I'm back! Thanx for waiting, but I'm sure it wasn't patiently!
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The last thing that Bridget saw, the last thing that she heard before darkness engulfed her was Jean's face. Then something happened so suddenly that her last thought was cut short, which was, "Mom, I'm coming." ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It was on the news, and it was in the papers. A tornado had ripped through the middle school as if it were made of Styrofoam, not sturdy golden bricks. Here was one news report:
A woman with incredibly big hair (had to throw that joke in, sorry) was in front of the camera, standing in the ruins of what used to be the middle school. "Yesterday a tornado that was labeled F-4 ripped through the state of Ohio yesterday, demolishing almost 160 miles of cities, farms, and families. The death report has not been taken, and you will see that behind me investigators are inspecting the ruins of this Middle School."
"Sir," She asked a burly man standing next to her, that was obviously an investigator. "Have you found any survivors in this school yet?"
"Not yet, and boy it has been a trouble to control the parents! Sobbing and crying, one even shot a policeman in order to get in the zone." He replied.
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Jean woke up lying next to a pond, and saw that she had been drenched in various types of soil and mud. Where was she? A huge confusion struck her, and a vital question appeared in her mind: Who was she?
Jean, shaking furiously, stood up after several attempts. She looked at her surroundings. She was next to a very large pond, nearly a lake, and it was very cold out. She could see trees surrounding her, and snow covering the ground. Hadn't it been summer yesterday? How did she know what summer was?
Beyond the pond she could see the trees end. The sun was out, breaking in between the clouds. Jean, who didn't know her name was Jean, began to walk, not knowing where she was going.
At that she heard a voice in her head, which confused her even greater. b You have not been brought here by accident b
Where did that come from? No one was even near her; the woods were empty! She began to panic, and in her hurry slid on a great slide of mud into the pond. "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!" She yelled, and her yell was cut short as her head was submerged in the murky water.
Not knowing where she was, who she was, what she was, and how she knew certain things caused the fact that she did not remember how to swim, and she quickly sank to the bottom and stuck there.
b Open your eyes b
What did that mean, she thought. Open your eyes? What are eyes? How do you open them? Eventually, after a very short time, maybe less than a second, she remembered how to open her eyes and did.
What she saw when she opened her eyes made no sense. She saw that she was underwater, but yet when she breathed in, she did not suck in dirty water but clean, fresh air. Jean saw many people, and that at least she could remember; she knew what people were. The odd thing was that the people were dressed in a conformed fashion, as if emulating each other. They were all dressed in black.
Her vision converted to another scene, though still including the black-dressed people. She saw that many people had water running down their faces. Jean wondered why. Soon she noticed that she was looking at a long slim box, colored white, being lowered into a deep, maybe 5-6 feet deep, hole. Jean became confused. I mean more than she already was.
Why would someone lower something into a hole and wear black clothes? Why was there water running down their faces? Then Jean noticed the writing that someone had inscribed in the white box. She didn't know how she could understand the letters, but she began to read. And the letters said:
A storm of death has reached this family, and now the last has come to pass. Here Bridget Norrings lies, and let her soul be taken above all darkness and the mourners keep her memory close to their hearts.
b Let you remember b
Suddenly Jean realized everything. Who she was, what she was, but the question of where she was went unanswered. Then she remembered what she was looking at. Bridget Norrings was dead. How?
Jean then thought of the tornado and gasped. No! Not Bridget! Not her! She couldn't have! What about Lesley? And Stephanie? And Tess, and Savannah and---and everyone! What has happened to them? Jean thought.
Jean suddenly stopped. What about her? Was she dead? Why wasn't she dead, if she was alive? Was this heaven? No. How could it be heaven? Maybe hell? No. Then what?
She realized with a start, eventually, that she was underwater again. The vision of Bridget's funeral disappeared, and she could no longer breath in the muddy pond. Jean began to swim upward, but that soon failed as she realized she was stuck in the muddiness of the pond.
She struggled wildly to break free, but nothing helped. Great, she thought almost comically, I escape death by tornado only to drown! I don't even know where I'm drowning!
Just as all hope began to fade, she felt a hand grip her shoulder, and she was pulled from the water. Jean began to slip in and out of consciousness, until the last that she saw was a blurry shape of a face.
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"We've only found seven bodies so far, all dead," the investigator said. "On the other hand, we've only found one survivor, a girl named Leslie Mains, who is in critical condition. Apparently she was in such a position that a wall fell nearly on top of her, but instead acted as a shield against the storm."
The reporter looked shocked, and said, "Do you think we could get some footage of this young woman?"
"Maybe, but we just got her out of the rubble an hour ago. I think you should wait," The investigator advised. "She is, in fact, the only survivor so far. They're having a funeral for one of the girls tomorrow, and Leslie might be there. You can see her there." Later on her mumbled to himself, Leslie's family is going to sue me for telling that ugly reporter that she's going to be at that poor girl's funeral. * sigh *
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Jean woke up, and found that she was not alone. There was a man sitting next to her. He did not notice that she was awake, so she spoke. "Who are you?"
"I am named Gelmir," He said, and stood and bowed. Gelmir? Jean thought. Who the heck would hate their son so much to call him that?
"Um, I'm Jean," She said. Jean looked around for a moment before Gelmir spoke again. She was out of the pond, right next to it still. She had no idea how she had gotten out of that forsaken large puddle.
"No, you are not," Gelmir said, and laughed.
"Um, yes I am. My parents named me that," Jean said. She was confused.
"I thought you would not remember. Your name is Alateriel Oronra. And you are my daughter," Gelmir said, smiling at her confused look.
"My father is dead, and you are not my mom," Jean said. Alateriel? What? She thought. Is this guy nuts?
"Those were merely pawns, merely fosters," Gelmir, not making Jean any less confused.
Jean just sat there, thinking that this guy fell off of his rocker. Geez, this guy sounded more nuts than the Go Yaffa! Commercials woman. * In case you don't know what the Go Yaffa woman is, she sells a stupid product and says Go Yaffa like a drunk chimpanzee *
"How could they be my foster parents?" Jean asked. "We have birth records! I had to do a DNA test once at an airport, and we have matching DNA!" Gelmir obviously did not know what the heck DNA was, but he basically understood what she meant.
"Calm, and I shall tell you what you must need to know," Gelmir said. He took a deep breath, and Jean looked at him. Jean didn't look anything like Gelmir. He had long, blonde hair and deep blue eyes. There were no blemishes on his skin.
"Years ago, to this day, we, our people," He said, "Were raided by orcs. ---Jean found orcs familiar but could not recall it at the moment---- as we left battle. Our arrows were spent, our swords lost, so we had no chance. All would die. I escaped into the trees, desperately trying to save Nevhen. Your mother. I will not tell you the rest, unless you desire me to."
"What else am I going to do today?" Jean asked, wondering if she should start calling herself Alateriel. Gelmir steadied himself, and brushed his hair behind his ear. Then Jean noticed that his ears were not normal, but pointed.
"Yah!" She said. And Gelmir looked confused. "Y-Y-your ears! They're pointy!"
"Yes, that is normal for me. Not for a man. For I am an elf. And if you will listen to the rest of my story you will learn that you are an elf too, though you do not look one. Yet," Gelmir said.
"Go on, then," Jean said, and did not ask why this guy just called her an elf.
"When I failed to say Nevhen, who had you in her arms, the orcs took her and you prisoner. They were to take the prisoners to Southern Mirkwood, and "interrogate" them," he said, remembering the painful memories. "I followed, not daring to risk myself, for I believed that I could still rescue you."
When the orcs reached their destination, they bound the prisoners, and put each in line. They were going to turn you, after a painful questionnaire, into orcs. Because, that is what orcs are, mutilated elves, tortured so much that they come to look like goblins. I snuck in, and just before Nevhen and you were to be taken, she preformed the Tatya (English: Restart) ritual, which sent you into the future, reborn into a new body, to return once you came of the appropriate age. Few elves perform this ceremony, because usually once the elf comes back, he or she does not remember who he or she used to be, and does not look it either."
"What happened to Nevhen?" Jean asked, not thinking about anything else he had said.
"She is dead. She died an orc, killed by the elven arrows of Northern Mirkwood," He replied grimly, as if proving he could control his tears.
"Did you get revenge on whoever shot the arrow?" She asked.
"No. I shot the arrow, and I sent her to peace," Gelmir said.
"Now wait a sec. Did you say orcs?" Jean asked, remembering suddenly.
"Yes," He said.
"Did you say Mirkwood?" Jean asked.
"Yes," Gelmir said, confused.
"Are you--- are you telling me that we're in Mid---Middle Earth," Jean said, hoping the answer was no.
"Yes," Gelmir said. He stood, and pulled her up with him.
"Wait, that can't be true. It's just a book!" Jean said.
"What's just a book?" Gelmir asked.
"The Lord of the Rings! Frodo isn't real! Mirkwood isn't real! You aren't real! This can't be real!" Jean yelped.
"Why can this not be real? Are you not standing here with me? If this were some sort of dream world, would you have not woken up by now?" Gelmir said.
"No, you don't understand! The Lord of the Rings is a BOOK! A BOOK! Some book written by an old guy who's dead now! (Author's note: No offense against the genius who is J.R.R. Tolkien * bows * ) " Jean yelled.
Gelmir did not answer, for he did not know what she was talking about. Was it some part of the ritual? He did not know. Gelmir picked up Jean's glasses, which he had found at the bottom of the pond. "These are yours, but I do not know their use."
"They're glasses, I use them to see," Jean said, but even as she put them on she realized she didn't need them. "Huh?" She set her glasses down.
"You are already changing, Alateriel. You shall be elven soon enough. Your face is clearing of the odd pocks, and your hair is growing," Gelmir said, and waved his hand toward the pond.
Jean scrambled to the edge, and looked at her reflection. Her face was the same, but her hair was longer, and blonder. All of her acne was disappearing. And the thing she noticed the most was the glow starting to grow inside of her, like an unseen light. She looked at her ears. They were pointy. She still looked relatively the same, however.
"What's going on?" Jean asked slowly.
Gelmir merely cocked his head and glared at the setting sun. "We must go back to the castle." He took Jean's hand and led her to the edge of the pond, and from there she saw a cave, surrounded by dark trees. She asked no more questions that were left unanswered until the reached the cave.
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More soon! This is 5 ΒΌ pages long, so be happy! It took me forever to write, * Actually I did it on and off over a period of 6 months *
PLEASE REVIEW!
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The last thing that Bridget saw, the last thing that she heard before darkness engulfed her was Jean's face. Then something happened so suddenly that her last thought was cut short, which was, "Mom, I'm coming." ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It was on the news, and it was in the papers. A tornado had ripped through the middle school as if it were made of Styrofoam, not sturdy golden bricks. Here was one news report:
A woman with incredibly big hair (had to throw that joke in, sorry) was in front of the camera, standing in the ruins of what used to be the middle school. "Yesterday a tornado that was labeled F-4 ripped through the state of Ohio yesterday, demolishing almost 160 miles of cities, farms, and families. The death report has not been taken, and you will see that behind me investigators are inspecting the ruins of this Middle School."
"Sir," She asked a burly man standing next to her, that was obviously an investigator. "Have you found any survivors in this school yet?"
"Not yet, and boy it has been a trouble to control the parents! Sobbing and crying, one even shot a policeman in order to get in the zone." He replied.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*
Jean woke up lying next to a pond, and saw that she had been drenched in various types of soil and mud. Where was she? A huge confusion struck her, and a vital question appeared in her mind: Who was she?
Jean, shaking furiously, stood up after several attempts. She looked at her surroundings. She was next to a very large pond, nearly a lake, and it was very cold out. She could see trees surrounding her, and snow covering the ground. Hadn't it been summer yesterday? How did she know what summer was?
Beyond the pond she could see the trees end. The sun was out, breaking in between the clouds. Jean, who didn't know her name was Jean, began to walk, not knowing where she was going.
At that she heard a voice in her head, which confused her even greater. b You have not been brought here by accident b
Where did that come from? No one was even near her; the woods were empty! She began to panic, and in her hurry slid on a great slide of mud into the pond. "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!" She yelled, and her yell was cut short as her head was submerged in the murky water.
Not knowing where she was, who she was, what she was, and how she knew certain things caused the fact that she did not remember how to swim, and she quickly sank to the bottom and stuck there.
b Open your eyes b
What did that mean, she thought. Open your eyes? What are eyes? How do you open them? Eventually, after a very short time, maybe less than a second, she remembered how to open her eyes and did.
What she saw when she opened her eyes made no sense. She saw that she was underwater, but yet when she breathed in, she did not suck in dirty water but clean, fresh air. Jean saw many people, and that at least she could remember; she knew what people were. The odd thing was that the people were dressed in a conformed fashion, as if emulating each other. They were all dressed in black.
Her vision converted to another scene, though still including the black-dressed people. She saw that many people had water running down their faces. Jean wondered why. Soon she noticed that she was looking at a long slim box, colored white, being lowered into a deep, maybe 5-6 feet deep, hole. Jean became confused. I mean more than she already was.
Why would someone lower something into a hole and wear black clothes? Why was there water running down their faces? Then Jean noticed the writing that someone had inscribed in the white box. She didn't know how she could understand the letters, but she began to read. And the letters said:
A storm of death has reached this family, and now the last has come to pass. Here Bridget Norrings lies, and let her soul be taken above all darkness and the mourners keep her memory close to their hearts.
b Let you remember b
Suddenly Jean realized everything. Who she was, what she was, but the question of where she was went unanswered. Then she remembered what she was looking at. Bridget Norrings was dead. How?
Jean then thought of the tornado and gasped. No! Not Bridget! Not her! She couldn't have! What about Lesley? And Stephanie? And Tess, and Savannah and---and everyone! What has happened to them? Jean thought.
Jean suddenly stopped. What about her? Was she dead? Why wasn't she dead, if she was alive? Was this heaven? No. How could it be heaven? Maybe hell? No. Then what?
She realized with a start, eventually, that she was underwater again. The vision of Bridget's funeral disappeared, and she could no longer breath in the muddy pond. Jean began to swim upward, but that soon failed as she realized she was stuck in the muddiness of the pond.
She struggled wildly to break free, but nothing helped. Great, she thought almost comically, I escape death by tornado only to drown! I don't even know where I'm drowning!
Just as all hope began to fade, she felt a hand grip her shoulder, and she was pulled from the water. Jean began to slip in and out of consciousness, until the last that she saw was a blurry shape of a face.
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"We've only found seven bodies so far, all dead," the investigator said. "On the other hand, we've only found one survivor, a girl named Leslie Mains, who is in critical condition. Apparently she was in such a position that a wall fell nearly on top of her, but instead acted as a shield against the storm."
The reporter looked shocked, and said, "Do you think we could get some footage of this young woman?"
"Maybe, but we just got her out of the rubble an hour ago. I think you should wait," The investigator advised. "She is, in fact, the only survivor so far. They're having a funeral for one of the girls tomorrow, and Leslie might be there. You can see her there." Later on her mumbled to himself, Leslie's family is going to sue me for telling that ugly reporter that she's going to be at that poor girl's funeral. * sigh *
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Jean woke up, and found that she was not alone. There was a man sitting next to her. He did not notice that she was awake, so she spoke. "Who are you?"
"I am named Gelmir," He said, and stood and bowed. Gelmir? Jean thought. Who the heck would hate their son so much to call him that?
"Um, I'm Jean," She said. Jean looked around for a moment before Gelmir spoke again. She was out of the pond, right next to it still. She had no idea how she had gotten out of that forsaken large puddle.
"No, you are not," Gelmir said, and laughed.
"Um, yes I am. My parents named me that," Jean said. She was confused.
"I thought you would not remember. Your name is Alateriel Oronra. And you are my daughter," Gelmir said, smiling at her confused look.
"My father is dead, and you are not my mom," Jean said. Alateriel? What? She thought. Is this guy nuts?
"Those were merely pawns, merely fosters," Gelmir, not making Jean any less confused.
Jean just sat there, thinking that this guy fell off of his rocker. Geez, this guy sounded more nuts than the Go Yaffa! Commercials woman. * In case you don't know what the Go Yaffa woman is, she sells a stupid product and says Go Yaffa like a drunk chimpanzee *
"How could they be my foster parents?" Jean asked. "We have birth records! I had to do a DNA test once at an airport, and we have matching DNA!" Gelmir obviously did not know what the heck DNA was, but he basically understood what she meant.
"Calm, and I shall tell you what you must need to know," Gelmir said. He took a deep breath, and Jean looked at him. Jean didn't look anything like Gelmir. He had long, blonde hair and deep blue eyes. There were no blemishes on his skin.
"Years ago, to this day, we, our people," He said, "Were raided by orcs. ---Jean found orcs familiar but could not recall it at the moment---- as we left battle. Our arrows were spent, our swords lost, so we had no chance. All would die. I escaped into the trees, desperately trying to save Nevhen. Your mother. I will not tell you the rest, unless you desire me to."
"What else am I going to do today?" Jean asked, wondering if she should start calling herself Alateriel. Gelmir steadied himself, and brushed his hair behind his ear. Then Jean noticed that his ears were not normal, but pointed.
"Yah!" She said. And Gelmir looked confused. "Y-Y-your ears! They're pointy!"
"Yes, that is normal for me. Not for a man. For I am an elf. And if you will listen to the rest of my story you will learn that you are an elf too, though you do not look one. Yet," Gelmir said.
"Go on, then," Jean said, and did not ask why this guy just called her an elf.
"When I failed to say Nevhen, who had you in her arms, the orcs took her and you prisoner. They were to take the prisoners to Southern Mirkwood, and "interrogate" them," he said, remembering the painful memories. "I followed, not daring to risk myself, for I believed that I could still rescue you."
When the orcs reached their destination, they bound the prisoners, and put each in line. They were going to turn you, after a painful questionnaire, into orcs. Because, that is what orcs are, mutilated elves, tortured so much that they come to look like goblins. I snuck in, and just before Nevhen and you were to be taken, she preformed the Tatya (English: Restart) ritual, which sent you into the future, reborn into a new body, to return once you came of the appropriate age. Few elves perform this ceremony, because usually once the elf comes back, he or she does not remember who he or she used to be, and does not look it either."
"What happened to Nevhen?" Jean asked, not thinking about anything else he had said.
"She is dead. She died an orc, killed by the elven arrows of Northern Mirkwood," He replied grimly, as if proving he could control his tears.
"Did you get revenge on whoever shot the arrow?" She asked.
"No. I shot the arrow, and I sent her to peace," Gelmir said.
"Now wait a sec. Did you say orcs?" Jean asked, remembering suddenly.
"Yes," He said.
"Did you say Mirkwood?" Jean asked.
"Yes," Gelmir said, confused.
"Are you--- are you telling me that we're in Mid---Middle Earth," Jean said, hoping the answer was no.
"Yes," Gelmir said. He stood, and pulled her up with him.
"Wait, that can't be true. It's just a book!" Jean said.
"What's just a book?" Gelmir asked.
"The Lord of the Rings! Frodo isn't real! Mirkwood isn't real! You aren't real! This can't be real!" Jean yelped.
"Why can this not be real? Are you not standing here with me? If this were some sort of dream world, would you have not woken up by now?" Gelmir said.
"No, you don't understand! The Lord of the Rings is a BOOK! A BOOK! Some book written by an old guy who's dead now! (Author's note: No offense against the genius who is J.R.R. Tolkien * bows * ) " Jean yelled.
Gelmir did not answer, for he did not know what she was talking about. Was it some part of the ritual? He did not know. Gelmir picked up Jean's glasses, which he had found at the bottom of the pond. "These are yours, but I do not know their use."
"They're glasses, I use them to see," Jean said, but even as she put them on she realized she didn't need them. "Huh?" She set her glasses down.
"You are already changing, Alateriel. You shall be elven soon enough. Your face is clearing of the odd pocks, and your hair is growing," Gelmir said, and waved his hand toward the pond.
Jean scrambled to the edge, and looked at her reflection. Her face was the same, but her hair was longer, and blonder. All of her acne was disappearing. And the thing she noticed the most was the glow starting to grow inside of her, like an unseen light. She looked at her ears. They were pointy. She still looked relatively the same, however.
"What's going on?" Jean asked slowly.
Gelmir merely cocked his head and glared at the setting sun. "We must go back to the castle." He took Jean's hand and led her to the edge of the pond, and from there she saw a cave, surrounded by dark trees. She asked no more questions that were left unanswered until the reached the cave.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~**~~*
More soon! This is 5 ΒΌ pages long, so be happy! It took me forever to write, * Actually I did it on and off over a period of 6 months *
PLEASE REVIEW!