Suddenly Smeagol seemed to snap out of a trance and looked up directly at Deagol’s body. Realisation sunk in as Smeagol realised he had just killed his companion. Looking down at the ring in his hand, Smeagol spat in disgust- he had a ring, but he had no friends and no love, not even a home.
`What use is this ring?’ asked Smeagol to nature. `Why do I have it? What use it to me?’ With that, he made as though to throw the ring away, but his fist, with the ring enclosed, came back and hit him on the nose.
`You don’t want to throw us away, preciousss,’ came a raspy voice from Smeagol’s throat, `you loves uss.’
`No, I don’t. I don’t need you, go away.’
`But you do need uss, preciousss, you wants uss.’
`Argh,’ screamed Smeagol, then reluctantly stowed the ring away in his pocket. Looking once more at Deagol’s body, Smeagol told himself he needed to get away from this place and never come back.
Now crawling on his hands and knees whilst trying to stand up, Smeagol moved away. This resulted in him half crawling and half running so that he looked bent over and old. He ran for days; he ran for months; he ran for years. Everywhere he ran, he was turned away and no one wanted him.
All the time he thought of what could have been, what once was. He thought of Lily and sometimes talked to himself of her; he loved the ring so much that he eventually referred to it as `his preciousss’ and he cared more for this ring than any other being.
As the ring could not help Smeagol, only hinder him, he wasted away and cared not for himself. His clothes fell away gradually so that all that was left was enough for decency and his hair became greasy and thin, his skin flaked and peeled and became a vile colour that was unnatural, and slimy too.
Dark thoughts crept into Smeagol’s mind and he murmured to himself about how evil everyone was and how he was the only one who was right. He killed anyone or anything that had the unpleasant chance of meeting him and his voice developed a croaky, coughed noise, which sounded as `gollum, gollum.’
Smeagol never thought of his family again, he never knew that his mother died of worry and his father died from an attack by orcs. He also never knew that his dear sister, Tilly, who loved him so much, married Theanol later in her life and had three children, but always searched for Smeagol.
There were two people whom Smeagol thought of- Lily and himself. His dreams were sad and he often woke screaming, but he never went home or looked for help. Darkness crept into his life and he began to fear the sun and would not venture out very far.
The ring ruled Smeagol’s life and he was not as he once was; the day Theanol found him was the day Tilly lost her husband, but if she had known she had lost him to her brother, she would have lost all will to live.
Smeagol wasted away, wallowing in self-pity and in craving for the ring, which gave him long life. So, when the ring was stolen, Smeagol felt that Lily had been stolen from him once more, and so his cry echoed again, `preciousss.’ When, at long last, Smeagol did die, he died with his `preciousss Lily’, hand in hand, in the fires of Mount Doom, content at last.
Where once was light, now darkness falls. Where once was love, love is no more. Don’t say goodbye. Don’t say I didn’t try. These tears we cry are falling rain, for all the lies you told us, the hurt, the blame. And we will weep to be so alone. We are lost. We can never go home. So in the end I’ll be what I will be. No loyal friend was ever there for me. Now we say goodbye. We say, you didn’t try. These tears you cry have come too late. Take back the lies, the hurt the blame. And you will weep when you face the end alone. You are lost. You can never go home.