How to Die in Middle-earth – A collection of short stories — part 4

by Oct 30, 2003Stories

How to Die in Middle-earth
A collection of short stories — part 4

Look at the Beautiful Snow! — or, why building snowmen on Caradhras is really, really stupid.

“Baba,” Sari laughed, placing to slices of tater (stolen from Sam Gamgee a month earlier — they were finally properly black) just above the protruding carrot. “You are mine. come alive! I command you!”

The little girl stepped back to have a better look at Baba the snowman. “Why don’t you play with me?”

Baba just stood there, potato eyes staring straight ahead without expression or understanding. Had the snowman been alive, he might have answered “What, with you? Look at my proportions! I’m a mutant! Aaaah!” and run away as only an emotional personification called “Baba” could.

But he was not, in fact, able to do any of those things, much to Sari’s disappointment. Anyway, she was getting cold.

Pulling an extra pair of mittens over her numb fingers, Sari sat back against her snowman, and began to sing.

“Snow little mountain, it’s winter time,
My snowman’s dead, and I really cold
But snow’ll make it great, just don’t make me mime
it, please snow!”

And then Sari fell asleep in the fridged air against Baba. It began to snow.*


Yet another Mary-sue — or, “Splat.”

Flammariacontaria (Ria for short) was a sky-fairy. Every day and night, she would rest her delicate body against the clouds, looking down on the wonderful world of Middle-earth. She especially watched the elves — and one blond haired one called Greenleaf. Alas, Ria believed his full name was ‘Legolas Greenleaf’ instead of the second word being just a translation.

In any case, Ria found herself falling in love with the “Spiffy” elf, and decided one fine day (she had made it fine with her ‘Sue powers) that it was time to make herself known to her love.

“Oh, Legolas!” she called down from the clouds. Her silvery voice floated down to where Legolas saw it, and wondered very much how sound could personify itself. Just as he stepped forward for a closer look (while drawing an arrow) the thing popped, spreading silver invis-goo everywhere. It smelled like raspberries in the late autumn. (Basically, rotten and bug eaten, but sky-fairies don’t know much about berries.)

Legolas looked up into the sky, and could just make out a figure there — though he did not know what it was. Ria decided to take things into her own hands.

Stepping off her cloud, Ria floated down gently at first. But gravity, refusing to be outdone by a Mary-sue, spread her up so that when she reached the ground (velocity of a really high number) the only sound her “dear Legolas” ever heard from her was “Splat.”


Really Hot Volcanoes — or, “pun intended.”

In different versions of the Return of the King, we must ask ourselves: what was the maker thinking? I know it was 1979 (or something) but really . . . having Frodo hide from Sam with the Ring on the top of Mount Doom for several days? Wouldn’t he starve?

Gloria, fan fiction writer galore, didn’t think so. She loooooved that animated version of the movie (note: she didn’t ‘love’ it, because Gloria — or, perhaps, Gloooooria — had a thing for ‘o’s.) and decided to write a little story based on it.

That day she wrote, unknowing that her type-writer made everything she put on it come true. When Frodooooo and Sam goooot tooooo the tooooop of the big firey mooooountain (which was really handsoooome, as voooooolcanoooooes go) they met a beautiful girl whoooo was in trouble– she had been hanging by her feet ooooover Mr. Doooooom for days without fooooood or water! She had the mooooost wooooonderful name: Glooooria.

The next day, a man called “Mr. Doom” obliged Gloria, and gave her her due over Mt. Doom.

When Frodo and Sam got there, they had to hold their noses. The stench really was quite awful. But somehow . . . somehow, they knew the dead girl’s name was ‘Gloria’, only with too many ‘o’s.

*Note: even the innocent die on evil mountains. It happens. This is Middle-earth.
I had all girls this time — sorry. These things happen. (Ooooo dear.)


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