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.
A small figure crept through the night, the starry twilight kindly wrapping her arms around them to hide and protect them. The wind blew as the small figure skulked towards a dark, dank cave. There, they rested and murmured to themselves, crying and wailing as they spoke. Presently, the figure collapsed on a slimy rock and rocked them to sleep, muttering curses as they sunk into drowsiness.
As the sun rose, bringing with her warmth that had not been seen in an age, people woke in the village nearby, scurrying around with such fervour that none could help but smile.
All bar one, who sat alone in the cave nearby, wailing and pitying himself. He crouched, close to the floor, his thin arms wrapped around his legs and he, once more, murmured to himself.
`No light, it has all gone, my little friend,’ came a cruel and harsh voice. He then replied in a softer and sadder tone, `No. No silly, there is light, but we just do not see it.’ The poor creature was talking to itself, even arguing with itself as he stroked his thin, slimy legs with his fragile and weak hands. The creature’s skin was dark and grey, presumably from hiding from the sun for too long, and there were little cuts there too, where he had scratched and picked at his skin. Very little hair was on the creature’s head, but the clumps that were there were greasy and knotted. The only clothing that this poor creature wore was a cloth wrapped around its thin and sorrowful waist.
The creature’s head jerked up as he heard whistling and footsteps approaching the river that ran through the cave. He had not heard happiness like this for years, and so it was strange to hear and he scurried to the entrance of the cave and blinked up into the sun.
He let a scream pass his lips as the sun touched his skin. `It burnss preciouss,’ came the cry. The person approaching looked up in shock and backed away a little, then seeing that the creature looked weak, he approached again.
`Hello,’ he said nicely, as hobbits do.
`Whatss?’ hissed the creature.
Although the hobbit was a little taken aback, he tried not to show it and answered again politely. `Who are you? I recognise you a little.’
`Go awayss,’ came the harsh voice, then an argumentative voice replied, `No, don’t leavess uss, we likess friendss.’ The scared hobbit debated whether to stay, but something in this creature reminded him of someone, so he stayed.
Suddenly, he realised who the creature was like. `Smeagol? Is that you?’
`Ssmeagol. Ssmeagol, yess, that was my name once.’
`Once,’ murmured the hobbit, `I’m Theanol, do you remember me? You look a little worse for wear…’
`Ssmeagol. Gollum, gollum.’ The pitiful creature coughed twice.
`Dear me,’ sighed Theanol. `I heard stories, although I didn’t believe them Smeagol, that you killed your dear friend Deagol,’ Theanol laughed at the thought.
`You what? You killed him?’ squealed Theanol, backing away slightly.
`Yess, dead,’ came the harsh voice that scared Theanol even more as he hastened to leave. `I had my reassonss.’
`Reasons, eh? Right, so I’ll be going now… alright?’ stuttered the worried hobbit.
`No, itss iss nots alright, you will lisstenss to my sstory.’
And so the poor hobbit was forced to sit and listen to Smeagol, the wretched creature, pour out his story, his guilt and his sorrow.