Too Much To Dream

Authorian Tales

More "other-author rewrites" of Lord of the Rings -- much, much more. Sample:

Frodo jacked in.
He felt huge, invincible, unstoppable. Some small part of him knew that was the hits of pipe-weed talking, skewing his sense of self, making his nerves scream like they were being raked over rusted chrome. Knew, and didn't care.

Over his shoulder he could feel Sam hovering, a hollow nonentity. It was eerie knowing he was back there, like having an itch in a limb long amputated. All around him the middle-matrix arced off into an impossible blue infinity, gridlines benchmarking the empty nonspace.

"There it is," came Sam's voice. "That's the ice. Good luck breakin' in there, man, that was made by a military AI. Name of ephelduath. You ain't seen nuthin' like it. They say it's two-way ice. Not only will it fry your brainpan tryin' to get in, nuthin' inside can work its way out. Leastaways, not without sarumancer's say-so."

Heh heh. And this, to remind me of the torments of an AP English course on the Absurdist playwrights I took in high school:

Sam: Come on, let's leave this place.
Merry: We can't.
Sam: Why not?
Merry: We're waiting for Frodo.
Sam: Ah! (Pause) You're sure it was here?
Merry: What?
Sam: That we were to wait.
Merry: He said by the tree. (They look at the tree.) Are there any others?
Sam: No, they were all torn down by Saruman. What is it?
Merry: I don't know. An Ent.
Sam: I don't see any leaves.
Merry: It must be dead.

(Guess the authors. Go ahead: I'll wait.)

Posted by Andrea Harris at January 3, 2003 04:35 AM