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Story Notes:
All characters (except Aoife and Paula and their various Earth-friends and family) belong to J.R.R Tolkien, and this story has been written for fun and not profit.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Okay. So here goes. First chapter, first draft, first story. A pretty large undertaking, and I'm telling you now, it was nerve wracking. Seriously scary. But anyway.
Please, please tell me what you think. I'm trying to make these girls believable, but I'm not sure that it's working.
Enjoy. And people! Really sorry, but I want to add characters, but I'm not sure how . . . sorry, I'm a total newbie to this. If you could point me in the right direction . . . thanks.
3:05.

Aoife sat at her desk, irritably tapping the nib of her pen, and biting her lip, as the excruciating last few minutes of Friday’s last class stretched out. She began tapping her fingers on the desk, as her gaze darted once more around the stuffy classroom. She was not surprised by what she saw, but it did still unnerve her. Beside her sat one of her best friends, by the name of Paula, head in her hands, who was staring with a glazed expression at the book before her. Her eyes were glassy, her mouth slightly open, and, even though her eyes were open she was snoring slightly. Aoife would have been perturbed, lest she was dead, if it were not for this fact.
The rest of the class occupied similar positions of near death about the class. Aoife's other two best friends, Emer and Emma were sitting in the desk in front of Aoife and Paula. Emma held her head over her book in a half-hearted attempt to pretend she was paying attention, though Aoife knew her eyes were closed. There was also the small fact of the tell-tale Ipod wire disappearing into her jumper.
Emer had no such qualms about keeping up pretences, and she was sprawled across the back of her chair, her mouth unbecomingly wide-open, snoring fit to bring the school down. And still the monotonous drone of the teacher voice went on. It was a SPHE class, that standing for Social Personal Heath Education, which, oh yes, was a core subject for the entire population.
Dear God, if I have to talk about my feelings one more time, I will hurl my chair at this woman, and THEN we’ll se who should see the councillor about anger management! Aoife thought wrathfully, grinding her teeth, and then sighing, dropping her head into her arms. If I could stop time, I would so totally be out of here, she thought to herself. She pulled her head back again to stare at her watch,
3:05.
What? It can’t still be 3:05! She glanced around the classroom, but there was no clock.
Typical, she thought. Why would there be? It’s not as if student’s classes actually matter! Why, are they really even people? Why waste money?
Aoife sighed, and grabbed Paula’s wrist, displaying her expensive Tommy Hilfiger watch. Yep. 3:05.
‘Huh?’ Paula mumbled. Aoife patted her arm.
‘Go back to sleep, Paula,’ Aoife sighed, sarcastically, and went back to thrumming her fingers on her desk.
Her hand shot into the air.
‘Miss?’ she ventured after a moment.
‘Miss, can I . . . miss? Miss? MISS, ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?’
The teacher, it seemed had failed to recognize Aoife’s presence in the room at all, and continued droning. Aoife doubted that she was forming any cognitive words at all.
She cautiously rose from her seat at the side of the class. The teachers droning continued. Aoife hesitantly waved her hands about, to no avail. She sighed and yanked Paula upright.
‘Mmmnnnagghh!’ Paula exclaimed dozily.
‘Come on Paula. If no one is going to stop us, we are leaving now, in the hopes of avoiding the fatal crush of the locker room,’ Aoife stated, as she hauled Paula across the classroom in front of the still oblivious teacher at her desk, and the slumped forms of her dozing classmates, all of whom, she knew, in under five minutes would stampede to the locker room, creating a veritable tidal wave of . . . the other creatures that inhabited this institution of secondary education for girls, who would storm in, yelling such things as , ‘You stole my boyfriend, betch!’ ‘You’re going to do your homework? Betch!’ They would suffocate the locker room in a cloud of pink-scented deodorant, whilst re-applying their already perfect mascara and lip gloss, and refastening perfectly gathered, perfectly coloured smooth hair, crushing, by whatever means necessary to get to their lockers and out again as quickly as possible. This means included and were not restricted to climbing over Less Cliquishly Accepted Individuals, standing on Less Cliquishly Accepted Individuals, and shoving Less Cliquishly Accepted Individuals out of the God damn way.
Unfortunately (or fortunately, whichever way you look at it, but let’s say unfortunately for the sake of Aoife and Paula’s safety), Aoife and Paula were not of their fashionable ilk.

No, in fact you would be correct in presuming that Aoife and Paula were indeed of the LCAI’s.

The reason? Quite simple.
They were both completely and utterly obsessed with the Lord of the Rings.
Well, Aoife was, anyway. She hadn’t actually gotten around to reading the books yet, her adoration having only began about a week previously, but she would get around to it. But really, Paula had a fondness for many other series, as Aoife did also, but her affection for it was newly begun and bordered on mania.
And so, it was imperative that they reach the locker room and leave before the crush occurs. We can do nothing but wish them luck.

Aoife pulled the gradually reviving Paula from the classroom, still amazed at the teacher’s complete and utter failure to stop them. Paula blinked.
‘Where are we . . . um . . .’ She cast about herself, trying to remember where she was.
(Please do not think that Paula was forever a floating airhead. She is one of the most intelligent people you will probably ever know, but Friday afternoons SPHE classes numbed her brain cells to the point where their spontaneous combustion was a distinct possibility. As you can see, she is gradually recovering consciousness, and soon she will be the Paula I pray you will grow to love)
‘Come, Paula,’ Aoife impatiently tugged at her sleeve, and pulled Paula, tottering, into the locker room.
Aoife had the misfortune of having the locker in the very corner of the tiny room, and so when the owners of the two lockers next to her opened their doors, there was no light of any kind and Aoife was left fumbling for her books in the total darkness.
Another reason to be the early bird.
‘Quick, Paula,’ Aoife called as she shoved her books into her bag and slammed her locker door, slipping the lock on with an experienced hand, and turning to her friend who was still groping with her books in the locker two away from Aoife’s.
‘I’m trying!’ Paula called desperately, at last having recovered a semblance of awareness, as she dropped her hockey stick. Aoife retrieved it with a sigh as Paula shuffled through her copy books. And then came a dreaded noise.
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP.
Aoife and Paula exchanged horrified stares and began throwing books pell-mell into Paula’s bag desperately with redoubled efforts, and trying to slam the door closed with each others arms still in them.
That had been the bell for the end of class.

But, alas for our cliquishly challenged heroines, fate had not smiled on them, for the tapping of many girls dolly shoes and Dubarry boat shoes was more ominous than the thrumming of an army’s boot, for in a way it was one. Their weapons were not swords and bows, but words and the threat of humiliation. Their war wounds were not bloody scars, but tired dancing feet, and sore mouths. Their war cry was not harsh and raucous, but rather a chorus of ‘Jaysus! Hate tha’ and a bag a’ chips!’

And oh, was it dreaded now.
For the onslaught could not be avoided, but rather endured with a hope of survival.
The legion of schoolgirls barrelled into the locker room, causing destruction and annihilation to all in their path.
Aoife and Paula valiantly clung on, but in under a few seconds, their grip on the door was wrestling from their unrelenting palms. With a particularly vindictive shove and a cry of *‘Jayz! Geh ouh a’ da‘ way!’ Aoife and Paula were hurled unceremoniously into Paula’s open locker and found themselves diving headfirst into the darkness within. But something was wrong, for there was nothing but a dive down and down into the blackness and depth that a mere secondary school locker could not possess, with a ringing in their ears of the girlish shouts from the locker room, unaware of the fact that two of its regular patrons have just literally ‘gone for a dive’.
It seemed to them they had been falling for an age when it was really only a few seconds, before a sudden burst of light blinded them, and they tumbled inelegantly onto a sandy ground. Both hit their heads. Hard.
And both, being utter pansies and having no tolerance to harsh treatment, clichéd as it most certainly was, both girls immediately passed out, but Aoife’s last and sardonic thought before the blackness before her eyes enveloped her was how horribly Mary-Suish. And typical.


‘Jaysus! Hate tha’ and a bag a’ chips!’ Read: I would not like to be in your situation.
‘Jayz! Geh ouh a’ da way!’ Read: In the name of all things holy, please move out of my path.
Chapter End Notes:
Oh, and in the next chapter or so they actually make it to ME, so please be patient. Thanks! And the starred words are the explanations of the sland above.
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