It is commonly desired of the average person that they live an abnormal life, one filled with extravagance and adventure. There are many who actively seek that lifestyle out, and some may find it, whether they search high or low, near or far. Amongst certain groups abnormality is the ultimate goal in life. It is the one thing a person should search for with the few short years they have; the dream to stand out amongst the sea of faces.
Jory Johnson is not one of these people. All he has ever wanted is to live a simple, boring, ordinary life.
He is one of the rare, unfortunate individuals who has never sought adventure… yet, by the twisted hands of fate, adventure would instead find him.
It had been an ordinary Monday, no different to any other before it. There had been a light chill that morning, which quickly cleared up with the rising of the early summer sun. The city air was warming quicker at this time of year, though it was always rather murky thanks to the pollution puffed out by heavy traffic. He hadn't lived in London for too long, but Jory found the place to be paradoxically both reassuring and suffocating.
Being a plain looking, relatively timid eighteen-year-old that had now left the flawed English education system, he had moved out into the real world and found himself a job as a shelf stacker in a large supermarket and moved into a small, cheap single-room flat in an apartment block. Even if he'd had the money for a larger home or the talent for a fancier job, he wouldn't have taken them. He preferred the quieter, less busy life. Leave fame, fortune, and excitement to those who could handle it. He could make do with minimum wages, low rent, and basic living for now.
It was on this ordinary Monday that the first of several bizarre events took place.
As he was leaving for work that morning, he was confronted by a traffic pileup. The news had been mentioning for the last few days that a series of protests had been taking place near Downing Street, but that morning they had turned into a full-on riot. Because of this, traffic had come to a standstill, as roads were closed, and vehicles were rerouted through the city. Normally Jory would get the bus to work, but as the traffic was so congested it was forcing vehicles onto the pavements, today he would have to walk.
From that point on most of his day went as normal. He made it to work only a few minutes past 9, though his boss acted like he was several hours late. "You're late, JoJo." She'd snapped at him. He'd apologised for being late and hadn't bothered to point out the traffic being a problem. Neither did he mention how much he hated being called JoJo. She hadn't listened the first time he mentioned it. Once he'd changed into his uniform, he proceeded to clean aisles and stack shelves, weaving his way around busy and ignorant shoppers, all the while the sound of the bleeping tills in his ears and dull music playing away through the sound system continuously.
It wasn't until his shift ended, at around 5:30PM, that the second bizarre event took place.
As he was leaving work, the air outside having turned cold again while he was inside the supermarket, he saw the traffic had only gotten worse. Cars were piled along every road, blocking almost all passage even to pedestrians. His normal route home had been closed by police who were trying to control the situation.
"Great." He murmured as he watched the scene before him, cars desperately inching around each other as their drivers tried to force their way past one another. It was humiliating to witness. This was supposed to be the start of the new millennium, the year 2000. Only a few months ago people had acted as if this was the year everything would change, the year humanity would finally start to overcome its faults. They were only five months into the new year, and yet nothing appeared to have changed. "Goes to show what good humanity does for itself." He murmured to no one in particular.
He'd have no choice but to travel through an area of town he didn't know. That sent nervous shivers up his spine. Jory was the sort of person who liked to plan things out, to have a good idea of everything he would do in a day. It helped to keep him feeling safe and active. He'd walked the route to work at least five times before he actually started his job, just to be sure he knew how to get there. Straying off the beaten path was a haunting prospect… but he had little choice.
Knowing that the roads were blocked, the busses couldn't run, and the trains would be completely packed, Jory did the only thing he could, and headed for the nearest alleyway.
It was this choice that led to the final, most bizarre event of that day… the event that would change his life forever.
He had been walking for at least five minutes through that twisting brick riverbed, its cramped walls looming over him, stagnant rainwater dripping from the gutters above. The distant sky was just visible beyond the shadows of overhanging balconies, turning slowly orange with the descending sun. Graffiti marked almost every wall, varying in style and colour to represent some young artist's own personal flavour. Several doorways hung open as shopworkers moved dustbins and rubbish bags out.
Jory had been gratefully ignorant of these parts of the city until now. He felt incredibly out of place here. That feeling only made him anxious. London could be a dangerous place at times. Wander into the wrong parts at the wrong time and you might not leave again. Jory suspected that he looked like an easy target. If a mugger did confront him, he wasn't sure what he'd do. He might freeze up, and that might only antagonize them further.
He kept his wits about him, his eyes darting between every shadow, for at any moment some hoodlum might jump out at him. He tried to stay calm and focus, breathing slowly as his mother had taught him to do in situations like this. He didn't have to walk too far. He only had to go several blocks to get home. It would be a twenty-minute walk following the roads, maybe a bit longer via back alley. He could manage that, if he stayed focused and kept walking.
Several minutes passed by, and Jory Johnson walked on, pulling his grey jacket tight around him as a form of psychological protection. The alleyways twisted and branched off again and again, causing him to lose his sense of direction. If he could find his way back to the road, he could reorientate himself from there. He couldn't be too far from the road. The longer he walked, the fewer people were around. Somehow that set him more on edge. He kept walking.
Then, as he turned another featureless corner into another similar looking alley, he spotted a hobo sat against a nearby wall. The poor man was wrapped in a tattered winter coat, the hair upon his head and jaw long, unkempt and rain soaked.
Jory tensed for a moment. He knew it was unfair of him to fear this unlucky man, but he had heard horror stories about the homeless people of big cities. It was common to hear tails of men mad out of their minds from years of drug abuse, who stalked anyone who so much as glanced at them and tried to mooch as much as they could get. He knew it wasn't fair of him to judge those poor people, but his fear of gaining unwanted attention pushed him to avoid them. Now, however, one was stood in his path, and he'd have to go around them.
He steeled his nerves. There was little choice in the matter. He either turned back and tried to find a different way home, or he pushed on and risked confrontation. Doubting that he would get back to his flat any sooner by turning around, he made the choice to walk on. If the man tried to talk to him, he would pretend he didn't notice him.
Jory continued walking. The man was leaning against a wall, coughing, or perhaps wrenching something foul up. He smelled terrible, a foul scent wafting from him, reminiscent of stale alcohol and human waste. He was noticeably shuddering too, even though he was wearing a very thick coat.
He might have slipped past the man unseen, if he hadn't stumbled backwards right as Jory was walking past him. The homeless man tripped, turned, and bumped directly into Jory's side. As Jory backed away with a startled gasp, the man's arms reached out and grabbed his left hand. With grubby fingers he pulled Jory's palm towards him and fell onto his knees.
"Spare some change, sir!" The hobo grumbled through his thick beard.
Jory looked down at him, terrified. Despite the fact that he felt pity for this person, he wanted to get away from him as quickly as possible. He tried to control that fear, and managed to gasp out "I-I-I don't have any-"
"Then some food perhaps?" The hobo persisted "Anythin'. Please, I'm starvin'."
With his free hand, Jory patted his pockets, and felt his wallet lodged safely against his right thigh. Truthfully, he had some small change to spare for the man, a loose fiver and some pound coins for bus fares. His parents had taught him to be charitable when he was a child, to respect other people and treat them as he might wish to be treater himself, the common Christian sentiments. Jory had never been especially religious himself, much to his father's disappointment, but he tried to follow much of that advice purely as a moral guide. The problem was that he needed the little money he had. He barely made enough to pay rent. One pound may be the difference between keeping his home and ending up on the streets like this poor unfortunate. But, with his hand gripped in the hobo's grubby fingers and unsettled more than anything in his recent life had done before, he supposed he could give the man a few coins.
"I have some small change..." Jory said after a few seconds, reaching his free hand into his pocket. From a zipped-up pouch on his wallet's side, he produced a single pound coin.
Barely a moment after he'd removed the coin and lifted it from his pocket, the hobo's hands sharply darted for it. Startled, Jory dropped the coin, and it fell daintily into the homeless man's reaching fingers. He stared at the circular piece of metal lying flat on his palm with greedy eyes.
"Thank you, kind sir." He murmured, the hair around his mouth rustling and shifting with his lip movements. "Thank you very much."
"You're welcome." Jory muttered awkwardly. He supposed he'd done a good thing in helping this man, but all he could focus on was that fact that his hand was now free again.
He turned to leave.
"Wait, sir!" The homeless man cried out. Jory glanced back, only for his right hand to be grasped and pulled to the homeless man's chest. "Let me pay you back!" He was stating, a pair of wild blue eyes glistening through hanging strands of matted hair.
Jory stared back at him, still tense, still nervous. What was he talking about? What was he planning to do to pay him back?
"No." Jory said quickly. "No, there's no need for that. I'm sure you need what you have more than I-"
"I insist!" The homeless man continued, gripping Jory's hand tight like a vice, and shaking it up and down.
"O-okay." Jory said. He supposed it wouldn't do much harm just to hear the man out.
The hobo kept Jory's right hand squeezed within his grip, while his left arm reached into his coat and began rummaging around within the fabric. "A gift from one lost soul to another." The man stated, as his arm began to withdraw from the coat. "May it give you life… a new purpose!"
It happened in an instant. The hobo's arm shot out from the coat, and with astounding speed plunged something downwards into Jory's open hand.
He felt the pain first, the sharp sting of something entering his body, slicing skin, muscle, and nerve. His eyes only caught a blur of gold amongst the movement of the arm. He yelled out, a hot pain shooting up his arm. It was only when his eyes focused upon their meeting hands that Jory saw the cause of his pain.
An Arrowhead! An ornate, golden arrowhead had punctured his palm, its tip partially visible through the back of his hand.
It took Jory half a second for his brain to catch up with what had just happened. When it did, he screamed again. He wanted to believe that it was a manly scream, but in truth he knew it wasn't. Blood sprayed from the wound, coating the arrow, Jory's hand, the hobo's hand, and the floor beneath them.
"That's it, boy!" The hobo began to bellow, baring rotted yellow teeth as he cackled insanely. "Scream! Scream and bleed!
Jory stared back at the hobo, panic, pain, and fear consuming him. The shaking, stumbling, hapless man he had first encountered was no longer there. Now, in his place, stood someone far more threatening, a looming figure with mad, bloodthirsty eyes.
Panicking, Jory tugged at the snapped shaft of the arrow, pushing against the madman who had attacked him with it. Where had this strength come from? He had somehow gathered the power to plunge an arrowhead into his hand with one thrust, when only a few moments ago he'd barely been able to stand up straight. Horror was now setting in for Jory. He had made a very bad decision dealing with this person... and he had to get away, right now!
With an almighty pull he ripped his right hand free of the arrow, though he left a large bleeding wound in its place. Blood spurted out of his hand like a crimson geyser. Instantly he felt sharp stinging pains and a quickly rising weakness. He gripped his hand, turned, and ran! He scampered away from that place, not daring to do so much as breath until he was out from there.
"You can't run, boy?!" The hobo yelled after him, cackling wildly. "You're one of us now! He's chosen you!"
Jory didn't pay attention to anything he was saying. His hand thumped and his brain sparked. He needed to get out of there. He needed to run far away, as far as he could go. He had to get out of that alley. He ran for the alley ahead, his feet slipping and stumbling over the wet pavement. He had no idea where it would lead him, but he needed to get away! Anywhere was better than here.
As he was turning the corner, he caught of glimpse of the hobo from the corner of his eye. He was still stood there, not having moved more than an inch. His mad eyes followed Jory as he ran, and a wide, malicious smile was visible through his beard. The golden arrow was squeezed between his fingers, Jory's blood dripping from its tip.
"Welcome to our family, kid!" He shouted after him.
Those last words, that look upon his face, the arrow in his hand dripping with his blood. Those images would burn into Jory's memory for the rest of his life.
He didn't stop running, not until he was out of that alleyway, far from that street and back at his apparentment.
