by Sasjah Miller


The way it caught the sunlight seemed to set the world on fire.

"Give us that, Déagol, my love."


"Because it’s my birthday, my love, and we wants it."

Déagol shivered as a sudden cloud obscured the midday sun.

"So it is, happy birthday, my love." He smiled at his friend and warmth returned.


When Déagol died, the sun stopped shining for Sméagol. He put the ring, now marred and dull with age, between Déagol’s cold fingers and kissed him one last time before they buried Déagol between root and stone. Sméagol did not see the sun rise again.

The End