It was just another normal morning, in a normal day, in a normal summer, in the normal life of Ian Thurgi. He arose from his normal bed and went through his normal routine. To him, nothing about his life ever seemed out of the ordinary. He was cast in the shadow of his older brother’s football stardom. He was commonly overlooked in classrooms, and barely had the confidence to peep, “Here”, when his name was announced on the role sheet in homeroom. He was the target of all the school bullies, and often didn’t mind their crude jokes, for their creativity had been dry for months because of their constant barking. Some would call his temper and mental strength uncanny, but it’s easy to overcome the dreariness of outside rain, when there is a roaring fire beneath the mantel.
Ian looked forward to summertime more than any other time in the year. He enjoyed it more than Christmas because his family usually just gave him weights and told him to bulk up. And also more than Halloween because he usually got chased around for how “gay” he looked in his, “stupid 5 year old costume”, in the words of the local teenagers. Ian enjoyed summertime because he loved the outdoors. He loved to climb mountains, and scale cliffs that some might say were impossible. He would often be gone for most of the day, and no one would care because frankly his family wouldn’t have cared if he were home. That was the only time he felt at peace.
Ian also loved to read. His favorite stories were those of the middle ages. He loved stories about Kings and knights, Queens and princesses, dragons and dragon slayers. He would often take a book to the top of the mountain and read until the natural light was so dim that he had to squint and he gave himself a headache. He would look down on the valley that his town was nestled in, and he would picture the people who picked on him sitting in their rooms. He imagined them eating potato chips and playing Call of Duty. He then understood why their creative capacity was that of a socially awkward gorilla. He loved those moments on top of the mountain, almost being able to jump into the clouds and have them take him to places only God knows. Those moments felt so surreal to him. He imagined the characters in his stories looking at clouds just like that, and tried to think what they thought. Little did he know that he would figure that out first hand sooner than he could imagine.
On his way back down from the tip of the mountain, Ian had a headache just like any other day, but this one was different. It wasn’t so much a pain inside his head…but a voice.
“IIIIIIAAAAAAANNNN,” echoed the voice, “LISTEN!!!!!!!
“Shut up,” yelled Ian, “Shut up!!! Go away!!!!”
The voice now multiplied into many.
WAKE UP!!!!!! WE NEED YOU!!!!!!!! HELP US!!! WAKE UP!!!!! IAAAAANNN!!!!! WAKE UP!!!!!!!”
“Stop!!!”, yelled Ian, and he collapsed on the ground.
The next thing Ian knew, he woke up and was gasping for air. He was lying on the dirt ground in a small wooden structure. It look liked a bunker combined with a small cabin,. It had 1 window, and 1 door. It was a 1-room cabin. There was a stove with a pot of water boiling on it. There was a small table in front of the stove are and behind it sat a counter with various pots ready to be cleaned. He stood up and gazed into a mirror on the wall and realized he was completely naked. He let out a small gasp of embarrassment and then grabbed a cloak off the coat rack. A CLOAK?!?
“No one’s worn a cloak since the Middle Ages,” said Ian, “MIDDLE AGES?!?”
Ian looked out the window quickly and saw women walking around with baskets made of straw and corsets that couldn’t fit an inhaled baby’s stomach. Above all of these things he saw one other. A castle. It was glooming over the village like an over protective parent watches a child.
“Where am I?” asked Ian.
“You’re in Medlock,” said a voice.
Ian spun around in terror. There was a figure standing in the door, his face was concealed behind the shadow of his cloak. His voice was raspy yet firm.
“The home of your father’s, father’s, father.” Explained the man.
“Who are you?” asked Ian
“My name is unimportant now. What is important is, who are you?” “You have been summoned here by the Wizard of ‘Ol. You are here to save this village,” explained the man.
“You must be mistaken. I’m no hero,” replied Ian.
“Come here,” summoned the man with his hand. He guided him to a pot that was filled with water. He cast his hand out and spelled Ian’s full name in the water. “Ian Mark Thurgi.” The letters materialized in the water and began to shift order. Soon they spelled a message, “I am King Arthur”
“You are here to save the village,” repeated the old man.
“Save it from what?” asked Ian.
“The man who lives in that castle. Long ago there was another king, one far greater than he will ever be. He was coming to the end of his time, and the throne was going to be given to the eldest son. But the younger brother would have none of that. So in the night, he murdered both his father and his brother and became the new king, and has been ruling ever since.”
“I don’t know how to fight.”
“But the forest does. It has been defending humans since the beginning of time. It can teach you all you need to know. Go now before it is to late.”
So he did. He ran into the forest and was soon lost among it. He learned how to climb and jump from tree to tree. He learned how to dodge branches from over head. He learned how to stay hidden in the shadow from predators, and he learned how to think like a survivor. He stayed in the forest for many weeks, and emerged a new man.
As he strode into town, everyone stood and stared at him. They could sense the wrath of the king begin to come to a halt. He strode up to the castle gates and stood. He did not challenge the King to a fight, rather a will of wit. The king accepted his request and asked the challenger his game. He told the king that there was an apple placed on top of the highest cross, on the highest tower in his castle, and whoever retrieved it first, would be the new king. The king, blinded by power, ordered a slave to climb the tower. The young boy was sweating like a donkey as he scaled the tower, and was heartily disappointed when he reached the tower to see the apple fly in front of his eyes. It was attached to a string in Ian’s cloak and he yanked it from the tower. Ian was king.
It was a joyous occasion when the new King was guided to his throne. Many of his new servants came and asked his every will.
“What shall we call you?” asked a peasant.
“King Arthur.”