Pestilential Prose

Bad Writing by Avondster


Mary Sue was sitting behind her desk, idly wrapping one of her thick, auburn locks around her perfectly manicured finger. Longingly she looked out of the window of her office, where the sun was shining and the rain was falling, for she longed to be outside dancing on the grass while the pale, luminous sunlight rippled in her fair hair and made it shine gold like autumn leaves in the sunset. With a melodious sigh she turned her clear, dazzlingly blue eyes back to her computer screen, her beautiful flawless white face glowing in the unearthly light of the TL-lights of the office. After a while she sighed again and, getting up, skipped gracefully towards the coffee machine, her frail-looking, yet strong and agile limbs moving with astounding elegance, even if there was no one there who saw it. Her superior intelligence was entirely too great for this lowly work, but even she had to make a living.

After her work Mary Sue went straight home, wondering about her destiny and life in general. She sang under her breath in a voice so pure and beautiful that all the birds in the trees – even the pigeons – started singing as if it was the beginning of spring. She smiled at them as they flew down to perch on her shoulders, singing an ode to her even if they could not find the words great enough to describe her beauty and wonderfulness.


When she came home to her perfectly clean and tastefully decorated apartment, she found that she was not alone. Indeed, there was an old man sitting on her lilac armchair, watching her new DVD of ‘Friends’ with mild interest. He wore a tattered, splattered, battered grey cloak and a blue pointy hat, and he was smoking a pipe.

Gracefully Mary Sue went to him and took the pipe out of his mouth. “My dear old man,” she said in a kind, mildly pained voice. “Do not smoke, I beg you. It is very very bad for you, and even if I do not know you, I would grieve if you died of it, since I love all of my fellow beings foul and fair alike.” She smiled and the old man was enchanted by her as all living beings are.

“I knew you would be beautiful even when you were a perfect, silent, never-crying and altogether lovable and cute child, my Írima,” he said. “Which is why I have given you your name, but the beauty you have become surpasses even my wildest imagination. You far surpass your mother Galadriel and your niece Arwen Evenstar, and I am proud to have you as a daughter.”

“You are my father?” asked Mary Sue, tears like shimmering pearls escaping her long lashes and spilling down her smooth cheeks without leaving a trail. Now that she thought of it, it was rather odd that she never had parents.

“Yes,” said the old man, tears rolling down his own cheeks into his beard, but they were normal tears and not as fair as those of she who was the most beautiful, wonderful being to ever have walked the earth. “I am Gandalf the Grey the Wizard, and your mother is Galadriel the fair Elven Queen. You have inherited her beauty and my wisdom and magic, and thankfully not the other way around. But there is no time to speak of it, Írima, for that is your true name, which you had before we brought you to this world for inexplicable reasons never to be explained. Middle-Earth is in great danger, and according to a spooky prophecy you are the only one who can save it.”

“But why?” asked Írimarysue, packing her Hello Kitty backpack as she went.

“Because you are beautiful and perfect, and because I said so,” said Gandalf. He waved his staff and opened a glowing, starry, sparkly gateway to Middle-Earth in the toilet.

Without saying any more while the world that she came for was in danger, Írimarysue jumped down the toilet and landed gracefully on her feet in the middle of a fair, greenish, flowery garden which of course paled in the presence of her beauty, which seemed to have doubled if that was even possible in this world where she had always known she belonged, even if she hadn’t actually known it existed.

Before her stood a tall Elf with long golden hair and Írimarysue knew immediately that this was Galadriel her mother, because she was almost as beautiful as her daughter (but not quite).

They embraced each other and cried many silvery, pearly tears which did not stain their perfect faces, and then Írimarysue noticed that others were standing around them. The first she looked at was a small being, also almost as beautiful as her but not quite by a long shot. His luminous, clear, beautiful cerulean eyes almost mirrored her own, and he looked upon her in awe, and bowed. Her mother said: “this is Frodo, the Ringbearer, who is almost as important as you in this story (but not quite), and he is your brother.”

Írimarysue said nothing, for words were not enough for this glad meeting, and she fell down on her knees and embraced Frodo, and he said: “I am so glad you are here, Írimarysue, for this task is too great for me to bear, and I need your help, for you are far more wise and pretty than I am, and anyway it is your destiny.”

And Írimarysue smiled and said: “I shall help you Frodo, even if it’s to be my almost-end-after-which-I-am-unexpectedly-revived-and-nursed-back-to-health-by-the-one-I-love-using-many-semi-emotional-dialogue. For you are my brother and I love you, even if I have only met you two seconds ago, for I feel our kinship in my heart, and anyway I am too kind and noble not to hear the cry of need in this world.” She saw that this may take a while yet, and made a mental note to notify her employer of her prolonged absence from work, as she was good and polite and thought about these things even when she was occupied otherwise in Alternate Universes saving Worlds.

Now she looked upon the other members of the Fellowship: the three other Hobbits who could not speak, so enchanted were they by her stunning beauty, the Dwarf of whom she could see the beauty within even if he was shockingly ugly from the outside, Aragorn who was so handsome he would have been her brother had his future wife not been her sister, Boromir who was expendable but handsomely so, and at last she set her eyes upon Legolas, her one true love for ever and ever, and as he looked into her eyes and she in his their minds melted and they were united for ever on all planes of love.


Then she sang out in a clear voice and Gwaihir the Windlord came sweeping down, inescapably called by her sweet dulcet tones, and she said a teary and emotional goodbye involving many hugs and soppy dialogue and exchanging of jewellery and a rather nauseating kiss with Legolas, before she took her beloved’s bow and arrows and lifted Frodo in her arms and, with a last gesture of farewell, flew towards Mount Doom.

With her incredibly sharp eyes and archery-skills that (of course) far outdid Legolas’, Írimarysue shot down any Orc that looked up even if they were many leagues above the ground, but since she resented killing she used her exceptional good magic to turn them back into the Elves they once were, so that they waved at her in immense gratitude and skipped away into the sunset and worshipped her for ever after that. Frodo sat on her lap and looked adoringly up at his fair sister, and sighed and wished that he were only half as perfect.

Finally they came to Mount Doom and the Ringwraiths came flying at them on their foul flying beasties, and Frodo cried out like a girl in terror and pressed his face into Írimarysue’s perfect bosom. “I am so afraid, Írimarysue, please save me!”

And Írimarysue smiled and looked down on him with her beautiful eyes and said: “fear not, Frodo. For I am with you, and nothing shall ever happen to you while I protect you.”

And she sent some good magic to the Black Riders, whose steeds turned into cute litte flying ponies, and they themselves turned into the young princes they were before they became evil kings, and now they could do their lives all over again (without the turning evil part, obviously). They flew back home singing on their ponies and worshipped Írimarysue forever, too.

Now they landed on Mount Doom, and Írimarysue took the Ring from Frodo and made to cast it into the fires, but suddenly her superhuman senses picked up another presence and turning round she saw Gollum, who was strangling Frodo. With a voice that was full of pain and grief and general suffering (but of course still melodious and fair by all accounts) she called out to him and said: “leave him alone, for he is my brother! Why can’t we all just get along?”

And Gollum looked upon her and saw her beauty and felt regret, and crying for her forgiveness he cast himself into the fire out of pure inner torment at insulting a Lady so graceful and fair and wonderful.

And Írimarysue cried too, for him, because suicide is never the answer, but she cried more for her brother Frodo whom she had loved, for he seemed stone dead. She climbed up the mountain with his body in her arms, and looked at Sauron in his tower, and cried: “see what you and your evil ways have done? They shall bring you neither joy nor happiness in the future, and the faces of all you have hurt and wronged shall haunt you in your sleep for ever! Is that really what you want, Sauron?”

And Sauron saw his evil ways, and begged Írimarysue to forgive him, and promised that he would be good now, if only to please her for she was so fair, and he cried bitter tears so that the fire in his Eye was extinguished, and it became blue with long lashes and an odd resemblance to Bambi’s, and suddenly flowers sprang up in all of Mordor, and it became a happy, green land resembling Disneyland in summer (but without the annoying puppets).


Now Írimarysue put Frodo on her lap and cried bitter tears, and lo! her brother stirred, for her tears had magicallyish healing powers, and he sat up and said: “don’t cry, Írimarysue, for I live!” And she looked up and saw that it was so, and she was happy and they hugged and everything, and they skipped to Minas Tirith together for the coronation.


And then Írimarysue married her one true love Legolas, and she became princess of Mirkwood, and Frodo came to live with her, and often King Elessar would write her letters to ask for her guidance, for she was wise beyond the wits of mortal Men.

And so they lived happily ever after. Except for Gollum of course.