Other Worlds
The little man jumped about silently from rock to rock, always in the shadows. I whispered to him as quietly as possible, "I won't let you get hurt."
"Thank you kindly, oh dwarf," he replied just as quietly, unaware I was actually a nine-year-old boy, "and I swear to you that I shall let you come to my hole once we are out of this pickle!"
I screwed my eyes together and thought hard. The goblins following the creature stopped and looked about, confused. They didn't understand that this was my world, and I could choose the outcomes of their fate. They grunted and snuffed, but eventually gave up. My den was like another world, and I could control all in it. It was another Earth in this one.
"John! Get in here now!" yelled my mother from inside the house. One day, she would be under my command too, and then I wouldn't have to be forced to bathe.
However, I had to wait for that day to come, and left my den full of dragons, little men with hairy, leathery feet (I called them Hobbits) and rings with extraordinary power. The wars raged and the magicians cast their spells. The trees talked and there were elves.
"John Ronald Reuel Tolkien!" my mother screeched, "don't make me come in there!"
My stories would have to wait until I could develop my Middle Earth further.
As I left the den, I caught sight of the little man, Bilbo Baggins slipping the ring on his finger.
