Metal Bands and the Guys Who Love Them.

Robbo stood at the precipice, ring clutched in his fuzzy fist.

"Throw it!" shouted Robwise.

Looking into the molten pit below, Robbo wondered if there weren't some way he could keep the ring. After all he had spent good money on it. Could he throw Robwise instead? Would anyone notice? The world wouldn't miss one small round Hobbit, and Robbo knew he would miss the ring. He knew she would keep hers--even if she didn't wear it. She'd keep it. It was the one ring. The ring he'd bought for My-

"MyPrecious!" Robbum screamed as he flew towards Robbo, hands clawing at empty space. Robbo stepped aside as Robbum snagged a foot on a rock, and tumbled across the dirt, and into the pit below. "My--Awww Fu…."

The faint smell of cooked flesh wafted up.

"I'm hungry." Said Robbo.

"Me Too." Agreed Robwise.

Robbo had a choice, stand here forever or obey his stomach. Plink! The ring rebounded off a rock before Ploop! into the lava...

Tolkien and Wagner created epics about their rings. Tolkien still fills bookstores with forests dedicated to preserving the ecology of his metal hoops, while Wagner still brings them in to watch the fat lady sing. Actually I think the ending of that one included a woman burning on a flaming boat. Either way, I'm sure that somewhere a lawyer got his wings, or at least some kind of leathery appendage.

We didn't have lawyers--MyEx and I. I know, we were boring. No warriors, wraiths, or Velcro Hobbits to hang from your wall either.

"Can you put us up for the night?"

"hehehe."

"What's so funny?"
Riiiipppp!

"Hey!"

"Tell the boys it's Hobbi-darts, and pints tonight!"

Nope. It was just MyEx, me and a 2 ring circus. I bought the rings, she joined the circus. We were both juggles, aerialists, and animal tamers. There's a magician joke about her making half my stuff disappear, but that's kind of cliché. We may have been boring, but I don't think we were cliché.

See, we accomplished what few people I know have done: we completed a friendly divorce, and were friendly about it. Sure, we had our moments of mouth frothing, but that was just peroxide in the toothpaste cleansing wounds. Nobody needed to be put down.

For the final scene, the part of Old Yeller will be played by Rob...

"Hey!"

Bang!

"Roll Credits!"

It wasn't quite that quick. Still, we managed to get along. Despite the fact that we both loved War of the Roses, we accepted it as a work of fiction, and, no matter how tempting, not a training manual, like Art of War.

As a writer, it's frustrating. I'd love to take my divorce story and share it with the world, but now that I'm done I realize it's completely boring! People don't read books about guys who get up and keep the daily peace. They read books like Fight Club.

"The first rule of divorce club?"

"Don't talk about divorce club!"
"Well I was thinking, don't taser me in the groin, but that works too."

We worked together, separately, to unravel what we'd once woven together. And now we've done it. There's no great battle, no climactic finish, just a guy sitting in his office with a cup of coffee.

Silence filled the house as the clock struck it's twelfth chime. Rob stopped working and lifted his hands from the keyboard. He sipped his water, then stared at his left hand. The gold band refracted the light as he rolled his wrist to the right and left then back right again. Rob swallowed. The ring had been there so long, but now it was time for it to go. "I could just keep it," Rob thought." It could serve as a safety jacket…"

MyPrecious…

"No."He shook his head. The era of the ring's power was over. This was the era of man. Cupping his right hand to his left, Rob slipped the gold loop free . It fell easily, but felt heavy. Dropping it into the desk, Rob closed the drawer. He returned to typing, feeling visible once more.

The End.