Catherina - Day 20

I was walking down the main street with a group of friends when I first encountered him, whose name was unknown. Therefore, to avoid confusion or filler words, the capitalized "D" would mark his role. He was crawling among a few homeless people on one side of the stairs in front of the shopping mall. His scales were dirty, and I saw him as a mixed dough of maroon and moss green. Tucking himself up into a dusty ball, D seemed an XL version of stray dogs.

My friends passed by as if they had not seen him. A stray dragon meant trouble, let alone the people around him. Notwithstanding, I walked towards the dragon, for I differed from my peers – I knew the essence of the world we were situated: a fiction. Although I did not quite understand the mechanism behind my existence in a 2D world, I did have a vague idea of D, a character in this literary work. He had a pitiful path, and I could foresee this fate extending into his future. Out of curiosity, or seeking catharsis from other's misfortune, I intended to explore more.

Walking towards the dragon, I pictured him as a static sculpture carved out of the lowest cast of material. Surprisingly, D lifted himself from the ground and slugged away on all fours. His limbs were sturdy, and yet by seeing the dark wrinkles formed on the outer skin, I could imagine how illness and parasites had intruded into his body, and the muscles being a tottering line of defense.

D went slowly, and thus I preceded with ease and had time to take a thorough observation of his form. He was of medium size, his length of quadruple my height, and each of his two batwings covered one-third of his body. He had scars all over, cutting through the scales that could no longer shine their original color under a layer of greasy dirt. Burgundy? Violet? The occasional hint of a dark red shade came and went. He bowed his head low in a habitual way, and the eyes were aimless as if covered by dust. Lumbering down the street, D post no threats to the passerby, tamed as a farm cattle. Dragons were sharp at senses, but this one – perhaps he intentionally ignored me or couldn't care less – allowed me to follow his steps. Ah, he was a careful one, not showing his sharp nails that might scratch the ground – his footsteps on the tarred road were clean without little holes in the front.

We did not walk very far when the dragon turned a corner into a dark, narrow lane, the kind with garbage bins by its walls and graffiti all over. Right by the entry was a stair leading towards the roof of an adjacent building, and D clang to its rail with his claws. I stood on the ground for a moment to admire the dragon's movement. Since he was too large to fit in between the handrail and the sidewall, he had to climb up by dangling on its outside. Similar to his style of walking, the dragon's ascending was clumsy as if he could not bear his own weight. I could see how his leg muscles popped up, forming ugly humps underneath his skin, stretching the wrinkles flat.

The building had five stories, and I set to the stair when the dragon had passed the window on the third floor. Step by step, I ascended. Like a scientist upon foreseeing his experiment's success, I could hardly contain my thrill of unwinding D's past. However, I paced my upward movement in a controlled manner, for I considered myself superior to his world, a creation by one of my contemporaries.

When I stood on the flat roof of the building, I saw a tottering little cabin at the opposite side, in front of which the dragon curled up into a scaly ball on some tattered clothes. One step forward – he did not respond; two steps – he frowned as if bothered in a nightmare; three steps – he held long and steady breath, and I could see his back heaving along. Perhaps he did not see me, a hypothesis that could well be true. Nonetheless, it would be irresponsible to conclude that he could not sense me because he belonged to a species known for their acute perception and response to their surroundings (and their invincible physical strength, of course). Another explanation for his imperception was a lack of interest – a desire to explore surroundings once ignited and extinguished. Rekindle could occur, and so did smothering.

Therefore, I decided to make a risky move. Dashing towards the dragon, I prepared myself just like an undereducated wizard towards a train-station wall. I saw the widening of the dragon's eye, by which I could see a vague reflection of mine in his large pupils – approximately the size of a blueberry. Then, my mirrored image shrank, as the dragon's pupil contracted - due to reflex or a final alert, that I was not sure.

A blink later, I felt as if breaking through an invisible barrier. Then, I found myself deep in a forest. Technically, I was not in the forest physically because I could not be flesh in someone else's memory. However, as I existed in this world as a visitor coming from a higher dimension, I could consider myself physically presented, for my body had stayed in my home. Thus, I played the role of a visiting god.

In respect to my character, I shall eliminate my pronoun from the following account to reduce any bias.

Our protagonist, D, was yet young and had been raised among other dragon cubs and teenagers. Dragons lived in an exclusive community setting, resembling tribes and small towns. Each male dragon was born to be warriors, and the females the hunters. For D, the same pre-determined fate would apply.

D had just matured, sexually but not mentally. Psychologically speaking, he was still that older boy that led the dragon cadets and made his mother proud. Now, his age drew a line between his playful past and the unexpected future, which, though, seemed entirely immutable at that time. As recommended by his teacher (multiple teachers indeed – what an achievement!), D became a sentry.

Although the job sounded trivial, the dragon sentries were the strongest and most honored warriors of the community. Had it been mentioned that this race was praised for its member's acute sensation? Yes, the responsibilities of sentries required precisely just that. Also – to be fair – no one dared to mess with a thriving dragon community, and thus sentries were, practically speaking, the only defense line for the tribe.

So, D was a happy and proud young man (male dragon?), whose imagination about sentries life as romantic and heroic. This impression had not relinquished even when he saw his dorm for the next ten years – by the way, an average dragon live for over 500 years, so a decade did not count as much as for human beings. What a filthy little cabin it was! It had naked walls with a coarse texture, and it was all dark and stinky inside. Also, it was no way close to being described as "spacious" – for dragons, of course. It was as large as an elementary school classroom by human standard, but it only left a one-dragon-wide pathway after being filled up by two beds, as D shared this dorm with another sentry.

D's roommate was much older than him, and therefore more experienced – at least on the surface. The roommate, who would take the name of "R", had been a sentry for over 250 years, and why had he not taken a higher rank was a mystery. Regardless, D respected him as much as any other seniors, for R was about to retire within a decade.

R loved to exploit this new, cheap labor, such as sending D to buy some prohibited drinks and always do the cleaning. D was a good-tempered boy, sweet as the wild berry that all cubs loved to snack on, and he fulfilled R's wills most of the time. The other sentries did not understand his subservience and often mocked his obedience. "D, are you being a housewife again today?" They laughed when he was rushing to the river for another bucket of water or sneaking back with a bottle of secret liquid. D, often silent, or else responding with a friendly grunt, remained unmovable by their words.

Why was that? Only D would be able to decipher his complex emotion and his unusual attachment to the seniors. Casting the figure of his deceased father onto R, D had been shy of admitting that. Anything wrong with having a soft spot reserved for family members? No one would think that even the most masculine (and potentially most gender-biased according to past human standards) warrior of the community would recognize that as a valuable sentiment. Nonetheless, D's father died for unspeakable reasons, although he remained a good daddy in D's mind. Thus, D hid his emotions carefully like a lovely piece of jewel.

Days passed without anything exciting. D maintained his healthy daily routine: waking up early, working out, fulfilling a sentry's and an obedient roommate's duty, and never touching a drop of liquid he bought for R. On the contrary, R preferred sleeping in, boasting, and indulging in illegal substances. Notwithstanding their bipolar lifestyle, D and R kept harmony, which, reasonably speaking, should attribute the D's hard work and altruism.

One night, perhaps his drink had made him bold, R ventured to add some spice to his bedtime story. He made his usual start on his past achievements, the plot of which D could well memorize. Quietly yawning, D rested his head on his forelimbs in a comfortable pose. In the dim light of the cabin, his crimson scales shimmered, reflecting the candle flames and casting dancing shadows onto the sidewall. He was such a beautiful creature! An equal blend of youthfulness, power, and elegance – a live embodiment of dragons' virtue and pride.

On R's side, his story abruptly ended midway. D had hardly noticed, for he was half asleep, and yet half-mindedly, he tilted his head to his roommate's direction. D trusted R so much that his acute senses relaxed in this warm little cabin – too warm, perhaps. Warm with silent growling, warm with burning hormones, and warm with unleashed lust.

The next day, D was there no more. He went on a voluntary exile into the forest, and later, he came to the human society – an intruder, a stray animal, and a wretched thing who had shut all his senses down.

That is the end of D the dragon's story.

photo credit: https://webcomicms.net/sites/default/files/clipart/161861/picture-dragons-161861-8654815.jpg