One Ring to rule them all. One Ring to find them all. One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness, bind them!
It was forged by Sauron in the fires of Mount Doom. Isildur cut it off Sauron's hand in war. He took it. The Ring won his desire. Elrond told him to destroy it. He couldn't. He didn't want to. He refused to destroy it after the war. He chose to take it with him. On the way back home, Isildur was ambushed by a pack of orcs. He jumped into the river to run away. But, the Ring wanted to leave him. So, it did. And, he died.
Déagol found the Ring. Smeagol killed him cousin for it. He was shunned away from society. He rotted in deep, dark caves. The Ring left him, there.
The Ring only brought sickness. I found the Ring. It brought me misfortune.
I was sitting in the park with my friend. I felt something poking against my foot. I looked down and there, I saw it. A Ring embedded into the mud beneath my feet. I picked it up along with the mud in its circumference. I held the Ring against the floodlights. It was copper but gold. It was trivial but precious. It was light but heavy. It wasn't mine but it belonged to me.
My friend told me to throw it away. I couldn't. I didn't want to. I took it home. Misfortune followed.
.
.
.
.
.
.
I was finally convinced to throw it away. I went back to same park, to the same bench. I stamped it into the ground. I left. I immediately felt lighter. Life got better.
It was forged by Sauron in the fires of Mount Doom. Isildur cut it off Sauron's hand in war. He took it. The Ring won his desire. Elrond told him to destroy it. He couldn't. He didn't want to. He refused to destroy it after the war. He chose to take it with him. On the way back home, Isildur was ambushed by a pack of orcs. He jumped into the river to run away. But, the Ring wanted to leave him. So, it did. And, he died.
Déagol found the Ring. Smeagol killed him cousin for it. He was shunned away from society. He rotted in deep, dark caves. The Ring left him, there.
The Ring only brought sickness. I found the Ring. It brought me misfortune.
I was sitting in the park with my friend. I felt something poking against my foot. I looked down and there, I saw it. A Ring embedded into the mud beneath my feet. I picked it up along with the mud in its circumference. I held the Ring against the floodlights. It was copper but gold. It was trivial but precious. It was light but heavy. It wasn't mine but it belonged to me.
My friend told me to throw it away. I couldn't. I didn't want to. I took it home. Misfortune followed.
.
.
.
.
.
.
I was finally convinced to throw it away. I went back to same park, to the same bench. I stamped it into the ground. I left. I immediately felt lighter. Life got better.
