Lord of the rings: An explosive development
I looked up to see my reflection in the mirror. Being seventeen years old and new to Middle Earth, I found the small hobbit holes to be at best hard to navigate. Bilbo, were he still around, would classify Me as one of the race of Men, far too large to fit into a hobbit home, and yet a kind old man had taken Me in. All of this was new to Me, seeing I had been plucked from my home by some blinding flash of light. "I really must stop taking my pills before bed" I groaned, as I walked out into the harsh sunlight. It was a cool crisp day in the Shire and Gandalf was making his rounds. He stopped by chance and bumped into Me. I was perplexed as to who this man was. Another hobbit walked up to me and clarified the situation. He was a short toad of a hobbit, with bulging eyes and the worst case of acne ever. I lament the absence of creams in this universe, he needed it, badly. He continued nonetheless and explained who this man was, in a very untoward and unfriendly, almost mocking tone:
"Good heavens young man, this is Gandalf! He's the one who sent Bilbo to needlessly murder a dragon for his gold, who took down a demon from below the earth, who's fireworks are the envy of the neighborhood!" he said, glaring at Gandalf, having wanted to start his own fireworks company but all the hires were plucked away by Gandalf. It was as Gandalf put it, Strictly Business. Business his left foot apparently. You see, Richard Bagsby from 1237 Bagshot Row was a man who loved money more than his wife. He dreamed of money, fantisized about money and would love to be turned into money were it possible. Of course, this was in the realm of impossibility. Gandalf was the one man in his way. His fireworks were custom made, having explosives installed from Isengard itself. One blast could clear Moria itself and then some. He planned to have these installed in batches of ten for the tots to interact with. The explosive power of these fireworks was so extravagant that I was reluctant to buy one but Bagsby shoved one into my hands regardless. I let it loose and the explosion destroyed Bagsby's house. He didn't care, it was insured for a great sum of money. Too late did he find out however, that the money would not be paid out as his insurance did not cover explosive damage. I. being the good lad I was, offered to fix it. Bagsby allowed it, did some math in his head and docked my pay, the bastard. I worked and finally fixed it. My meager allowance was six cents. I glared at him and threatened to send the next firework into his gullet. He hastily upped my pay to a promising thirty six coins of which I did not know the origins of, for you see, the Internet did not exist here. It was rather quaint and peaceful.
I woke up the next morning to find Bagsby's house blown to smithereens. Gandalf, the old fool, was laughing as Bagsby crawled out from under the floorboards. I could hear him screaming:
"You old fart, you told me those fireworks were safe to use!"
Gandalf did not reply but gave me a sly wink and dropped fifty gold coins into my hands. Life was good.
End.