The Diary of Frodo Baggins by Aelfgifu
Frodo, age 12, recounts his experiences the first few years following his parents' deaths.
(I will update each day). Enjoy!
I don't know if I should have looked.
But I felt pushed somehow. I was in a fey mood. I'd heard the words drop from the lips of some assorted relatives. I could not believe them – or rather, didn't want to. I'd heard the words "The River" and sprinted off. I remember Aunt Esme calling after me. I did not heed her, of course. At twelve you hear enough of what's for your own good, I think. So I ran.
Funny thing. I remember almost nothing from the moment I left the Hall to coming up fast on the river. They stood in a great crowd as if it were a party of some kind. They saw me, and they all went quiet and strange. I felt like an intruder upon my own tragedy.
And the next thing I remember is kneeling down and seeing them like that. Ma and Dad – so still. They looked asleep, but not peaceful somehow. I wanted them to wake up. I still do. I touched ma's skin and it was so cold – like touching the scales of a fish.
Now I try to pull up a memory of them in my mind, and all that comes to the surface is them likeâthat. Perhaps in time I will forget the sight.
No, that is not really what I wish. Rather, I wish to remember them as they were. Alive. Happy. My family.
I don't think the memory of what I saw this day will ever leave me – not if I shall live as long as the Old Took. In is branded in my thoughts. I have not cried since this morning. I am numb. This all seems a dream, as if I am outside myself gazing at another lad who is not me.
I cannot believe they are gone. I am alone.