A Penny

Haran, literally down to the last and least coin from his shallow pockets, sat down heavily on the unpaved walk. He was hungry; that didn't stand to argument, but the last coin from his pocket was the coin that would someday lead to his own immense fortune. In this he had faith unwavering.

Turning the penny over and over in his palm, he squinted, imagining a time when the Great Magician Sonne was but the errand-boy of some minor mage, sitting as he was now at the edge of the walk, and pondering the magical potential of the circle. Surely a coin, formed into the purest of all shapes, was the ultimate vessel of power, for despite its size it possesses a strength of both material and form unequaled by any other ordinary object.

Still squinting, mostly to keep the sun and dust at bay, he rubbed at the penny with the corner of his tattered shirt, removing an age-old layer of caked-in grime. On one side, now, the penny symbol shone through. On the other, foreign lettering slowly appeared; surely this was no ordinary coin.

Haran was pulled brusquely from his daydreams by the tantalizing scent of honey-smoked ham from a nearby deli. Clutching the coin in his fist, he stood, hesitating only a moment before turning decidedly away. He must not think of food just now. He had only to harness the power stored in the coin by its previous owner, and the entire village would fall happily at his feet. He'd have all he needed, then.

He ran like the springtime rapids, far from the smells and sounds of the village. Down the forest pathway, his flight was interrupted by a root. A single, solitary root marred his path, and his hands splayed out before him to break his fall.

When Haran lifted his scraped palms from the dusty forest trail, he mourned over the loss of his beloved magic coin; for all he could find was a lone penny, no doubt dropped from the pocket of a long-gone passer-by.


-Faiora
350 Words
July 25, 2007