In the town of Mallory, Massachusetts, on street not unlike one any town might have, quiet save for lawnmowers, and passing cars, lived a man named Alan Klein. Alan was neither tall nor short, he wasn't particularly fat nor fit, and he wasn't wealthy or poor. He was defined almost entirely by his blandness, his mediocrity. Sure, one could envy that he has a house in this economy, and can support his wife and son. But they knew a sort of balanced comfort, one in which any deviation from the monotony of would likely upset their condition, and slide them into a worse state of being. The irony being, not much was achievable to push the slider to the other end, Alan saw no way to climb out of this tedious tug-o-war. He only knew that one day his son would move out, he'd retire, and he or his wife would die first.
Alan wasn't depressed, however. For a long time he was content with his life. He did love his wife, and he enjoyed the relationship with his son, no matter how strained it would be as the teenager sulked and became sardonic. What did occur to Alan, though, was a burgeoning feeling of envy. What his son might describe as "FOMO" or the fear of missing out. He was, over the last few years, beginning to feel as though he had squandered some parts of his life to center other things. This created a sense of a perverted duality. Half of his mind knew that what he had was earned, and he should be proud of that. The other half of his mind, a half that seemed to be encroaching more and more into his periphery as the days passed- demanded he explore the fruits forbidden by his straight-and-narrow path.
As his life became pulled from both ends, seeking to enjoy his lot in life, or be tempted by others who took life by the horns, Alan was faced with what seemed to be the universe manifesting his envy in physical form. The neighbors to the left of the Klein's house had long been an older couple, whose children moved out decades ago. Recently, they had begun to host a grandson of theirs. His name was Ross, as Alan had found out. He had even met the young man once or twice before.
It was on this particular Saturday, late in the morning as Alan sat on the edge of his bed, that he spied out of his window the sweating form of Ross, as he returned from his morning run. The envy was in full force today, and while normally Alan would resign himself to sitting and watching, wishing he had the opportunities that lay before someone like Ross, all he could feel was the narrow corridor his life was heading down. It was during this particularly pernicious bout of envy that Alan suddenly felt something between his thumb and index finger.
Looking down, the middle-aged man noticed a strange amulet, etched with some unknown design, and a tarnished chain of a similar metallic material. His surprise was muted, something seemed peculiar about this medallion. There was almost a mischievous grin on the weird etching. Still, something else caught his mind. It was like a strong intuition, yet he knew it came not from his own mind. He stood, slipping on his shoes.