The Jhodan

         
His name was Finnegan Thorne, a name he didn’t particularly like, but it was the name he had been given. Of course with a strange name comes torment, and as a fifteen year old boy, Finnegan was accustomed to it. All his life he had been ridiculed, mocked, and bullied. What had started out as simple name calling when he was younger, led to beatings as he grew older. Kids could be evil, and for the unfortunate ones who were at the end of it, life felt like it wasn’t worth it. Maybe it was because he had never learned to stand up for himself, or maybe it was because he had learned to live with it in his own painful way, but for Finnegan it had become a way of life.

It wasn’t that he was weak in fact he was rather strong for his age. It wasn’t that he was small, for in fact at fifteen he stood nearly six feet tall. It was however due to the fact that Finnegan had no self confidence in himself. When he was younger he had tried to play sports, he wasn’t bad, but he never stood out. If he made a team he was a back up, occasionally he even got cut. He got decent grades and some how that added to things. For in the journey of adolescence he had been labeled. He wasn’t a jock, or a prep, he didn’t fit in with most crowds because of his quiet nature. Finnegan was a loner, and seemingly from all the brands children chose for one another that was the worst. He longed to have a friend that he could confide to, a friend who would be there for him and stand by him when the bullying occurred. He wasn’t hoping for much, he wasn’t trying to aim for the stars; he simply just didn’t want to be alone.

When school ended, Finnegan made it a priority to get home as fast he could. Over the years he had learned the shortest ways home, whom to avoid, and when to leave. Still often times he got caught, being an easy target he felt preyed upon. The system didn’t protect kids like Finnegan, they forgot about them.

Running home everyday, Finnegan would take to his room, it was his only solace. Here in his room he had developed a shield. It was his one place of salvation, from the fists, the kicks, the jokes, and the embarrassment. Here in his room he had his books. His father had built shelf upon shelf covering all four sides of his room. Standing five feet tall he had learned to embrace the adventures his shelf held. When the world got him down, he could always come here, and in seconds he could be captaining a pirate ship sailing across the seas. He could be hiding in caves with Tom Sawyer, or fighting evil in a far off land. He could be the sheriff saving the town from an evil cattle baron or like his hero he could be up to no good with Huckleberry Finn. He loved that book above others. He felt a kinship because they shared a name. When he had been in sixth grade he had tried to have his classmates call him Finn, he thought it was such a good nickname. But as evilness set in he was tortured with the name Huckleberry instead, just another instance of not being able to fit in.

Every week with is allowance he would purchase a new book, and before a few days had passed he had lived another adventure, sword fighting, espionage, saving the beautiful girl. Every holiday or birthday he would ask for books. They were his life. In a sad existence he wished everyday that he would no longer be part of this world or this time, and instead could go off to a far off land, or another century. Get a fresh start, be somebody’s hero, maybe even have a friend.

Little did Finnegan know that day as he was hurrying home, as he took a shortcut through the park to avoid the other kids walking home, the day he found the old worn out key sticking halfway out of the ground, would be the last day he would ever have to be part of this world again. As he picked up the key he looked at it. It looked like one of those keys that opened a door from a hundred years ago. Long and skinny with a few half worn teeth extending from the end, he could tell it had once been gold. The handle of the key was extremely different however, it was elaborately carved and he couldn’t tell what it is was carved from, it almost looked like bone. The two different materials of the key fit together perfectly; you could hardly even notice a seam. Finnegan spit onto his fingers and tried to wipe some of the grime from the gold edge of the key. As the dirt and grime came off he held it to the sunlight, and instantly the key gave off a little shine, and just as instantly Finnegan Thorne vanished.






The old man woke with a start, in his mind he saw a flash, a violent current of light that lasted only a split second but had left him blinded and dazed. He had been waiting a long time for this. He called for his guard. The faithful servant entered hurriedly.
“What is it my lord?” He asked.
“Bromm, quickly, awaken the others tell them the Council must meet immediately, tonight if possible.” The old man began to rise from the bed.
“Certainly my lord, and why should I tell them the nature of this urgency?” Bromm asked.
“Tell them the fifth artifact has been found, the Jhodan can now begin.”