Books are gateways, portals, through which the imagination can slip through into another time, another place, or even another world.
“Stephanie, go do your LOTR study!”
I rush up the stairs and into my bedroom, pushing the door closed behind me. The familiar thrill of anticipation flutters in my stomach as I flop on the bed and search for the chapter I’m supposed to read next: The Bridge of Khazad-Dum.
Sitting back comfortably, I take a deep breath and begin to read...
The Company of the Ring stood silent beside the tomb of Balin. Frodo thought of Bilbo and his long friendship with the dwarf, and of Balin’s visit to the Shire long ago. In that dusty chamber in the mountains it seemed a thousand years ago and on the other side of the world...
Soon I forget that I’m merely reading for a homework assignment. I’m no longer reading a book — I am inside the story. I am there in the middle of the action, watching as the Company struggles to guard the Ring and ward off the orcs. I can hear the throbbing drum-beats, the shrieks, the shouting, the clamor of battle echoing throughout the dark halls of Moria. I follow the Company as they race down the dangerous stairs, my feet (and heart-beats) racing with them. I can feel their terror and the fiery heat as the balrog pursues them. I try not to look down as I dash across the narrow bridge. Breathless, I look back, my heart pounding in time with the drums. I can see Gandalf alone on the bridge, standing firm against the fire-demon...
“Go back to the Shadow! You cannot pass!”
The bridge cracks and breaks...the balrog is falling...and Gandalf is falling with it! I can hear his final cry...
“Fly you fools!”
I can see the horror in his friends faces as they stare into the abyss. Finally they snap out of it and run for the gates, and I follow them once more. Through the gates we rush, out into the sunny outside world. The sudden daylight is blindingly bright but still we run on, blinking back the light and the tears, feeling the wind in our faces once again. We finally slow down, and I watch them collapse in exhaustion and grief, weeping for their fallen leader as the drum-beats fade in the distance. I feel like crying with them, though I myself have never really known what it’s like to lose someone you love.
I stop a moment to savor everything, then automatically turn to the next chapter.
Darn...I forgot I’m not supposed to read ahead.
*sighs* I love being homeschooled... And I wrote this drabbly thing when I was 14, so forgive me if it's not my best writing! :)