By now I’m sure some of you have heard a version of my story, The Lord of the Rings by J. R. R. Tolkien. This, however popular, is not only fictional but it hurts me to hear my story warped into nonsense like that. I am going to tell you the real story of what happened.
My story starts as bright sunlight filters through the bedroom window, striking my bed sheets and making them warm. Bleary eyed, I sit up stretching out my arms and legs. Slipping out of bed and into slippers, I walk to the dining room to see what is sitting around for breakfast. Waffles and sausage, nice. As I scarf down these unfortunate substances, I can only think of what I will do today. Swimming? Reading? I don't know. I guess I can do some reading. Fast-forward through a generally normal day of walking around and greeting the neighbors to that evening. Our town is having a party for my uncle’s birthday. Lights are stretched from house to house, and the clearing by the big oak is set with a stage. Many people are dancing upon it, while others are enjoying the many variations of food and drink. The traveling fireworks salesman, Gandalf, has joined us for this party and made a few specialty fireworks for my uncle. Man say the way he creates the patterns in the fireworks make him seem like a magician. Mary and Pippin, the neighborhood trouble makers who happen to be twins, steal and light one of Gandalf’s many fireworks. Wildly it flies, nearly hitting scores of people in the head, as it continues its course, finally turning upwards and exploding in a fury of lights resembling that of a dragon.
The crowd chants for my uncle to give a speech, and soon enough he gives in to their will. As he talks about how great his life has been, and how he loved living here, I can see he was toying with an idea, and smiled as if very amused. As he finishes his speech, he quickly throws up a gleaming ring like metal object. As the crowd, myself included, look up to watch it fall, my uncle seemingly disappeared before our eyes. I figured he had most likely slipped away when we were distracted. When I finally get back home, I can tell my uncle was there, but by now he was long gone. On the table sat an envelope addressed to me. I open it, and proceed to read its contents. As I finish, a question floats around in my head. Why did he leave? When I look back at the envelope, I notice that there is still something filling it. The first thing I are crumbs, scattered around the edges. As I peer further into the envelope, an object takes shape in the form of a ring, and a large one at that. The note now makes sense, talking about the power of “THE RING”. I have heard of such a ring, in tales. It is called The Golden Onion Rings, for it is the most powerful of all onion rings and it has a perfect golden hue. According to legend, a man named Sauron used this ring and its entrancing aroma to further exert his power and conquer gangs in the neighboring cities. He did this by allowing people to look at and inhale the fumes that flowed off of it, in return for favors that tended to be very evil in nature. The gangs were losing this war for control until a gang member stole the ring, after which Sauron and his gang disappeared.
I have to destroy it before it falls under his control again. Gandalf, who happened to be surprisingly wise in these matters, told me I have to do so. A council of the several gangs were gathering, members of the Elves, Dwarves, and Humans. I’ll grant you that they were indeed weird names, especially the last one since we are all humans. This will happen in the Elf controlled city of Rivendale. My gardener (yes, I was that into books) Sam --the not so wise-- came to the conclusion that if my uncle and I were gone from home, he wouldn’t get paid. So, he insistently begged me to let him come. Fast forward through a few days of being chased and hiding, we arrive. We are greeted and shown to our temporary quarters. As the meeting progresses, I get the nervous feeling that there are a few discriminatory people on the premises. A member of the Dwarf gang decided that it was better if the onion ring were destroyed, took out a crude work hammer, and swung. The head of the hammer promptly broke, due to the hardness of the long petrified ring and the cracked head of the hammer. Afterwards, we pondered on what to do. Gandalf, being the wise one that he is, brought up the idea of using the great pit of bubbling waste in the land fill of Mordor to destroy, or at least contaminate the onion ring. For the purposes of protection, a band of gang members made of other gangs is formed. We are promptly given the nickname of “The fellows who will take the onion ring to Mordor and destroy it”. Not glamorous, but it did get the point across.
We decide to take one of the safer routes to Mordor, along a small creek in the great park, which lies in between the four destinations. Across great rolling hills of grass we travel, undeveloped by man and trees alike, until we reach the outskirts of the abandoned city. The great towering buildings resembled that of a travel ad’s mountains. A section of the Dwarves used to live here, until they dug their basements to deep and struck a natural gas reservoir, unleashing a great demonic fire that consumed the great buildings and its inhabitants. We cross a section of walkway, unaware of what lies below. We can hear great booms that shake the city, and the now native Orc sub-gang(not affiliated with Sauron) scrambled to retreat from the ruins. A monstrous hand-like flame belches from below, and the chasm is filled with the many tendrils of blaze, licking the wall like a deer on a salt lick. Gandalf, also somehow skilled in gas reservoirs, tells us to go on as he takes care of the problem. We all watch in mortification as he is consumed by a great wall of fire, disappearing from our sight. I had to be carried out by a gang member, as I was so shocked by what I had just seen to move. We ran (or bounced on a broad shoulder, in my case) out of the city as the Orcs, enraged by the further loss of “their” city, proceeded to chase and shoot at us with guns. We run through the forest, when we miraculously stumble upon the creek we would be traveling along. As we quietly pass along the creek, I couldn’t happen to notice the many hundreds of yards of sandy shore with deciduous trees impose the ideal thought of wilderness, or at least as close as possible in a park. To pass the time, we gather fallen bark off the ground and create little canoes that we follow as they progress down the creek. At a point in time, in this creek stand two statues of the abstract kind, looking like royalty watching the water that passes off the end of a waterfall and further continues its journey. To follow our planned path, and to throw off any enemy gangsters, we change course and head inward through the trees. It is not until we finally make camp that we discover we indeed do have a tail, but not one with malevolent intents. Mary and Pippin, the trouble makers that they are, decided to have some fun and see what we were up to. Grownups that we are, we sternly tell them to go back home and never to follow us again. And like all disasters, the one that followed this lecture. We are suddenly ambushed by a group of Orcs, a sub-division of Sauron’s gang. In a blink of an eye, a firefight starts. As I duck for cover behind an old log, I hear Mary and Pippin scream for help. I look through a small hole in the log, and I see two gang members dragging each of the twins up to an authority figure, which I figure to be their leader. He calls for a retreat, for they were starting to lose members faster than they could shoot, and the gangsters answer it. They take off, and we all come out of the various hiding places we put ourselves in once the attack started. As we take inventory of the damage done by the attack, we notice that there were a few flesh wounds, but other than that no one was severely hurt. Well, except for Boromir, a member of the human gang. He was caught in the assault, unexpectedly taking a number of bullets that were headed in my direction. Just minutes ago he was alive and talking about the compelling aroma of the ring, which made me nervous around him. A few members of the group want to carry on with the journey, but with my insisting they collectively decide to go get Mary and Pippin from the Orcs. They tell me (and Sam, because he still wanted to get paid) to continue on the planned path but to be extremely careful, as they may be more divisions of Sauron’s forces waiting for us.
As Sam and I continued to travel along the planned route, we routinely avoided small developments and people once we got out of the park. Along our path after several days of walking (I still don’t understand why we didn’t rent a car or buy a bike) we ran across a lonely figure in the rock mounds beside the quarries. He was wearing some shorts but nothing else, and we saw his deformed figure. He told us that his name was Smeagol (or Gollum, although I couldn’t understand him to well due to an insistent flem problem). When we asked him if he knew where Mordor was and if he would lead us to the entrance, for we were horribly lost, he replied that he did indeed know where it was and would be glad to help us. Little did I know that this was a bad decision, for when I did get around to reading my uncles novel as a whole, I discovered that my uncle accidently stole the ring from Smeagol when he was a child. He had dropped it on the sidewalk while going to a burger joint, and never forgave my uncle for taking it. The ordeal left him mentally deranged, because the toxic fumes had infiltrated his mind and warped it to the point of insanity. The journey consisted of him stopping to wait for us, and me telling him to continue on once we were well rested. He leads us through various unknown places, through the rock quarries and the local bluffs. It is here that we finally make camp for the night. While we slept, he “stood watch” and went fishing in a small creek when we weren’t looking. I found out that his warped mind had a peculiar taste for raw fish.
Occasionally I had to look away when he bit into one, for I am used to well-cooked and de-boned food that doesn’t give off a sickening smell and crunch when bitten into. As I watched him, I couldn’t help but get the feeling that I myself was being watched intently. All at once, I heard a pebble crunch underfoot and a hand came flying in front of my face to cover my mouth. I tried screaming, but it was no use, for the assaulter was too strong. The person turned me around, mouth still covered, and I saw it was a man from the Human gang, and that he had many others with him. He pointed to Smeagol, and then told me to not warn him or his men would pop him. I give up, and he signals them to capture him. They take out a heavy duty black trash bag, and nab him. When I ask them why they are roaming around randomly capturing people, he simply replies that because his brother (the one who died) was his father’s favorite child, he was banished from the gang and its controlled areas. He commented that in spite of that, he would not let any harm the gang. Seeing that no harm could come from us, we are released. Smeagol seemed rather upset that I would let him be captured. As we continued our journey, Sam reported to me that he had heard Smeagol/Gollum plotting to kill me and grab the ring (at this point he knew I had it because of our captors). Of course I thought that this idea was ridiculous, for what harm could he ever pose to us?
This continued for many days, until we came upon the edge of the bluffs and Mordor. Smeagol reported that the front entrance would be too well looked after, and that he knew a secret passage. That night, we camped on the edge of the cliffs, and Sam was constantly complaining about how much better food he could be having if I were paying him. As I went asleep, I dreamed about home. The rolling kelly-green hills, my house tucked snuggly into my very own. My books, with their soft cover bindings and… I am suddenly woken by the sound of Smeagol/ Gollum and Sam fighting. Smeagol says Sam ate all of our food, which is indeed gone, while Sam claims that Smeagol has framed him. Knowing the nature of Sam and his foods (which is not good, for they never do last long around him), as well as Smeagol and the distance he has gotten us so far, I side with Smeagol and command Sam to go back home. He reluctantly goes, saying that I will die by Smeagol’s hand. As soon as he is out of my sight Smeagol and I begin heading for the secret entrance once again. When we get the entrance—which is a cave, OF COURSE--Smeagol tells me to go inside since he has done his part. As I enter it I catch wind of a garbled end of a phrase that sounded something like “…giant spider”. Walking through the cave, I occasionally hear a metallic clicking through the corridors. I finally reach an opening, where sweet—although however dark and grey—sunlight greets my eyes. Suddenly, the metallic clicking noise returns, much louder than before, and is followed by the sound of the expulsion of compressed air. I feel a heavy object land on me, and I decide it may be a net. A shot from somewhere nearby rings out, and I feel the bullet (or is it a needle?) pierce the skin of my right arm. I manage to turn around to see my captor, and instead of seeing a person I bear witness to one of Sauron’s many junkyard creations, a gigantic metal machine resembling a spider. Realization dawned upon me, now knowing full well that I should never have trusted Smeagol. I feel drowsy, and the searing pain in my arm fades away like my vision has been doing ever since ii laid eyes on the machine of death. I think of how I let everyone down, and then nothing.
I painfully wake up to Sam slapping my face. I scream at him for hitting me, asking him what I have done to deserve it. It is now that I discover that I’m not in the same place where I lost consciousness. I’m sitting up on a cool stone countertop, and there is an Orc worker lying dead with a knife in his chest. There is a huge racket outside the room, full of people yelling war cries, gunshots, and screaming in pain. We both run outside after collecting my scattered belongings off the floor. I had not expected to see what I did. The Orcs had started turning on each other, popping a cap in anyone they could see. Bodies were sprawled out among the many fighting gang members, adding to the sea of debris. We ran down the gigantic stairwell that ran the length of the tower we were in, avoiding any confrontations we could. Those who did get in the way of our escape got knifed. We ducked and weaved throughout the entire mass of screaming and still bodies, never once looking back to see if we were followed. With all of the distractions, we highly doubted that we would be. More than once we stumble over a body, all of them dead thankfully. In the rush for our lives, not once did we see those whom we tripped over, due to their black trash bag cloths that were a symbol of where their allegiance lied. Many times do we have to duck to get out of the way of bullets being thrown (yes thrown, for that is how they shot their bullets) at potential enemies. I can still hear the screams of the injured and the whistling of passing bullets. Once out of the bloody brawl, I notice all of the trash around us. In fact, we’re walking on it. We are in Mordor. While here, we must make it to the great pit without being spotted by Sauron himself, who is ever meticulously watching his domain through a giant eye-like telescope. If he did see us, he would send his float planes after us (yes, there was that much sewage in this place). These were made from a variety of junk, usually whatever they could find and use to make them fly. Driving them were the fabled “kings” as they called themselves, for they were the rulers of the many skies that covered our known horizons. They would kill us and take back the ring, neither of which was acceptable. To add on to the already impending danger, the fumes emitted by the trash ward off any moisture that may fall here, making it a dessert of trash, with dunes made from black bags of waste. And it just so happened that we were fresh out of water. Over the many days of dehydration, our skin cracks and withers with each passing second. Thankfully though, at night the bags retain the heat so that we don’t freeze to death. We had quite a few close calls, almost being seen by Sauron and his telescope. Almost every day we had to over ourselves with the grime covered bags to hide from the countless guards that were on patrol. These events became less and less often, most likely because Sauron thought that no one would ever be able to infiltrate his domain. Little did he know that we were here.
On one of these days—I couldn’t tell which one, because they all blurred together in my mind—I noticed that I was lagging behind Sam. We had hit a loose spot of debris, and I could not maintain a grip or progress through this stretch of trash. My attempts become increasingly futile, and I give up, for I am too weak to continue on this journey. A dark shadow shifts among a trash pile, and I assume that it is Sam coming back to help me. In a blink of an eye Gollum, sensing the weak condition that I am in, lunges for the ring that precariously lays against my chest on a small rope braid. Throughout this adventure, I have called this creature Smeagol until this point, for I have just decided that each of his two names corresponds to each side of his personalities, Smeagol to good and Gollum to evil. As we fight, which is more or less wrestling and him biting me, I lose hope on Sam ever coming to help me. I’m going to die in a landfill, and nobody will know it. Well that is just great. Towards the end of the fight, when it shows that I am starting to lose, Sam decides to turn back and check up on me. I was so focused on getting Gollum off of me and defending the onion ring that I couldn’t decipher what happened next. One moment I am struggling with Gollum and being bitten on my arm, and the next moment he is suddenly pulled/ pushed off of me in one rapid motion. Sam pushes a massive pile of black junk upon Gollum, which comes toppling down upon him with a deafening thud. We both run for it in a new found fury. We constantly look over our shoulders to make sure that Gollum hasn’t somehow gotten out of his black prison and is following us. Confident that Gollum would never be able to free himself from that death trap, we slow down our pace and continue our journey to the great pit.
We arrive at the entrance to the great bubbling pit later that day. We get the sense of impending doom as we passed through the gigantic archway of black plastic trash bags. A gust of scorching heat ruffles our scrappy cloths. We could both smell the putrid fumes that arose from the pit of the deadliest toxins and muttered our disapproval. We sat down and deliberated on how we should get rid of the ring, to really make sure it was gone. We agreed that we should toss in the ring to the pit as fast as we can so we might get out of this python of an atmosphere, choking whatever life we may have left in our bodies. I travel across the bags, which are getting increasingly hot as I near the edge of the ledge. I take a good look at the ring for one last time, and a thought crosses my mind. What if I could keep it, and hide it away where nobody else could find it. Doubtful. Oh well. As I chuck the godforsaken ring through the air, time slowed down. I hear plastic tearing, Sam yelling out a warning, and as screaming word moving ever closer to me. “Precious!!!” I move to the left just in time to see Gollum, hands out, lunging for the ring. I panic for a few seconds, then realize with a sigh of relief that the ring was well off the edge of the pit from which I had thrown it. That relief sharply turned mortification, as I saw that he was going to continue his journey across the trash and into the pit. I turn away as he goes over the edge, not wanting to saw what I knew came next. From this height I could feel the scorching heat of the bubbling toxins, and I could only imagine what it was like in the pit. A big Plop! echo’s off of the walls of the densely packed trash, and I know that Gollum and the ring are no more. Sam and I ran out of the entrance and breathed the still putrid, yet somewhat cleaner air, happy to be out of the oppressing pit. We didn't know at that time, but every so often the toxins would escape their confined spaces and create huge sewage flows down the sides of the pile. And that just happened to occur this day. Completely cut off from any escape routes, we climbed a dune of the dump, and looked hopelessly for one. It wasn't until we completely gave up that I heard the roaring of an engine. Great, the kings found us. We're doomed to die in this retched place. But wait, this sounds different! A cleaner, more efficient engine maybe? This could only mean one thing. Ally helicopters! And Gandalf is leading them. I drift asleep as the cool wind emitted by the rotating blades strike my face. When I wake up, I'm in Rivendale. My comment to those around me is that I have to stop waking up in strange places. They all laugh, having already hearing the story from Sam. I found out that the other members of the fellowship finally got Mary and Pippin back, after they stormed the house of one of Sauron’s accomplices of course. Their Orc captors had been thoroughly popped by a group of Humans. Throughout the days that followed the city threw a large celebration in our honor. I heard that the Elves had decided to head back to their home town after the party, for their control was fading out. It was a hard decision to make, but after all I have been through on this adventure I could not go back home and be constantly seen as the destroyer of the ring, not Frodo like I want them to. If I go with the Elves, I will have the chance to lead a peaceful, uneventful life. I give Sam my house (which I am sure made him very happy to have), and say goodbye to everyone in town. I finally finished my uncle’s story, and added my own story to the book. I packed a few of my beloved things, and went with the Elves on the ferry across a gigantic lake. Accompanying me are my uncle and Gandalf, both who of which agreed that this group of cities have too much going on for us to handle. I waved goodbye to everyone bidding us fair well, and I turned to see what awaited me on the other side of the lake.
And so ends my story, and now you know the true version of it.
Sincerely,
Frodo Baggins
