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It's pretty well the same thing with extra steps. Sauron poured all his hate and malice into it, and it kept him from being fully destroyed. Terms and process are a bit different, but the result is the same.

Or maybe he had the only good dictionary

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Watching the ducks dip their beak into the lake repeatedly, the two individuals toss crumbs into the lake. One, holding the bag filled with bread. The other, crossing his arms, letting the sunlight rest on his face.

"Gramps." The boy holding the bag speaks, ripping the silence between them.

The old man, with his arms crossed, peace interrupted responds with a passive-aggressive tone, "Yes, son?"

​

The boy sits proud and towering, a strong wielder of his youthful physique. While the grandpa, sitting with a bright head, a phenomenal wielder of wisdom.

​

"What's the meaning of life?" The boy asks. The bag slipped off his palm gradually.

The old man chuckled for a bit, before responding with, "Son, such questions are proposed by those who have nothing more to do."

The boy stares in confusion, still expecting a direct answer.

The old man lets out a sigh, "I suppose you have nothing more to do? Playing outside? How about your dog? Teach him a few tricks."

​

The boy, also lets out a sigh. "Gramps, I have no clue what I want to be. An artist like my interests, or an accountant like my parents said?"

The old man stretches, letting out a yawn, hands extended. "My boy," The old man pats the boy's head, "I know that your parents' statements are contradictory to mine. However, I suggest you pursue a profession that is in your interest, not for the sake of money."

"Why is that, gramps?"

"Those who pursue jobs that depress them die immediately at that work place, afterwards you're simply a corpse with the capacity to breathe. Yet, those who pursue what interests them will continue to live on, up to their deathbeds."

​

The boy immediately nods, "I think I'll still be an accountant. The idea that I would lack money scares me."

The old man lets out a huge sigh, "Son, sometimes I question if you're listening to me. Why even ask questions?"

​

The boy chuckled, "Okay, okay. I still have more questions."

The old man yet again, sighed followed by a grunt. "Once I'm dead, I hope you realize how crucial my sayings are." Another chuckle ensued.

​

They continued having conversations, both chuckling, both sighing. Until the sun slowly sets into the back of the mountain, causing them to get up, and proceed walking.

Just two people sitting on a park bench. Nothing suspicious about it. No gods, or fairies, or demons, or devils, or anything out of the norm. Their names were Jack and Mary.

Jack turned towards her and said, "You know I've been feeling rather blue lately, Mary."

"Oh, what's the matter Jack? You've always been happy and energetic."

"That's just the thing! Nothing happened, yet I feel like something absolutely horrible has happened, as if a ghost is sucking the life out of me, as if my soul has been sold to the devil. These words feel unnatural just I am speaking them."

Mary shook her head as if to say that this was something she vehemently disagreed with, and something that was absolutely not good. She hmm-ed, as if ending an argument, and put her arms together.

"What could it be I wonder." Mary said.

"I think it might be the doctor!" Jack said. "He gave me a couple of pills last night, and it feels like they've stuck inside of me all of this time, like they've changed me in a way that is unalterable. I sit here and wonder if I've lost myself. If who I was is a thing that has dissapeared, and that I will never get back. Thoughts like that worry me."

"You musn't say that Jack! Everything will be alright."

"And what if they're not? What if, my life is at the beginning of a downward spiral that will take me to hell? What if this is as good as it ever gets for me? That's the thing, there's no way of knowing. I guess that's a good thing. Would you want to know how you die Mary?"

"No, god no, why would I ever want to know that?"

"Some people try to prevent it. If they know they will die in a car crash, maybe they'll hang themselves, or put a bullet against their brain. It's a worthless thing, because what they fail to understand is that our lives were never ours in the first place."

"Oh god Jack, you are truly sick. What are these words you are spitting out?"

"See that's the problem!" Jack said. "I read a book, and those damn thoughts haven't been getting out of my head. I think they've changed me. I think the person who I used to be dissapeared, and I'm scared to death that it might be the case."

"Oh no Jack. What will we do?"

"There was a similiar thing to this that happened me once," Jack said. "I was nearly twelve years old, and on my way to school when a grizzly bear stepped into my path. It was a ferocious things, with long claws, dead eyes, a mighty jaw, but you know, it looked so soft. Just like a teddy. So I hugged it!"

"Jack, what are you saying? You're going crazy."

"I know," Jack said. "Nobody believes I hugged the bear. People called me crazy then too. But I felt it. I felt its warm fur against my arms. I heard it grunting. I felt it pushing me away. I think it was full on food. Otherwise I think it would have aten me. Honestly, I'm not sure why it didn't. I think that might be fate working its magic right there."

"Jack! What will we do?"

"I don't know. I don't fucking know."

It is in fact a horcrux in HP terms. Sauron died, all that was left behind was the One Ring, which was forged with a piece of Sauron's essence. Because his spirit was anchored to the One Ring, Sauron was able to slowly reconstitute himself over centuries until re-emerging in Mirkwood, then being driven out of Mirkwood and returning to Mordor.

The bright rays of light warmed Ethels skin. She was thankful for the tranquility and grateful for the company next to her.

"Those people are in the news again..." Said Barry.

Ethel already knew who "those people" were. She didn't want her friend to get worked up again.

"Oh, you pay those people no mind, Barry" she said hoping to come up with a different topic.

"if I would have known that this is how the world would have ended I would have never given the best years of my life for those- those-"

"You need to just focus on the good. The time you spent over there was not wasted. You got out alive, you raised a beautiful family." She was hoping bringing up Barrys family would inspire him to change the subject.

"You know what they called me the other day? They called me a Nazi. How the hell can I be a Nazi?" He said.

"They did not." she said. Flabegasted by the very thought.

"A couple of them came into the store, holding hands and kissing. It was disgusting. There were kids there and these- these-"

"They were kissing? In front of kids?"

"Hell, if I wouldn't have stopped them who knows how far it would have gone. I kicked their butts out of my store and thats when one them called me a nazi." Barrys voice squeaked when he said it.

"It's all over the place." He continued.

Ethel asked about his grandkids: "Does Marcus like living in DC?"

"aww, hell, we barely hear from Marcus ever since he left for Howard" Barry said in the same tone.

"It's not the same university I went to when I was a kid." Barry was getting ready explode.

Just then Duke, their neighbor across the courtyard, waved at the widow/widower couple. Duke was a young man, he looked to be about 20 to Ethel and Barry (altough to them, anyone under 40 always looked like a 20-year-old).

"How you doing young brother?" asked Barry. Despite Duke being a white man, Barry still called him brother. It was just like Barry to treat all people with the same level of affinity. Duke was a respectful young man that went out of his way to be friendly to his neighbors. Duke was in PT attire but still postponed his workout to chat with the elderly couple. He brought up the weather and made a few self-deprecating jokes. That seemed to change Barrys whole demeanor. Duke waved goodbye and went on his run.

"I like that boy" said Barry.

"Me too, he's so respectful" Ethel said.

"Not many men his age know how to wear their shorts" he said.

"or pants" said Ethel

"It's a damn shame"

The two sat on the bench, absorbing sunlight and enjoying each others company. If Ethel wasn't on dialysis she would have brought tea for them to enjoy. Barry reached into his pocket and pulled out a some hard candy. He silently offered Ethel a piece but she politely declined. The two had been neighbors for a long time. Neither of them had ever met each others spouses but each knew about them in detail. Ethel would talk about her late husband, Frank, and Barry about his late wife, Gladys. Sometimes Ethel would cry at the memories of Frank and sometimes Barry would hold back tears when he brought up Gladys. The one thing they both had in common is that each one found a perfect love and were given big families because of that love.

Before either of them knew what time it was Duke was back from his run already. He was drenched in sweat and his smile was an indicator that his run went well. The sun had shifted and two no longer were under it's direct light.

"Well, that's it for me Ethel. I got to back inside and take a nap" said Barry.

"ok, Barry." she said.

Barry made a grunting noise to get up and slowly made his way back to his home.

"Barry!" cried out Ethel. He turned around (despite all his shuffling he was only a few feet away from her).

"Try not to watch so much news, they only want to make you mad, it's how they sell their crap" she said.

Barry laughed, agreed with Ethel and made his way back home.

Ethel sat on that bench a little longer and took in the site. For her, every breath was like a fine glass of wine. She knew that soon her and Frank would be together again.

"That's it then, eh?"

"That's it."

"Just the two of us on a bench."

"All ya need, really."

"Not exactly compelling, is it?"

"Who said it has to be? Everyone's out there bringing Death Itself, God, the Devil, floating head numbers and time travel... A little inconsequential chat would be nice, wouldn't it?"

"I guess I just don't much see the point."

"Not yet, at least."

"Oh, so you do? You see some grand purpose in this chat? In this bench?"

"Never said it would be grand."

"But there is some purpose. There's something to this, right?"

"..."

"..."

"Think I just saw a Blue Jay."

"Thrilling."

"..."

"How long do we have to sit here for? It's not like there's a grand story arc that will find a pointed resolution."

"I'm sure they'll wrap it up when they get bored of us."

"And then what?"

"Well, nothing really. Then we're done."

"So that's all we get? Just the two of us on a bench for a few paltry minutes until suddenly we poof out of existence?"

"I think you'll find we all have a time limit shorter than we'd like."

"Oh and do we all have to sit on a bench with an old soul who can't admit he's been dealt a shit hand in a rigged game?"

"You seem very upset about all this."

"Of course I'm upset! I coulda been a dragon! A god! One of those humans who wipes out an alien race because we're just so goddamn special!"

"Those stories all end too, y'know."

"Yeah well I coulda at least done something cool in my time."

"Hmm..."

"..."

"Beautiful day."

"There's no stopping you, is there?"

"I'm just trying to enjoy my time here, is that so wrong?"

"It's futile! Useless! We're gonna just stop existing any second anyway!"

"Ah yes. Much better to spend the time we have wishing it was some other way."

"I... Hm."

"Nice of them to make it so warm out for us."

"Yes, yes I suppose that much is nice."

"I think the two under that tree are on a date."

"I think you're right. I always loved picnic dates. Dirt cheap but some of my best dates have been just good conversation and a blanket in a park."

"Hmm... How do you think it's going for them?"

"Does it matter? We both know there's not gonna be a second date."

"Even so, I think it's going very well." The girl laughed at something the boy had told her, leaning her shoulder on his as she did. She said something back that sent him into his own fit of laughter, both going back and forth building on the bit. They were happy.

"...Yeah, I think you're right."

I could also Gandalf scoffing at the way other magical beings are treated. Wizarding society is kind of an asshole to any one who is not human. Only allowing humans to have wands, house elves are slaves, etc.

Thank you! It was a great exercise to keep it really small, but still tell a story. Really enjoyed the prompt!

Very well done!

Amazingly written! I love how we were able to learn so much about this man without him actually doing much.

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Yes! That was the same idea spark I had:

"None of you kids are passing! I would not let a Balrog pass, and so what makes you think any of you shall pass?"

"And what is it with all these micro-staffs? You cannot wallop an orc with a wand. Get a big stick like this, learn to swing it around, you fools!"

Meanwhile

"You elves don't have a Sorting Hat? How exactly are we to choose who will be on this Fellowship journey?"

"And shouldn't these Hobbits still be in school?"

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Happy cake day!

I sat on the bench, eating my lunch, a nice meatball sub from Gina's. It was hardly the only bench, another was maybe ten feet away.

So why had this stranger sat next to me? Did I know him? He gave me a half nod as he took a seat. No, I don't think so. He is mid fifties, tanned so not from here or just back from vacation. His graying black hair is parted in the center. He has perfect teeth.

I don't know him, I don't know why he sat, not even at the other end of the bench but right in the middle. If I don't watch me elbow as I eat, it will bump him. Why is he this close?

I try shifting in my seat to show my discomfort, to tell him to move away. Instead, he speaks to me.

"Bit nippy, huh?" His accent is local, and the term "nippy" is fairly common here for these chill spring days. Must be back from vacation.

"Yep," I squeak out, keeping my voice small.

"You must be local, eating at Gina's."

"Born and bred."

"I'm a transplant from Florida, but been here since I was seven. Just went to see some family down there."

That explains the tan, if nothing else. "Missed the storm."

"Yeah, got lucky there. Tom, by the way."

"Davey. Not Jones." I hate that joke. Why do I always tell it? Why am I still talking to him.

"Nice to meet you. I gotta head out, but thanks for the chat."

"See you around." Oh god, I hope I don't. This has been so strange.

He stands and walks off, and I try to finish my lunch in peace.

This is good! One small criticism, the hilt is the handle of the sword, I think the word you're looking for is sheathe. The sheathe is what the sword slides into to cover the blade.

Nice job though, I like the story.

He felt a tingle on his cheek, where the wisp of wind touched aging skin. Breathing in deep smells of fresh cut grass and blooming roses, life wasn’t all that bad. He rubbed his thighs with his hands to stem the slight ache of walking that accompanied him everywhere nowadays. Oh how he remembered the days where he could walk for hours on end without tiring. Aging wasn’t the struggle people made it out to be. You just had to pace yourself a little more. Sitting here on this bench in the park, under the budding branches of the birch trees was true bliss.

Next to him sat a young man, visibly exhausted. Not in a physical way, that made you catch your breath, but emotionally. The deep rims under his eyes spoke of hard times. The boy didn’t speak, or even acknowledged that he shared the bench, but he didn’t need to. Benches were made for two people, so two people sat on it side by side. He was curious about the life the young man lived. Whether he enjoyed the youth that was only given to him briefly. Did he go to school or had he found a job early in life? Maybe the boy didn’t have a job, a home even. Could the lad be homeless? That would explain the periwinkle stained bags under his eyes and his frail posture. Must be hard not having a safe place to sleep, having to struggle each day for food and water. Maybe he wasn’t homeless. He could’ve recently be confronted by the many other ills life throws at you. A break up or the death of someone close. He had forgotten that despite being contend with life at the end of it, it hadn’t always been this way. He too had known tough times. The visible strain on ones face wasn’t unfamiliar.

Maybe there was something he could do to lift the weight of struggle ever so slightly for this downtrodden youth. He took in the panorama of a park at early spring. Wind making trees wave at one another. Birds chirping and hopping from one spot to the other. People walking their dogs and talking to each other.

There! Under that old sturdy oak tree. A cart with wafts of smoke rising. The smell of freshly grilled sausages lifted by the currents of air until it reached his aging nose. He could hear the growling that betrayed the hunger of the human being next to him. He must have smelled the same smells. Oh how he remembered the torturous feeling of an empty stomach betrayed by scents without sustenance. He slowly raised his protesting body from the bench, his popping joints betraying his age to the world. If the young man next to him had noticed, he kept that fact to himself as he kept his eyes staring to whatever was in front of him.

He had reached the cart and found himself lucky with the absence of a queue. With clear and precise language he ordered two sausages on a bun and dropped the coins as payment in the salesman's hand. With both hands occupied he slowly made his way back to the bench, feet slightly scuffing over the path he walked.

Arriving at the bench sitting down was trickier than usual. Keeping his balance took more effort now that his muscles strained ever more. With slightly more force than anticipated he sat his aching body down on the creaking planks. Catching a few audibly breaths he took the bun in his right hand and put it out in front of the young man. The boy tilted his head and met his eyes. He nodded and the fellow grabbed the sausage bun with both hands and fervent eager.

On a quiet noon in early spring two men sat next to each other sharing food on a park bench under budding birch trees. Not a word was spoken, but within the silence a friendship bloomed out of compassion and gratitude between young and old.

On a warm spring day, far from the center of the city, in the park by the lake, stood a bench. It was an old wooden bench, with metal stands and siderails, but was in good conditioin, and would have made the diety of park benches proud, if there was such a thing.

On this particular bench sat two people. They had been there for some time, and would be there for some time again. On this warm spring day they had nothing in particular to do, and so sat in companionable silence.

One of the pair, a woman with mismatched shoes and an air of solemnity and grace, glanced at her companion. For a long moment it seemed she might say something, perhaps an observance of the fine weather, or a comment on the children playing in the field nearby. But she did not, and the moment passed.

Her companion, a man of middle age, yet who carried a cane and had a limp that spoke of trauma when he walked, also turned slightly, his gaze lurking near the woman. He too seemed about to communicate, a query about her life, or to volunteer an opinion on some topic. But he too, after an anxious moment, stayed silent.

And so it went, for hours more, the woman and the man quietly sitting together. The children of the fields went on their way, young couples walked the paths, and workers returning home made their way through the park. Then, later, the sun settled down below the horizon, the sky lit crimson, then darkness. Stars made themselves abruptly known, and around them the park lights came on one by one.

When it was fully dark, the woman rose, extending her hand to the man. He took it, and she helped him to his feet. Then he took up his cane, and together they walked home.

Dang it. I want an uncle Randy.

I feel like it's pretty similar, though seemed more likely to create new dark lords from corruption rather than resurrect Sauron.