Hello! After a few months I am now back to writing LotR parodies again. This is a Twilight-style parody in which poor Legolas once again has to deal with the horrible Mary Sues I throw at him. :P
Once you get to the end of the chapter, please click that little link that says 'review'. I value each and every one of your opinions and love to hear what you think. :)
First, Legolas was an Elf.
Second, there was a part of him, and I didn't know how dominant that part might be, which wanted to kill me.
Third, I was unconditionally, irrevocably, iridescently and vacillatingly obsessed with long words.
When Maribella Suell moves to the gloomy, dreary, moribund, grey, depressing, dismal, bleak, cheerless town of Sporks and meets Liam Greenlee, she has absolutely no idea what she's in for. Determined to uncover his dark secret, she finds out that Liam is none other than the legendary Legolas of Mirkwood, representative of the Fellowship…and also her biggest lust object.
Prepare for an extraordinary tale of unrequited stalking, bad fanfiction, unsuccessful murder attempts and general chaos as Maribella discovers just what it takes to drive Elves completely round the bend…
Moving To Sporks
Somewhere—it does not matter exactly where—is a small, inconsequential town that goes by the peculiar name of Sporks. In taking me away from it my mother bravely snatched me from the jaws of death. Nearly every summer was one in which I was forced to spend at least a month in this town with limited internet access and nearly nowhere to plug my pink, scintillating hairdryer without risking electric shock.
I destested Sporks. The name was so tacky.
And yet this was where I was headed in the car with my dad Billy-Bob, who fully appreciated and sympathised with my utter despair and allowed me a few moments of quiet in which I was allowed at last to give full vent to my desire to die. For life was not worth living without a mall within walking-distance. I was a girl of simple tastes. But this was too much.
In a display of true selflessness—at least, this is what my mother called it, because I don't ever exaggerate—I had immolated myself upon the altar of Goodbye to Facebook and exiled myself here, in the hopes that Mum and her new husband Fritzel von Scnitzelberger would be happy.
Crystal-like tears filled my eyes when I remembered my heartbreaking past, which when I narrated to some passers-by in the city caused them to cry. "What the hell is this world coming to?" wailed one man before walking away, shaking his head miserably, and in memory of this I nodded bleakly, wiping away surreptitiously at my eyes. Obviously he understood my plight. After all, barely a few years ago I had nearly been stabbed to death by my jealous older sister with a butterknife, had my iPod stolen, yelled at for not doing my homework, and run over by a horse trailer.
A sob caught in my throat. I couldn't help that my hourglass figure attracted attention and jealous looks from everyone around me.
I couldn't help that my eyes were twin pools of sorrow that reflected my sensitive and selfless nature in their azure, cerulean depths framed by thick, curling eyelashes that needed no mascara.
I couldn't help that I had midnight-black hair that shimmered and sparkled like the light of twinkling stars on a crystalline lake surrounded by green hills cloaked with white flowers beneath an indigo-dark sky that held suspended in it the tiny lights of the most ancient of days and which was streaked with natural blue highlights that ran like rivulets towards rocks worn by the waters of time and spilled over in a fall of glistening diamond droplets.
My highlights were always the first thing people noticed. When I told them that they were natural, their surprise was only augmented.
But I never wanted to believe that I was beautiful, because I wasn't. I was so plain. The bright eyes that took up nearly half of my face—they were too big, so that was a flaw in my character—and which shone with a soft silvern light reflected in the side mirror were nothing special. Modesty was always one out of the myriad virtues of my generous nature.
Heaving a sigh that was imbued with all the sorrow of the world my gaze then fell upon the copy of Lord of the Rings that was hastily shoved into the glove box of Billy-Bob's car.
Then I heaved another sigh that was permeated with love and admiration as I thought of Legolas, the Elf whose screen time in the movies that Tolkien directed had only served to increase the choices of Potential Boyfriends I had.
And I heaved another sorrowful sigh yet again when I realised he wasn't real. I would have to content myself with going out with the most popular guy at school, who was extremely attractive by mere Mortal standards.
My life was so unfulfilling. Though it served me well during this journey of angst and sadness, the half-empty and crumpled Kleenex box held together with duct tape would never be able to wipe away every tear I shed for the meaninglessness of my life. What was life without Elves?
We reached the house of Billy-Bob—or Dad, because that was who he was, but I feel like calling him Billy-Bob—and both of us clambered out: me to escape the awkwardness, and Billy-Bob to escape the blinding light of my beauty which the small space the car afforded could not contain. Sitting in the driveway was a brand new Volkswagen Polo.
"So, Maribella," said Billy-Bob.
"So, Billy-Bob," I said.
"I got a car for you," said Billy-Bob, unnecessarily, given that we had both been staring at it for the past four minutes.
"Did you get me an Elf?" I countered, in a very humorous way. I always hide my sadness behind jocularity. And long words.
Billy-Bob gave me a confused look, and after a moment responded, "I got you a radioactive custom number plate. It's made of uranium," he added proudly.
And indeed on closer inspection I found that there was indeed a custom number plate attached to both the front and back of the car, God bless the man's soul. Technically it was a letter plate, I thought, because it only had letters on it. People always did say that my intelligence was remarkable. The letter plate bore, in bold capitals:
MARI - SU
Tears filled my eyes again at this revelation. It was so thoughtful of him. That was my favourite nickname. My other nicknames included Emerald, Aaliyah and Celestia, but this was above all my preferred one. Maribella Suell was such a plain name.
"Thanks, Billy-Bob," I murmured as I reached up and gave him a hug, happy about the letter plate but not wanting him to know that I was disappointed with the car. I'd wanted a Citroen. But through my selfless nature I inwardly forgave him his transgression, for he could not have known that a mere Volkswagen would fail to please me. No sense in us being miserable together.
Suddenly a car roared around a corner, causing me and Dad to jolt apart. I fell back onto the road in my moment of humiliating clumsiness, nearly bursting into tears again because I knew that any good opinion Billy-Bob had formed of me would be gone. Who would want a daughter who was clumsy, good-for-nothing and couldn't even manage to make sure that her makeup remained un-smudged in a fall?
The car was speeding and had no intentions of stopping—or so it seemed. Briefly, I contemplated quickly standing up and holding up my hand, chanting aloud the magical words, "Auta miqula Orqu!" and so blinding the driver with my powers that the car would stop.
But I found I couldn't get up.
I braced myself for a meaningful, selfless death to make up for my useless life but in a rare display of courage that only I was ever capable of, Billy-Bob reached out and pulled me back. I smiled. I knew he must've gotten it from somewhere. I was unharmed, and the silver Volvo rushed past, showering many droplets of chocolate-brown mud all over us. Fortunately I used my powers to deflect it, but Billy-Bob evidently couldn't protect himself from the Volvo's rage and was covered from head to toe in mud.
Knowing that Billy-Bob would try to make me happy here, I skipped along inside, allowing him to go back to his own car and unload the ten duffle bags, two laptops, a DVD player, my box of low-fat snacks, a refrigerator filled with healthy dinners that I could simply heat in the microwave (I was an excellent cook—everyone always said so), a pink deck chair, half a shelf of books I had ripped out of the wall, my goldfish Legolania and an Oxford Thesaurus.
I waited until night time to really cry, because I always knew that crying at night is more melodramatic. But Billy-Bob understood I needed some quiet time to myself, and didn't interrupt me even when I started screaming and throwing bits of fruit into the next door neighbour's backyard at two in the morning, gracefully tossing them up and hitting them with my cricket bat, watching them explode into squashy pieces.
I sobbed uncontrollably once I crawled back into bed for a few hours' sleep. Oh, Legolas, I thought, where are you when I need you?
And yet I could feel, deep in my heart, that he was somewhere. That there were Immortal Beings in this world who would choose to live here just to be close to me. The thought was very comforting.
The next day I went to school.
I drove there with my polished silver Volkswagen, slowly, so that I wouldn't draw any attention. But, as always, it was my curse to be noticed wherever I went, so I felt many eyes following me as I circled five times to find a park.
I passed a familiar-looking silver Volvo, and sniffed disdainfully. How dare that rude driver try to run me over.
I walked to the main building. I could tell it was the main building because it said "MAIN BUILDING" in capital letters over the door. Except, some of the letters were missing so that it said, "M IN DING". I was always great at decoding Chinese.
I walked over to the receptionist. She must have been expecting me and had already heard of the fame of my beauty, because she didn't look at all surprised, sitting back in her seat and chewing gum in a nauseatingly horse-like way. A disgusted look was fixed on her features. Obviously there was someone behind me whom she didn't like.
I turned around to see who the person was, but I couldn't see anyone. My breath hitched. There must have been fast-moving individuals around here. Maybe my suspicions of last night were correct.
"So," said the receptionist in a very bored voice, which indicated that she was disappointed at not being the first person in Sporks to see me. All that jealousy loaded into one syllable.
"I'm Maribella Suell." I provided my name, adding in a little giggle that always charmed people and alerted them immediately to my intelligence. "I love Lord of the Rings."
"Mm-hmm," muttered the receptionist. She shoved a paper in front of me, which I was about to autograph, before I realised it was a timetable. How kind of her to print off a timetable, just for me.
I wandered around, using my seventh sense to guide me to the room where we had English. As soon as I opened the door, a boy fell at my feet. He was good-looking, but I reserved myself only for Immortal Beings, not mere Mortals.
I was about to very kindly tell him to arise but he looked up, scrambled to his feet, and raced back to his desk, not even looking in my direction again. I smiled sadly. My beauty and aura of wisdom must have terrified him.
A few girls talked to me, but they weren't important enough for me to remember any of their names. So I smiled vaguely and nodded at their chatter, pitying them for their low IQs.
There was one girl whose name I remembered, because it started with L, which is what Legolas' name starts with. Her name was Laura. We went to the cafeteria together and sat down. I munched on my carrot stick, which was filled with the goodness of carrots. Laura kept talking.
I selflessly put on a face that would at least look as if I were listening to her prattle, because I didn't want to hurt her feelings, and stared past her. It was then that my wide blue eyes, sparkling like rippling waters, caught sight of…them.
Laura turned around to see what I was so subtly looking at. She muttered something under her breath.
"Who are they?" I asked.
"Right. Here we go," sighed Laura. I wondered if she had to explain this a lot. "That one, the one with the long black hair and goth clothes, is Matt Kinslaye. The guy sitting next to him is Darren Minstrel. They're both musicians and they're always arguing over who's better, but they're good friends." I noticed the longing look she had on her face as she spoke of Matt. "The girls are Miranda del'Arbor—that's the one with the brownish sort of hair—and Nia White."
I decided to use some of my humour. "Matt and Nia must've made some sort of colour pact. He wears black, and she wears mostly white."
Laura just stared at me, probably too much in awe of my witty remark to laugh.
But I ignored her. It was the nameless blond boy who captured my attention. I knew instantly that we had a cosmic connection.
"And that," said Laura, as if she could read my thoughts, but I knew she couldn't, because I was always hard to read, "is Liam Greenlee."
Liam Greenlee. My mind sighed his name like a breath of air, gusting down from mountains capped with snow whiter than white.
"Some of them go to this school," continued Laura, "but some of them go to the uni campus across the road. We all share this cafeteria, so you might see uni kids around here from time to time."
I smiled, knowing that from now on my life was inextricably linked to these people, even though not one of them had physically spoken to me. It didn't matter, because our souls had spoken to one another. In Elvish. And Arabic.
But my good day went downhill from there, because the next class was something with a name I didn't remember because it wasn't important enough. I tended to filter out anything that wasn't important.
I was late, because I had been standing for fifteen minutes in front of the mirror in the toilets, so the only seat left was next to Liam Greenlee.
This should have been good. But when I sat down, he slowly moved right to the edge of the table, not even looking at me. I wondered what it was I had done to offend him. I had sprayed some Estée Lauder, Britney, Chanel, disinfectant and Windex on me before leaving the house this morning in order to create an exotic and fruity scent (the latter part mainly caused by the cantaloupe—rockmelon, if you prefer—that I'd been throwing last night). I was offended, and angry that Liam was staying as far away from me as possible, as if I smelt bad.
When I looked up at him, his eyes were like steely ice that bored into me with consuming hatred.
As soon as class was over, Liam Greenlee stormed out, without even looking at me or asking for an autograph.
I was so furious and hurt that I decided another graceful fruit-throwing session would be in order.
Coming up next: In the house of the Immortal Beings—and how they will deal with the intrusion of Maribella Suell.
And can you guess which 'human' name belongs to which Elf? ;)