These are short little stories that I write on the computer and don’t want to just delete after I’m done…so they end up here. I hope they won’t hurt your eyeballs to badly, and please review. Reviews are the thing that keeps all writers going.

**AUTHOR’S NOTE**

I hate Denethor. Always have, always will. But nevertheless, I’ve written a short fic about his last moments, trying my best to understand. Please review after you read; unless you are a writer yourself, you can’t know how much reviews mean to us poor little authors.

The Burning

I burn.

In the farthest reaches of my mind there is a dragon. He is flaming bright, his scales like the crimson blood which is his flame. He is fearful, and yet I did not truly fear him until I saw his eyes. It was the first time I dreamt after I looked into the stone.

I burn.

The eyes were the very absence of light, like a void, like the space between the stars. They looked at me and suddenly they burned. And the dragon became the Eye. A voice that was nothing less than evil itself, like nothing have I heard before or since, filled my mind and I screamed.

I burn.

The voice was like that of Sauron; his voice I know, yet the fear it has invoked was nothing like the fear I felt now. There is no explaining it. I know not how I lived. The words of the voice will not be repeated here, but it told me of the demise of my city, of the downfall of my house, of the ruin of my world; of my death. And it was all in flame.

My city is burning; it is only a matter of time now. My first son has died; the poison of orc-darts filled his veins and he burned. My second son will die; his fever burns him as a fire. I have seen the doom of my world and it is in the scorching, scathing inferno of Hell.

And I burn.

The Wizard will come. He believes in his half-witted Halflings. He cares not that he has sent them to torment and death. He will come at the beckoning of the Halfling Peregrin. I have seen it in the stone that gave me my wisdom and my doom. He will come and will try to take my son from me; he is a fool. Faramir burns and will die. There will be no tomb for us; we will burn, and in this way I will not be utterly under the power of the Evil One. To bring about one’s own fate is a braver thing than to hide selfishly in a corner and fear it.

“Cease this madness!”

The Wizard is here. He thinks he can stop me. He cannot. My men will not follow me at the last; it is no surprise. I have seen this also. I will take the torch and I will take my own life in the manner of the heathen kings. I drop the torch.

Something has happened…Faramir…his eyes! They open! How can this be? The stone has betrayed me…my son…

The heat is more than I can bear. My line will not end! The heat…the heat…

I burn.

I burn.