Yes, I'm back. This story has been floating around for a little over a year as something of a personal project, but thanks to several people from camp begging me to let them read it, I am finally posting. Thank you, people. You know who you are.

Be warned, this first chapter is full of a lot of inside jokes that only a few readers (namely my really good friends) will understand, as this is what a typical school day was like for me this past year. And, since protecting the innocent is not currently on my priority list, not even the names have been changed. So if you don't understand something, just live with it; this chapter has barely anything to do with the actual story anyway.

An additional notice, since every single thing I post on gets italicized for some reason, thoughts and italicized words will be in equal signs. Just so no one's confused. (ETA 1/07: Just kidding. Seems they fixed that a while ago. So I've fixed it here.)

Well, I think that's it. Oh, wait...it's not. Lord of the Rings isn't mine. Okay. Now I'm done. Start reading.

Confessions of a Confused Teenager

The year is 1954. J.R.R. Tolkien's muse dies, and therefore he never writes TheSilmarillionThe Hobbit, or The Lord of the Rings trilogy. And since the books are never written, the movies are never made, and so on. Middle-earth and its inhabitants are never made known.

Fifty years later (Year 2004), a girl in Arizona is having a few problems. She wants to go someplace far away, away from her mother, her teachers, her life. But when her wish comes true, she gets a bit more than she bargained for...

Chapter I (Semi-Pointless Prologue Type Thing)

I hate my life. Why me? I swear, I must have been some kind of terrorist in my past life; that is the only reason I can think of explaining why I am being punished so.

This was about the fiftieth time this message had circulated my brain. What, you ask, had put me into this fine, cheery mood? The D on my midterm, that's what. Not only that, but a D in Language Arts. Which, aside from art, and German, is relatively easy.

Currently, I was in home base, Room S5 at Alice Vail Middle School (or Alice Vail Junior Jail, as it was affectionately called by the students). I glared at anyone who walked in, and would then glare a second time, daring them to ask what my problem was. All I needed was one little excuse to hit somebody.

We stood up and said the Pledge. Well, we stood up and Schaub and the speaker-box said the pledge, because we'd all just learned in social studies that saying the pledge wasn't required of us. And then, the announcements were made, and eventually they were over. Schaub, our wonderful, racist science teacher (she hates anyone who isn't Portuguese like her, or so we in her class have theorized), launched into her newest torture-method-of-choice, a lecture on the three states of matter.

I glanced about the room as I pulled my binder from my backpack. Every poor, unfortunate eighth-grader in the room wore the same expression: one that clearly said, Shut up, Schaub, we all learned this stuff in like third grade.

I unzipped my binder, and pulled out my science notebook, and then, my copy of Abarat, by Clive Barker. There was no way I was actually going to listen to Schaub's monotonous ramblings for the next 45 minutes.

I opened the book to where I'd left off, and pulled out the old napkin I had used as a bookmark. On it were several little notes; I remembered passing them back and forth to my friend Lauren last year.

Lauren. Just thinking about her brought the suckiness of my pathetic life crashing down upon me once again. Last year, Lauren had somehow managed to get a 1.7 in language arts, and her mother didn't even bat an eye. One point seven freaking percent!

And me? Well, I just got a 60, and my mom had not only smashed up my bulletin board in a fit of rage, but also had the posters ripped down off my walls, torn one of my books (Remnants #7) in half, and thrown the first chapters of the novel I was writing straight into the garbage can! Not to mention that there wasn't a snowball's chance in Hades that I was going on Anaheim Tour with the band in the spring. And all for a 60! On a midterm, no less!

I opened Abarat and forced myself to read it. I wished more than anything right then that I would just fall into the book. If I was away from my stupid teachers and my evil mom, life wouldn't be so bad.

The bell finally rang sometime later, and the rest of the day went by pretty normally.

Pre Algebra: Draw a new "Fear the Moon" comic about our math teacher, who was, basically, Satan in disguise.

Symphonic Band: Work on music for upcoming ABODA festival; pass notes to Torie between songs; explain to Stephanie that the song's name is "By Loch and Mountain," not "By Lock and Mountain," and that "loch" was not a typo.

Art: Wonder why the class is called Advanced Art when Mrs. Averitt is explaining what a color wheel is.

Lunch: Eat, mooch, and be mooched from.

German: Let Torie copy my work, snicker at the music video of "Ich Bin Wieder Hier."

Language Arts: Read To Kill a Mockingbird. Meg Cabot was so right; Bob Ewell deserves to get blown away with a flamethrower.

Social Studies: Count down the minutes until the bell rings.

And so the day was over. While waiting for the bus transfer, I sat and talked with my friend Chris. I was in a bad enough mood that I even started throwing things at anyone who dared make a comment about Chris's involvement in the state of my virginity (or supposed lack thereof). By the time I got onto the bus, I was about ready to kill somebody.

And the bus ride was just as bad, if not worse, than school. Schuyler wasn't there, so no candy. Jason wasn't there, so no RPGs to distract me. That kid Ricky had taken my seat, so I had to sit it the back with Penthouse-Boy and the rest of the psychos.

And then, to top it all off, my stalker, Michael, came up to me and started touching my leg. As in, above the knee. I kicked him hard enough to send him flying out of his seat.

And finally, an hour later, we got to my stop, and I dashed off the Torture-Chamber-on-Wheels, a.k.a. Bus 19. Then I walked the four blocks to my house. Now that school was over, I was going to go do my homework, practice my flute, and try to figure out how to play my guitar.

But then, a little voice in my head whispered, "Go on, go home. But your mom will be there. And then, you'll just have to go back to school tomorrow. Just go somewhere else; then you'll be rid of it all."

It was an extremely tempting thought. And before I knew it, I found myself crossing the street and climbing down into the wash. I walked for a minute or two, and then shouted, impersonating Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., "Free at last, free at last! Thank God Almighty, I'm free at last!"

And then, like the stupid klutz I am, I tripped. The last thing I remembered was seeing a rock rushing up to greet me, a sharp pain in the middle of my face, and then everything going black.

And that's the first chapter. Before anyone kills me, yes I know this had absolutely nothing to do with LOTR. You'll just have to wait until chapter two for that. Don't worry, I'll post it tomorrow. Later today if I feel like it. So don't worry. Just review.