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Jux, a friend of Fin.

July 18th, 2005 (09:48 pm)

Fin never had a map. His life, a dot-by-dot drawing of some constellation we all know as, Lost, is the most intriguing part of this universe. Or so we think. Could the fists of iron and gas hold a flame, no pun necessary, to Fin's everyday routine? Of course not. That ball of rage is on its course of physics and formulas, but Fin is the answer to chaos theory.

For example:

When Fin was 10 years old he was tired of eating soggy corn puffs every morning. Thus, he gathered 20 cockroaches in a milk jar, and had "toasted roaches" for breakfast. The legs would make him gag as they desperately latched onto his uvula, but in the end they were just like Crispex.


Fin was walking down his favorite path, the railroad, and a train was screaming at him like his cranky mother on the john. Fin doesn't mind pain. Thus, he stuck the tip of his foot on the rail, playing chicken with himself and the train. Just seconds before his foot was a flat penny, he removed his Chuck Tailors and laughed at the locomotive for not being quick enough.


For Christmas and birthdays, Fin will send graphic cards to his loved ones. Uncle Joe enjoyed a full shot of a man's head split in two by a sawed off rifle. It read, "This will hide your guns for at least a year before hunting season.. oh and Happy Birthday." Fin's intentions are fatuous. He knew certain cards would make Aunt Mary vomit all over her new Maxima, but he truly didn't care for the reaction, just the vulgar thought associated with his face after full recovery. Always a clever tactic to become uninvited to family gatherings.

Fin can tell a story like no other man or woman or sign language gorilla. He understands honesty like a hobo understands hunger and holes. Fin is the spectacular word dribbler. The topic might be about mechanical engineering, but he could twist it into a cheerleader's favorite story. This sounds too perfect to be true, and you're right. Fin is the cunning linguist, but horrid with actual conversation. He knew the world would throw him curious strangers, and it would be impossible to keep them at bay, so he taught himself the gift of storytelling. It is always enough story to satisfy like Thanksgiving dinner, and leave you in an obscure daze without any of the uncomfortable belly ache.

You can never tell what mood Fin is dragging behind him. His face is solid poker, and when he smiles it is like seeing an eclipse; so very rare, beautiful, and never lasts. Fin could be in love, but his expression displays a long suicide note. This being the reason to why strangers always inquire about his present state of mind. The face doesn't give them enough.. they always want more. So... He throws them an anecdote, and they fetch a life changing experience.