Disclaimer: I do not own any of Tolkien's brilliant world.

Author: born to be hanged a.k.a. Meltintalle

Title: The Key

Rating: PG-13 (for adult themes and language) (R chapter is possible with a warning)

Genre(s): Action/Adventure/Humor/Romance (romance is minor)

Compact Summary: The fourth theme of the Ainulindalë presented the creation of portals leading to different dimensions, opened by permission of Eru and the Ainur with the use of a silver key. The temporary holder of the key passed it to his daughter before he died. Sauron's possession of the key would provide endless allies, a safe haven, and supplies. Full summary inside. R&R!

Author's Note: For those faint at heart, there is strong language in this story. I myself am not fond of allowing characters to swear very much, mostly because this portrays that the author is unsophisticated and young enough to believe that swearing will make him or her appear older. But there was no way to substitute it without botching the proper portrayal of the main character. The only thing I can say is that I will not have her swear for no reason, there will always be a reason behind the language. This is my warning.

I couldn't get an asterisk to work for the author's notes at the end of the chapters. So if you're confused about something, i'll probably be down there, just not marked.

italicized text indicates a character's thoughts

A special note of thanks to my beta, Satori (Satori Blackthorn)

Chapter One

The Assignment

"Tarea (homework)," Miss Corales stated primly, gently wavering her hand. I watched as the papers flopped around, her thumb creating a dent on top of it. I slumped back into my seat, languidly putting my boots up on the chair ahead of me. I watched as the girl in front of me, her back straight as a board, fidgeted in her seat a bit. I tilted my head back slightly, raising my eyebrows and waiting for her glare. I didn't move my feet.

"Sí , sí , yo sé (Yes, yes I know)," she continued, drawing my attention back to her neatly dressed figure. "Wa, wa, wa. ¡ Pero se divertirán con esta tarea! Ustedes harán un árbol genealógico. Ahora, quiero, hmmm…. Permítenme ver…. Okay, va tan lejos como posible con las generaciónes de sus familias. Y en Español, por favor. Y ahora, chicos, yo hablaré en inglés. (But you will have fun with this homework! You all will make a family tree. Now, I want, hmm…. Let me see…. Okay, go as far as possible with your family's generations. And in Spanish, please. And now, children, I will speak in English.) Tomorrow we shall be learning about how people in Spanish speaking countries name themselves."

I rolled my eyes to stare at to my right, easily annoyed by her slightly overly jovial attitude. But I knew I had more important matters to attend to. If I was correct in my very incorrect grammar and understanding of the Spanish language, Miss Corales had just told us to make a family tree. Houston, we have a problem.

The bell rang, the sound making me jump slightly. Sharp sounds had always made me jerk. "Due tomorrow! Don't forget!" she said over the clatter of people cleaning up and rushing out of the classroom. The girl behind me stood quickly, and turned around rapidly, looking very stiff. Her chin was up, and she was looking down at me, her books set neatly in her arms.

"Do you always have to put your feet on my chair?" she asked icily, the edge to her voice fitting nicely with her stiff poise. I sighed, knowing I looked as though I could care less.

"Yeah," I said lazily, keeping my boots on the now empty chair. I raised my eyebrows up at her, slumping myself a bit more in my own chair before deciding to stand before her. I stood at least two inches taller than she, and though I was thinner in frame, I felt as though I were towering over her. "Do you have a problem with that?" I knew she was too prim and proper to full out pick a fight with me, and I let myself have the satisfaction of watching her self-doubt express itself on her face.

She didn't answer right away. Instead, her eyes sweapt over me, regarding my pants at last. She looked up, and I suddenly knew that she was going to made a snide comment about something.

"You wore those pants yesterday," she said, lifting her chin and hugging a book to her chest.

"Yeah," I agreed, "and the day before, too." I challenged her with a glare. Go on. Say something snotty so I can have an excuse to introduce you to Mr. Fist. I raised my eyebrows again, waiting patiently for her to speak again. But it seemed that she was having trouble. What's a matter? Cat got your tongue? I wanted so badly to say it, but she spoke before I could open my mouth. Maybe that was better; I often had trouble restraining myself. I had the unfortunate habit of looking for fights.

"Never mind," she muttered, and her head bent as she picked up her folder from the desk. Calm and collected though she seemed, I knew she was very annoyed. With a flick of her beautiful, silky hair and a look of contempt aimed towards me, she turned around and walked to the door with small, dainty steps. I could tell she was dying to get one last word in, so I waited patiently until she twirled around for the last time. "Good luck finding information on your family," she jeered, no doubt hoping that her subtle hint had cut me.

I glared as she walked out of the room, then angrily picked my old book bag off of the floor with a violent jerk. Oh, you did not just say that, you prissy little bitch! But she had. And she had reminded me of my inevitable dilemma. One of the main reasons why I strongly disliked school with a passion were the worthless assignments that some teachers thought were still necessary at my age. I'm a senior in high school, and they still make us do family trees. Good grief. Stupid though these assignments were, their stupidity was not the main reason for my hatred of them.

I looked up and took a deep breath to calm myself, lifting my chin. I strutted over to my Spanish teacher's desk, hoping I looked confident when in reality I was nervous. "Hey, Miss Corales-"

"¿Cómo? (What?)" she interrupted, her tone a bit exasperated. I sighed. She almost never allowed students to speak to her in English, because she wanted us to "learn to speak Spanish fluently." Though I had been in the class for over a month, I hadn't quite mastered the concept.

"Uh," I began, racking my brain for the right words. I almost always used incorrect grammar. Hence, one reason why I was definitely not one of her favorite students. "Señorita Corales, tengo una problema con… uh, el tarea. (Miss Corales, I have a problem with… uh, the homework.)" I could see the muscles in her brow tighten as she listened to my poor accent.

"No, Lalaine, it's un problema, not una. That's an irregular noun.And tarea is feminine, so I believe the article in front of it should be la, not el. Say it again, correctly, por favor (please)," she commanded, without giving me so much of a glance as she continued to organize her bag.

I sighed irritably, already knowing that telling her about my problema was not going to be pleasant. "Tengo un problema con el- I mean, la tarea (I have a problem with the homework)," I repeated, a bit peeved that I'd forgotten the feminine article yet again. And right after she reminded you. Idiot.

She sighed, switching back to English for my sake. Or maybe she thought me incapable of understanding something, and whatever she had to say was important. "No, Lalaine, I really don't want to hear it this time." She pulled out a black notebook. The grade book. She opened it to a page towards the back. Written in bold letters at the top of the page was Period 9. "Look, this is your grade." Her finger moved down to my name.

I grimaced, strongly suspecting that I was failing. I took a glance at the number. "A 49 percent? Wait, I thought it was at least in the 50's," I joked, trying to lighten the mood. Miss Corales looked at me scornfully, her mouth set in a thin, white line. My lame jokes weren't usually considered funny; I wasn't surprised at her reaction.

"This is no laughing matter, Miss Veralidaine. You are failing this class, so if I am not mistaken, you absolutely need these points, small though they may be. Now I realize that Spanish will not make or break your possibility of graduating this year. But I have a strong hunch that this isn't the only class you're failing. And I suspect you would not want to miss graduation for the second time."

"What the hell?" I asked angrily. Shit. Ach, why can't you just shut up? Must you always swear at the teachers? For the love of Pete…. I felt my cheeks redden, and my teacher's face reddened also. But I knew that she wasn't embarrassed at all; she was very angry. Even though I was really the one who had the right to be angry. I hadn't been held back at all. My teachers always took one look at my age and thought just that. I had just started school somewhat late. My parents obviously hadn't made any attempt to get me into a school at the proper age, so I was a year behind everyone else.

"Have you no respect?" she asked in a low voice, bringing me out of my thoughts. "If I didn't feel as sorry for you as I do, I would be sending you right to the principal's office at this very minute, young lady." She stood from her chair, gathering her grade book and some manila folders into her arms. "Do the assignment."

I felt my blood boil, and my face became warmer. "I don't want your pity," I muttered angrily, unable to stop myself. Shit, you did it again. Shut your mouth! I looked at my teacher. Her lips were very white. She gave a very controlled sigh.

"Lalaine," she managed, "this isn't hard. Just go and get some information from your parents." She turned to go, fumbling to grasp her keys. "And I'll pretend I didn't hear that last statement. Please step outside the door. I have an appointment in ten minutes."

I put my hands on her desk, not allowing her to rush me out of the room. "But that's the problem," I hissed. "I don't have a family to ask about."

She looked at me hard, and I could have sworn her right eye was twitching. "I am not very a very happy camper right now, young lady," she said, her voice raising. "Everyone has a family. Just… go and look up your last name on the internet. If you were smart, you wouldn't have told me all of this; you would have just written down names and lied. Now out."

I felt my hands cramp into fists, even though I was surprised at her last statement (had she just hinted about- gasp- lying?). And I knew that with this assignment there would be no exceptions, just like all of the others. I wanted so badly to scream in frustration, but I knew this was not the time or place. I didn't know what to do. I just stood there, leaning on her desk, staring back at her annoyed expression.

She raised her eyebrows at me, signaling for me to leave the room. I glared at her, and opened my mouth to say something. But she cut me off. "You know what? I don't know what your problem is, but you had better fix it soon. You have way too many meetings with the principal, you never do your work, and you're always in detention. Well, that is, when you actually show up for detention. My point is, you're in bad shape, missy. I don't want to hear a word tomorrow about your not having this very easy assignment or I'll be having an appointment with your ."

I scowled, but restrained myself from retorting. The sooner you shut up, the sooner she'll shut up. So shut up. And why the hell is she bringing my mom into this? She wouldn't care if I ran in front of a moving truck until the bills stopped coming in. My mood lightened at this, though I wasn't sure why I thought it was so funny. I sighed, realizing that she wasn't going to make any exceptions. She wavered her hand, my signal to get out.

I stalked out of the room, my arms crossed over my chest, and I headed for my locker, where I dumped most of my school things. A small voice in my head reminded me that I had been assigned a lot of homework. I ignored it of course, knowing very well that my bringing home any books would be a waste of energy. I knew what I would do. I would dump the books on the nearest clear spot of floor, and forget about them completely. It wasn't that I was not intelligent; no, I could do the work. I could probably have straight A's. If I wanted to. But I was very lazy when it came to schoolwork. I didn't like homework, so I didn't do it. My biological parents were not in the picture; in fact, I didn't remember them ever being in the picture. And I wasn't nagged to do homework every night, on account of the fact that Darleen, my foster mother, was a drunkard and rather liked to spend her time with various other drugs.

The halls were mostly empty by now. It was a Friday afternoon, the sun was hiding behind clouds. But the warmth of the rays were able to escape down to touch the earth, and I felt my mood lift just a bit. I quickly found my very old truck parked out on the other side of the parking lot. I grinned as I advanced towards it. It had been a very nice surprise to be able to afford the truck, a wreck though it was. The tires needed to be replaced badly, the windshield was cracked on the passenger side, and there was a missing window, but I was still proud that I had been able to earn the money to buy it. Of course, I had gotten a good deal on it, because I was the janitor in the auto shop.

I opened the door without unlocking it, because the lock was broken too, and jumped in. I started the engine, and rolled out of the parking lot, wishing I had been able buy a radio to plug in. I headed off towards the public library, vaguely wondering what I would do after I tried looking up my name on the internet.

I didn't really have any friends, unless you could count that autistic guy I had helped a while back. But he had forgotten my name and eventually stopped waving to me in the halls. I had never really been one to make friends. I admit, I was not a warm and fuzzy person. I probably wasn't the first person on The Friendly People List. I was a bit of a loner, a bit strange to other people. But I didn't really blame their ignorance, because most of the time I brought it upon myself. Most kids either thought I was a loser or were afraid of me. I was always the kid sitting alone off to the side with the old, beat-up clothes. But I doubted it was my looks, because there were people in my school who looked much scarier than me.

I was a troublemaker. There was no way to walk around it. I had a bad reputation of picking fights with kids who made fun of me, my appearance, my abilities. I was different. I just didn't have the things that they had. I didn't have the beautiful clothes, the portable CD players, the movies, the friends.

But I was independent, and I was very proud of myself for that. While other kids were off watching the latest movies, or buying the latest style in clothes, I was a the auto shop, working. In a way, I felt as if I was more responsible than they were. And I was preparing myself for the real world better than they were. I wasn't being foolish for once. But this one accomplishment was also the cause for my loneliness. My being a loner was not the only reason I had no friends. I never had time to meet people and be with them. All of my time was consumed with working. Because if I didn't work, I wouldn't survive.

Believe it or not, because I know this will be hard to believe, I was the worker in the family. Pretty sad, isn't it? Everyday after school and on Saturdays, I worked at an auto repair shop, cleaning the surface of the cars, greasing wires, and occasionally actually repairing the cars if they were short on workers. Most of the time I was able to keep my pay checks away from Darleen. But sometimes I would open my new hiding place and find some of the money gone. I didn't love her, but I wanted her to be healthy. Often I would try to take away the drugs and the booze, but I never succeeded. I wondered where she was now. Probably at some bar. Or maybe in someone's bed. I wrinkled my nose.

She hadn't always been that way. When I was adopted, she was as loving as any woman. She bought me things, fed me ice cream before dinner, that sort of thing. But she began to fall into depression; she introduced herself to some new friends and the booze.

She was my adoptive . I cared for her. I did not love her.

My thoughts were broken by the sound of a police siren. I flinched, the sounds very sharp sounding to my ears. Ha, poor jerk. Whoever it is. Whatever, I'm just glad it's not me. But the sirens didn't stop for a long time, and when I looked into my rearview window, I saw a white police car in back of me.

Fudge. Yeah, poor jerk. I'm the poor joke- I mean, jerk. I almost slammed on the breaks, but remembered that there was a police car in back of me. I slowed down, realizing that I had been riding pretty fast. I turned the engine off when I parked on the side of the road. This is the very last thing I need. Another ticket, so I can pay the state more money, I thought, sighing distractedly. I waited for officer to come to my window.

A moment later, a slightly bulky man stopped in front of my window. "And may I ask why you didn't pull over, young lady?" he asked in a thick New York accent. He held a notepad in his left hand and pencil in his right.

I thought about telling the truth for once, but I figured that my telling him I hadn't been paying attention would not look good on my already lousy record. "I thought you were signaling to the car right beside me, officer," I said, trying very hard to sound polite. But my voice did not have a naturally polite sound to it, and the statement came out sounding rather cheesy. Really, Lalaine, you're usually so good at lying. What's going on here?

"Uh huh," he said absent-mindedly, scribbling in the notebook. His voice sounded unconvincing, and I doubted he believed me. He looked up at me finally, and I saw that he looked uninterested and tired. "Look, kid, I'm gonna have to write you up for speeding. Or is your speedometer broken, too?" He hid it well, but I detected the sarcasm in his voice. I frowned, realizing he had been making fun of the condition of my vehicle.

Well, if that wasn't rude. And they say teenagers are rude. Jeez. Well, buddy, you want to play this little game? We can play. I'll enjoy watching you lose. I smirked. "Of course not, officer," I drawled overconfidently. "I like to collect tickets. Sometimes it's for speeding, sometimes its for- Why, officer, what's the matter?" I asked in a very fake voice. "Is something wrong? You look upset."

His face was very red, and I almost laughed because his eyes were popping. But I kept my face straight, and raised my eyebrows, waiting for a response. Well, obviously he doesn't have my sense of humor. But that was alright. Not many people did. I continued to watch as he looked at me in outrage.

"Would you like to repeat that comment to the chief officer? Let me see your license," he demanded. He waited, looking at me through the glass-lacking window.

"Sure thing, officer," I said in a fake, Barbie-like voice. I turned around slowly, trying to draw out as much time as possible. I looked up at the officer; I could hear him tapping his foot. "You'll just have to wait one moment, good sir," I drawled, "it's in my back pack." I turned around, grinning like a fool. I unzipped my book bag so slowly that I couldn't even hear it being unzipped. Then I proceeded to pretend to look for my license, occasionally muttering in a high-pitched voice, "Now, where is that?"

When I was sure that the officer would snap at any moment, I slowly brought out the card and slowly handed to him. As soon as my hand was near the window, the officer snatched it impatiently out of my hand. He looked at it closely, no doubt trying to find something to comment on. Obviously finding nothing wrong with it, he thrust it back through the window into my hand. He started writing in that stupid little pink pad again.

"Ok, Lalaine, here's your ticket for speeding." He thrust it through the window, and I lazily flipped it out of my hand and into the back seat. He put the pencil to the pad in his hand, and began to write. "Also. Failed to use turn signal when merging off of the roadway-"

Shit. I always forget that.

"- is not wearing a seatbelt-"

Fudge. Dude, I don't even have a seatbelt.

"- changing lanes without turn signal again-"

Hey! I thought I did that! Damn it.

"- and if I catch you speeding again, I'll have to suspend your license. You already have plenty of points. Just one more and your license is gone." He looked at me sternly for a few moments, and I had to work very hard not to laugh, though I wasn't sure why. All of those factors would not look good on my already horrible record. With much reluctance, he walked away. I waited until his car was far from me.

My game had been fun in the heat of the moment, but now I was regretting my actions. I really did not have such a good record, and this only made it worse. I sat in my battered truck, just thinking about everything and nothing. I didn't feel like going to the library anymore. I had tried to look up my name before, and I knew that looking it up again would be pointless. I hung my head, bringing my hands up to rub at my temples.

Eventually, I started the engine up again, deciding to head for my home instead. Only ten minutes later, I was slowly coasting down a small, run down street lined with old apartment buildings. I parked my vehicle in my assigned parking space, then jumped out, grabbing my things. I proceeded to travel up the stairs; there was no elevator. I fumbled with my keys, trying to catch hold of the right one with only one hand, the other occupied with holding my bag. I panted as I climbed to greater heights, holding tightly onto the creaking railing, telling myself not to look in back of me for the millionth time, cursing myself for not being able to afford one at a lower level.

The lock of my apartment's door clicked as it was released and I thrust the door open, the chipped paint on the outside sprinkling down into my slightly dirty hair. I closed the door quietly, and locked it, looking down the hall. The three doors at the end of the tiny hall were all closed. I walked sluggishly down to the end of the hall, which was very short, only a few feet. I opened the door on the right, and walked into my mother's and my room. There was only one bed, then off to the right was a small cot. I walked over to my cot, sitting down for moment and dumping my stuff on the floor.

But I knew that I would eventually have to check about the heating and lighting. And I would have to find out if Darleen was home. I closed the door after I was out in the little hall, opening the middle door. Darleen was not in the bathroom. I closed that door, then opened the door on the left, the dingy room coming into view. My eyes scanned over the small kitchen area, large enough to fit only two people if they were thin enough.

Connecting to the kitchen area was a living room. There was one very small couch, the fabric torn and frayed. I had found it in someone's garbage, along with the little armchair across from it against the wall. There was a small coffee table in the center of the two only pieces of furniture, the place were both Darleen and I ate ourmeals. My boots thudded on the hard floor as I walked across the small room, the sounds echoing slightly through the room, making it seem very empty and lonely.

I sat myself in the armchair, feeling the springs dig into my army pants, the only pants I could afford. I almost screamed when I heard someone moan from the couch. I clutched my heart, breathing heavily. But I realized that it was only Darleen, an empty beer bottle in her hand. I leapt up and stalked towards her form. Her eyes were closed. If I was careful, I would be able to take away the beer bottle without her knowing. My hand closed upon the bottle, and I gently tried to pry it from her loose fingers.

"Ah, NO!" Darleen's slurred voice echoed through the whole apartment, and I knew I would get another call from the landlady about noise coming from this room. Her fingers tightened on the glass.

Shit. "Oh, you're awake," I said quickly. She slowly sat up, looking up with her eyes, but her head did not move. The red circles around her eyes told me that she was either drunk or almost drunk. Her hair was rumpled, and she had bright red lipstick on, but it was smeared all over her face. Her clothes were stained, and she smelled strongly of tobacco and bear mixed with very cheap, pungent perfume.

"Of course I'm away," she slurred, a hiccup escaping her mouth. She raised her hand and grabbed my shirt, bringing me down to her face, then tangled her dirty fingers in my long, blonde hair. I almost choked on the stench. "What you doin', you little fucker?" Her face was twisted, and her eyes were unfocused, as if she were trying to decipher whether I was really there or not.

I pulled away, trying very hard not glower. She's drunk. Just ignore it. She doesn't know what she's saying. My reassurances were familiar. I told myself this every time she was drunk. "Come on, Darleen, give me the bottle." I moved to slip my fingers around the vessel for a second time.

A powerful stinging sensation came upon my cheek, and I felt my skin burn and tingle. I turned my head when her hand struck me, knowing that doing so would create a less painful contact. But I was not prepared for the glass to bump against my forehead. I stumbled backwards, clutching my cheek and trying to ignore my throbbing head. She's just drunk, I reminded myself, wincing. She doesn't mean it.

"Don't tell me what to do, you little shit!" she screeched, her voice cracking. I ignored the vulgar language, debating on whether I should try again or get out of the apartment until she was sober. Just one more try, then I'll give up, I decided, hardening my thoughts and tensing my body.

"Hey Darleen, how about if I get you some water? Come on, give the bottle to me." She swung her arm around when I reached for the bottle again. I felt a dull pain in my shoulder, and I pulled back. I ran around the couch, trying to dodge the flying glass, but I heard a muffled thud as it made contact with my side. Without another glance behind me, I left the room. I grabbed my backpack from the bedroom, then headed towards the door. I locked the door behind me, then ran down the stairs, my destination the truck.

I sat myself into the seat, my book bag pressed between my back and the seat, and angrily turned the engine on, knowing that I was to have a couple of fresh bruises in a few hours. I sped out of the parking lot, not really caring if I was caught again. I wanted to get away from the apartment so badly, I wanted to get away from her, I wanted to get away from reality. I jerked the wheel and turned sharply into a road that was blocked off by a bar. Beyond the bar was a thick forest, no doubt filling the large space between this lowly town and the beautiful sea.

I jammed on the breaks violently, and they protested loudly. I pushed against the wheel to keep myself from sliding too far forward as the car slid to an abrupt stop. I jerked open the door, climbed out, then slammed it shut again. Ignoring the signs that told civilians to keep out, I raced past the metal bar and took refuge inside the safety and security of the forest.

I took no trail, but my anger blinded all other emotions, such as caution and fear. I ran for about five minutes, but eventually I felt my energy waning, and I yielded, clutching my side, my breathing erratic and my body perspiring. I leaned against the rough bark of a tree, running my fingers over the skin of my stricken cheek. It felt numb. I wondered if it was red, and if it would bruise.

I hung my head, feeling defeated, though I wasn't sure what had defeated me. You wouldn't feel defeated if you didn't let yourself. I lifted my head, not allowing myself to sink into depression for once. I felt a slight uplifting feeling come upon me. I was alone at last, really alone. There was a difference between being alone amongst others and being truly alone. But as much as I relished in the fact that I was alone, I wished more than anything that I could talk to someone.

You could talk to yourself, a voice inside of me suggested. I grinned. Why not? No one was here to ridicule me, it wouldn't hurt.

"Yeah, you're right," I said. I wondered what I should say next. But I felt very foolish just talking to myself, so I remained silent for the time being. I guess I should get back home or something, I thought reluctantly. I turned around, but hesitated for a moment or two. I could still see the main road from this point. I looked up at the green canopy above me, very glad that it was warm out. I turned away from the direction of civilization. A beautiful day should never be wasted.

I started walking in the other direction, trying not to tear my clothes on the various bushes, scrubs, and burrs that lay in my non-existent path. I made a lot of noise, unintentionally, of course. Twigs gave way under my weight and I brushed leaves and branches out of my way ungracefully. Every once and a while, I took my pocket knife and scratched a mark on the bark of a random tree to mark my path so I would have no problem finding my way back.

I felt my left foot get caught under an unyielding something, and a moment of panic rose within me, my pulse speeding up, as I lost my balance for a moment or two. My hand immediately came up to grasp the small, silver charm that hung around my neck. I regained my balance, then opened my palm and looked at the little key that lay in my hand.

I smiled as I ran my fingers over the little trinket, feeling very soft and childish from contact with something that my father had once held, a contrast from my harsh exterior. "My Ada," I corrected myself, it felt that good to say the phrase aloud. I had just recently been trying to break myself of the habit of forgetting to call him Ada. I had no idea why I remembered it so vividly, but it was a word that immediately connected me to very fond thoughts, even if they were only short flashes.

I suddenly laughed. Am I that hopeless? Good God, I'm talking to myself. That's a bit strange. Well, besides the fact that I'm not normal, even that's freaky for me. I sighed contently, wishing that I had someone to share the beauty of the trees with me. It wasn't the first, or the second, or even the hundredth time.

I shielded my eyes as a sudden flash of bright lights obstructed my vision. For no apparent reason, I felt as if the ground were tipping, and I fell to the ground, feeling dizzy and lightheaded. A flash of red light came before me, but I felt as if I was thinking it instead of seeing it. A few moments passed, along with the faintness, and I was on my hands and knees, shaking my head to clear it. I stood cautiously, realizing with a frown that something seemed different. Not a huge difference, very slight, but still a difference.

The sun seemed to be in a different position in the sky, although I knew I had only been dizzy for a minute or two. I looked around, then noticed a very distinct sound that I hadn't heard before. Now I know I didn't hear any rushing water before…. I frowned, but didn't think of it for more than a minute because I realized that I was suddenly cold. I shivered, wishing I had taken a sweatshirt with me. I thought this very strange, though. It had just been in the 70's a few minutes ago, and now… now I was really shivering. But I didn't dwell on it for toolong. After all, I didn't pay attention to everything. I was human, after all. I set off towards the sound of the rapids, suddenly desperately thirsty.

I found the brook without difficulty. I stopped on the bank, gazing at it. The water was wonderfully clear and fresh-looking, and I marveled at the fact that it hadn't been tainted too much with pollution. Or, for that matter, that it hadn't been tainted at all. I lifted my bag from my shoulders, letting it fall to the forest floor with a soft thud. I bent at the knee, trying to think of a way of how I could get a nice drink without having to wet my boots. I looked upstream, and found that there were some rocks that I could use as stepping stones only a few yards away. I picked up my bag again and then dumped it nearer to the stepping stones.

I stopped at the shoreline, standing very still for a moment. My eyes drifted from tree to tree, bush to shrub. I had suddenly realized an eerie feeling about me. The thought of the sudden sounds and the sudden temperature change was settling into my mind. I frowned, but I couldn't think of any explanation.

I stepped onto the first stone, right near the shoreline, still wondering. But I wobbled, almost losing my balance. Crud. Why can't I have balance just this once? I spread my arms, trying to regain some more stability, then stepped across to the second and third stones. I decided that for the sake of my dryness, I wouldn't go any further out.

Carefully, I bent at the knee, crouching down low enough to dip my hands into the cold water. I drank a handful of water, then another. But when I reached for a third serving, I noticed something strange about my reflection. My skin seemed to be very white and fair, which was strange, because I had just noted a few days ago how I had gotten a slight bronze to my skin from being out in the sun. I frowned, cocking my head. But my reflection did not cock her head. My eyes were not blue, but blue eyes were staring back at me. I watched as the lips curled up into an enigmatic smile. My eyes widened, but my reflection's did not.

Author's Note: Any and all feedback is appreciated. I am only in my third year of Spanish, so if there are any grammar mistakes, I apologize and ask that you tell me. Thanks!

When Darleen says, "I know I'm away", I meant for her to say "away" instead of "awake". It was not a mistake. It was just to emphasize how drunk she was.