The Ring

I’m raking my yard, trying to keep from freezing from the October chill in the wind. I’m humming a tune I’ve had stuck in my head for a week and I barely notice the glint of silver in the midst of browns, reds, and yellows.

I brush away the leaves to discover a ring which seems to shine softly. It has a purple gem in it about the size of my pinkie nail. The gem has a black insignia that looks possibly Chinese. I don’t remember ever seeing this and I can’t really tell if it is a man’s ring or a woman’s.

Finally, I shrug and slip it on, admiring the polished look of it.

Suddenly, I’m on my back and a giant man is on top of me with fury written on his face. I’m too stunned to scream and all I can think is: Where did he come from?

Slowly, his eyes registered me and his expression turned into irritation.

He called out over his shoulder, “It’s just some kid.”

I heard a voice say, “It probably fell into her lawn when we were fighting Gorjak.”

“The Ring doesn’t just fall.” The man said, his eyes narrowing.

View this story's 3 comments.