, "I shall try old man, I shall try." The way I addressed him was not done mockingly, but with respect for truly, he was old; but also wise, I could see it in the slump of his shoulder and the thinness of his lips. He bore knowledge like Atlas bore the world. And truly, next to him I was a little girl.
"That is all I ask little girl, that is all I ask."
Abruptly he stood up, I would have thought it a slow and tedious project from the age of his looks, but it was a smooth graceful motion. He walked forward, his gray robes whispering about his tall frame. At the curb he didn't stop, but kept right on going into the oncoming traffic. I gasped and ran after him, calling for him to stop and he would get hurt. But I had lost sight of him among the whizzing cars. Soon traffic cleared and I searched for him. I must admit, my first glace was to the ground, but my following thoughts that he was perhaps plastered to a car or on the other side of the street, but he was nowhere to be seen.
His words echoed in my mind along with his piercing gaze. While I stood next to the roaring traffic that whipped my pants and t-shirt into a frenzy and the babble of traffic filled my ears, his words fell deeply inside me and I remembered his words, "Treasure them little girl, they are too precious to waste, even one. - Try, that is all I ask."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This is related with a poem-ish thing I did. I thought of that part of LotR where Gandalf wanders and tied it in with the poem. I am actually pretty pleased with how this turned out, hope you are!
~Kit ;)