Disclaimer: See previous chapters.
Gollum's Story
Chapter Three: The hamlet is left behind
I woke up the next morning and went about life as usual. Mama made me wash up, and we ate breakfast. Papa tilled the farm and fished for our dinner. I was in "mourning," so I couldn't do anything fun. All I can do is sit and think about Deagol until his memorial, a good three days away.
Maris, Deagol's younger sister, came over and sat next to me as I "mourned" for my friend. Her green-blue eyes were teary, and it looked as though she hadn't done her hair for a few days. "Smeagol," she said, "I don't blame you, but I do not believe that you told the entire truth. Where did you find that ring?"
"It's MINE!" I snarled, "you shall not have it!"
"Smeagol, what's come over you?" she questioned.
"Nothing, nothing my love," I replied, and stalked off into the small woods behind my house. I placed the ring on my finger, and the world changed. The sun wasn't so bright, and the dark wasn't so dark. It all appeared to blend into one, not darkness, no, but not light either. I came out of the trees, and walked up to Maris. I blew lightly on the back of her neck. When she turned around, she didn't say anything to me. "Must've been my imagination," she muttered.
After Deagol's memorial, life got back to normal. Almost normal, anyway. I found I could hear secrets, like Mr. Bucklebury's affair with an outlander. I also knew how to exploit these people, and made myself quite a sum. That was three years before Grandmother found out my secret.
*~*~*~*
"Smeagol," my grandmother called.
"Oh dear," I thought, "I'm in for it now." Grandmother was probably the oldest woman in our community, and thus, she was our leader. She was a very intimidating old lady, her long, white hair pulled into a bun on top of her head and her knowledgeable eyes questioning your every thought. She frightened me because she held the power to throw me out. Even though I detested the people around me, I had no desire to become a wanderer.
"I'm coming!" I hollered across the room. I ran up to her chair and sat before her.
"Smeagol," she said, "I fear you are not doing your best to help our village. In fact, I believe you are trying to tear it apart."
"No, ma'am," I interrupted.
"You will not speak until I tell you it is the time for it!" she yelled, and smacked the top of my hand. "I do not want to hear of any more blackmail from you. You are on probation. In three months, your sentence will be lifted. In that time, if I find that you have done anything against our rules and regulations, you will find yourself in exile."
I didn't change my ways and the others complained continuously. They called me "Gollum" because of the retching sound I made after I ate. Their food became hateful to me, a mark of the happy life I had once led. I ate fish raw simply to spite them. The voice became present more and more often, and I felt it easier to do what it told me. In that way I became a wretched creature. I endured; I didn't live. Two and a half months into my "probation," my Grandmother found enough cause to kick me out. "We don't need them, no my love," whispered the voice. "We can survive on our own. We only need the precious." I felt different. I yelled curses, curses to kill everything in the town.
*~*~*~*
Many years later, when I returned, I found that my curses had done their jobs. The town lay in ruin, burnt to the ground, white skeletons forming eerie patterns on the blackened ground. I crushed every skull beneath my foot so the dead could not rest in peace.
*~*~*~*
I traveled long distances for years, wandering and feasting on whatever strayed into my path. By that time, I had outlived the life expectancy of my people, and grew thin, gaunt, and ghost-like. More and more I lived in the shadows of the ring. The sun became hateful to me, and I would travel during the night and through dense forest to avoid her light. Eventually, even the moon's pale gleam hurt my eyes. That was when I knew I needed to find somewhere else. Somewhere to endure for the rest of my miserable, pathetic life. I crept out of the forest I had spent the last five years of my life in, and traveled until I found a river. "Rivers lead us to dark, to mountains," the voice said. I knew that only in the hearts of mountains would there be complete dark; there would be no light to hurt my tender eyes. "And in darkness, there must be dark secrets," I thought. Secrets, not rumors of secrets, but True Secrets. My heart beat wildly with this thought. "I must find these secrets," I said to myself, "I must find this place of entire dark."
I followed the river, living off its supply of fish, until I came to where I knew the entrance to the heart of the mountain must be. I shook my fist at the waxing moon, because his light could no longer be a threat to my eyes. I turned and entered the gloom that would be my "home" for the next four hundred years.
A/N: Do any of you need a beta? I'm interested in becoming one. If you are interested, e-mail me with "beta" in the subject line.
Gollum's Story
Chapter Three: The hamlet is left behind
I woke up the next morning and went about life as usual. Mama made me wash up, and we ate breakfast. Papa tilled the farm and fished for our dinner. I was in "mourning," so I couldn't do anything fun. All I can do is sit and think about Deagol until his memorial, a good three days away.
Maris, Deagol's younger sister, came over and sat next to me as I "mourned" for my friend. Her green-blue eyes were teary, and it looked as though she hadn't done her hair for a few days. "Smeagol," she said, "I don't blame you, but I do not believe that you told the entire truth. Where did you find that ring?"
"It's MINE!" I snarled, "you shall not have it!"
"Smeagol, what's come over you?" she questioned.
"Nothing, nothing my love," I replied, and stalked off into the small woods behind my house. I placed the ring on my finger, and the world changed. The sun wasn't so bright, and the dark wasn't so dark. It all appeared to blend into one, not darkness, no, but not light either. I came out of the trees, and walked up to Maris. I blew lightly on the back of her neck. When she turned around, she didn't say anything to me. "Must've been my imagination," she muttered.
After Deagol's memorial, life got back to normal. Almost normal, anyway. I found I could hear secrets, like Mr. Bucklebury's affair with an outlander. I also knew how to exploit these people, and made myself quite a sum. That was three years before Grandmother found out my secret.
*~*~*~*
"Smeagol," my grandmother called.
"Oh dear," I thought, "I'm in for it now." Grandmother was probably the oldest woman in our community, and thus, she was our leader. She was a very intimidating old lady, her long, white hair pulled into a bun on top of her head and her knowledgeable eyes questioning your every thought. She frightened me because she held the power to throw me out. Even though I detested the people around me, I had no desire to become a wanderer.
"I'm coming!" I hollered across the room. I ran up to her chair and sat before her.
"Smeagol," she said, "I fear you are not doing your best to help our village. In fact, I believe you are trying to tear it apart."
"No, ma'am," I interrupted.
"You will not speak until I tell you it is the time for it!" she yelled, and smacked the top of my hand. "I do not want to hear of any more blackmail from you. You are on probation. In three months, your sentence will be lifted. In that time, if I find that you have done anything against our rules and regulations, you will find yourself in exile."
I didn't change my ways and the others complained continuously. They called me "Gollum" because of the retching sound I made after I ate. Their food became hateful to me, a mark of the happy life I had once led. I ate fish raw simply to spite them. The voice became present more and more often, and I felt it easier to do what it told me. In that way I became a wretched creature. I endured; I didn't live. Two and a half months into my "probation," my Grandmother found enough cause to kick me out. "We don't need them, no my love," whispered the voice. "We can survive on our own. We only need the precious." I felt different. I yelled curses, curses to kill everything in the town.
*~*~*~*
Many years later, when I returned, I found that my curses had done their jobs. The town lay in ruin, burnt to the ground, white skeletons forming eerie patterns on the blackened ground. I crushed every skull beneath my foot so the dead could not rest in peace.
*~*~*~*
I traveled long distances for years, wandering and feasting on whatever strayed into my path. By that time, I had outlived the life expectancy of my people, and grew thin, gaunt, and ghost-like. More and more I lived in the shadows of the ring. The sun became hateful to me, and I would travel during the night and through dense forest to avoid her light. Eventually, even the moon's pale gleam hurt my eyes. That was when I knew I needed to find somewhere else. Somewhere to endure for the rest of my miserable, pathetic life. I crept out of the forest I had spent the last five years of my life in, and traveled until I found a river. "Rivers lead us to dark, to mountains," the voice said. I knew that only in the hearts of mountains would there be complete dark; there would be no light to hurt my tender eyes. "And in darkness, there must be dark secrets," I thought. Secrets, not rumors of secrets, but True Secrets. My heart beat wildly with this thought. "I must find these secrets," I said to myself, "I must find this place of entire dark."
I followed the river, living off its supply of fish, until I came to where I knew the entrance to the heart of the mountain must be. I shook my fist at the waxing moon, because his light could no longer be a threat to my eyes. I turned and entered the gloom that would be my "home" for the next four hundred years.
A/N: Do any of you need a beta? I'm interested in becoming one. If you are interested, e-mail me with "beta" in the subject line.
