I was 15, and I had just spent the previous twelve months with a feeling of constant uneasiness. I was afraid — afraid of people who knew too much, who had read The Lord of the Rings and would reveal the conclusion to the story before I had experienced it.
During the entire year of 2003, I was ever on the lookout not to find myself part of a conversation that naturally gravitated towards the looming release of The Return of the King. I would veer discussion far away from anything related to the trilogy, and would walk off as fast as a fell-beast flies whenever I heard people close by talking about the films -— often having to hum to myself in order to drown out any noise or keywords being spoken that might spoil the ending. Continue reading