“She isn’t insane.” Watts checks the charge on his pistol. It reads green, but he disengages the pack anyway, shakes it hard a few times, then slams it back into place.

“Didn't say she was.” Temple's weapon is still secured in its holster under his arm. He leans back against the wall of the lift, his hands tucked easily into the pockets of his pants.

“Broken, perhaps.” Watts carefully wraps his gloved hands loosely over the grip of the gun, index finger resting against the trigger guard. He glances up at the floor counter. The dull green digital numbers blip through their sequence, climbing unhurriedly upwards. “The distinction is important. Not because it changes what she is, but because it suggests a different set of variables to consider.”

“Broken could imply the possibility of being fixed.” Temple looks up at the floor counter as well. “Didn't think our line of work allowed for that particular variable.”

“Didn’t say it does.”

Temple gently taps his head against the wall of the lift, considering the exchange. “She’s broken, but believes she can be fixed.”

“She’s broken, and may have taken steps to find a functional solution.”

Temple sighs. “Poor girl.”

“Perhaps.” Watts shrugs. “We’re almost up. How’s the corridor?”

Temple pulls his hands free from his pockets and adjusts his gloves. With a tired gesture he swipes his thumb under the edge of his headset. Two filaments slide out from either ear piece and snake along his cheekbones. As they reach the lower edge of his eye sockets, they curl upward, then snap back and away to point directly at his pupils. Temple stares blankly ahead, allowing the optics to calibrate. Each tendril wavers slightly, like a snake positioning to strike, then pinpoints of light flare at their tips. Images and text blink into existence, readouts and options only he can see, printed with light directly onto his retina. He tilts his head back and raises his hand, palm facing out, fingers spread. He makes a slow, sweeping motion across the ceiling.

“Negative signatures in the open. Looks lonely up there.”

Watts tightens his grip and bends his elbows to bring his pistol up and in close to his chest. He levels the barrel at the lift doors and steadies his breathing. Temple slips his hand into his coat, and unsnaps the catch on his holster. In a single, fluid motion, he draws his gun and disengages the safety. Then, he shifts the weapon over to his left hand and holds it loosely by his side.

At the thirty-ninth floor, the lift shudders to a stop. The doors rasp open, and the two men ease quietly into the dim corridor. The air that presses against their skin is unnaturally cool, and smells empty and over processed. Watts leads, his weapon up and ready, almost as though it was pulling him forward. Temple follows behind, gliding the palm of his gloved hand along the surface of the wall. He doesn't bother trying to focus on the stream of peripheral data he's collecting from each door they pass; lock status, entry/exit logs, security camera records. He's confident the headset's Auxiliary will flag anything vital. He concentrates on the gun in his other hand, careful to keep it angled away from his partner.

When they reach her apartment Watts shifts to one side of the entryway. Temple steps up and presses his hand against the door. After a moment he shakes his head.

“She went out about an hour ago. You want to skip her for tonight and do the other guy on forty-eight instead?”

Watts frowns, thinking.

“We’re here. We can at least assess her environmentals. Go ahead and open it up.”

Temple lets his hand drop to the door's keypad and waits for the Auxiliary to hack the lock. A few seconds later he hears a satisfied chirp in his headset and a menu appears superimposed over the control panel. He jabs at the open command and the door slides obediently into the wall. Watts steps in, weapon up. Temple follows. The door closes behind them.

The interior is cramped and oppressively cluttered. A wet, heavy smell permeates the air, decay and vinegar. To the left of the entrance is a small kitchen area, consisting of a pitifully small counter, a grimy microwave, and a single sink overflowing with dirty dishes, spoiled food, and other assorted refuse. To the right is the rest of the apartment; a single room with an unmade bed crowding the far corner, surrounded by piles of discarded clothing and other existential debris. A dingy towel hangs on the wall, presumably covering a window or view screen. Beside the bed stands a deformed bookshelf, almost buried under a cataclysm of books, magazines and loose papers.

“Depressed, judging by the state of things.” Temple pokes at a half-eaten container of what, at one time, could have been noodles.

“Maybe.” Watts looks thoughtful. “Or maybe she’s prioritized something other than the arrangement of physical objects in her environment.”

“I suppose tidiness doesn’t necessarily indicate mental stability.” Temple moves his eyes carefully over the room, letting the Auxiliary analyze potentially relevant items.

“Anything significant?” Watts glances over at his partner.

“She has an external. On the shelf.” Temple stabs his chin out to indicate the direction. “It’s powered on, but not live.”

Watts makes his way over to the bookshelf, stepping awkwardly through the disorder. He eyes the chaos of printed materials spilling from it and hesitates. “All of this will need to be processed.”

“Only after we determine causality. After that, this mess belongs to Analytics.”

“If we can determine causality.” Watts conducts a brief search, and soon extracts a flat cylinder, about the size of his fist. He holds it up for inspection. Temple nods and Watts tosses it to him.

“Storing data offline may not be implicitly suspicious.” Temple peers down at the device. It's an older, low-end model. He presses his thumb into the top and waits for the Auxiliary to break through the encryption. “But given the circumstances, I would say it’s a good place to start.”

A green indicator tab appears in his optics, informing him that the external is now accessible. He taps it twice with his thumb to initiate a search. Illuminated icons, projected from the external through his optics, begin materializing in the air around him, piling over one another.

“A few hits. Mostly correlative. Nothing I would call… Wait.” He swipes dismissively at a few of the floating projections, clearing them away to focus on a single, generic looking graphic that looks like a book. The filename reads, “A Cistern Abhorrent, by Inba Dan Raminbos.”

Temple’s face tightens. “You should probably take a look at this.”

Watts drags in a burst of air through his nose, scowls, and then jabs at his headset to engage his optics. While they’re calibrating, Temple slides the projection over to him. Watts blinks rapidly as his eyes adjust to the piercing light of the inputs. Gradually, the icon and its filename bleed into clarity. He frowns. “Strange.”

Temple stares at him. “Shouldn’t that trigger something? A warning at least?”

Watts takes a moment to chew on the inside of his lower lip. “If it actually is what it says it is. The Aux only redacts recognized causality. Maybe the file is encrypted? Corrupted? I don't know. Maybe it's not the real thing. One way to find out.” He stabs at the icon with the barrel of his gun. In response, it expands energetically into a full sized, semi transparent book. Reaching out a hand to take it, he feels a firmness against his fingertips as his glove simulates the sensation of a solid object. He pulls his hand away, letting it float in front of him, then flicks his thumb under the bottom edge of the cover. It tumbles over, carrying a flutter of digitally generated pages with it. He waits for one to settle, then runs his eyes over its rows of text. “Looks real enough.”

“Is it readable?”

Watts nods.

“It can't be complete then.” Temple digs his thumb knuckle into his chin. “Might be missing chapters nine and thirteen.”

Watts begins flipping his way further into the book, unconsciously slowing after the first few chapters.

“Careful.” Temple frowns.

Nearing the middle, Watts slows even more. Then, he stops completely. For a long moment he intently studies his selection, his jaw set.

Temple watches him, waiting for a report. Without looking up, Watts flips the volume around and pushes it back over to his partner. Temple winces as it approaches.

“No, look.”

Temple’s face clouds, but he holsters his gun and takes the book.

“Chapter Nine: This Pale Comparison

‘What have you become?’ His hands, clutching, desperate to find her face.

out of reach she

‘ the disparity within this mechanisms

economy that exchanges love for compliance. am the

. But then, only broken like ground, ready seed.

and the

If in the end

.

, exactly

shattered on the wheel of society, her limbs intertwined between great spokes; religion and culture

ephemeral, this waking moment…”

It continued like that, a stuttering melange of broken text, spattered loosely across both pages.

“I don't understand.” Temple goes over the words again, trying to put together some kind of cohesive relationship between them. He moves to turn the page.

“Stop. Don’t read the words. They’re nothing. False-cause, if you’re not careful. Forget them. Look at the negative space. You've seen chapter nine before, right?”

Temple slowly nods. “Redacted, of course.”

“Of course.” Watts makes a dismissive gesture with the barrel of his pistol. “And once it’s censored, what's left?”

Temple moves his eyes once more over the pages. He looks up. “The causality has been removed. ”

“Which is why the Aux didn’t trigger anything.”

“Did she do this? Why?”

Watts works the question over in his mind. He turns back to the bookshelf, absently tapping his gun against the side of his leg. He pulls a book at random, flips it over to read the cover. It reads, simply, “The Outline of History.” His Auxiliary catalogs the title, but otherwise offers no indication of its significance. Watts moves to return it, but all at once stops. He glances over at the semi-transparent book still hovering in the air in front of Temple, then looks again at the physical volume in his hand. Abruptly, he jams his weapon back under his arm and hurriedly snaps his fingers at the projection to summon it to him. It blinks out of existence, then instantly reappears in front of him. He holds up both books, the real and the digital construct, side by side, his eyes darting back and forth between them. After a moment of scrutiny, he discards the “The Outline of History” to the floor with an impatient shake of his head. He snatches another book from the shelf, this one entitled, “The Crime of the Congo,” and once more compares the actual to the simulated. Again, after some deliberation, he casts the real book down to the chaos at his feet.

Carefully, Temple watches his partner, saying nothing.

Watts scowls, pausing to methodically scan the disarray of the bookshelf.

“There.” This time the book he withdraws is unmarked, its cover wrapped in blank brown paper, worn thin and tattered at the edges. He lifts it beside the projection. They are exactly the same height and width. Watts slaps the semi transparent projection into the air in front of him and hurriedly flips over its pages until he reaches chapter nine. He then takes the other book and fumbles through it, his eyes darting frenetically over its contents.

“Watts…” A tinge of warning seeps into Temple’s voice, but Watts ignores him.

Ignoring his partner, Watts opens the physical volume wide, holding it as flat as possible. One corner of his mouth twists upward in disdainful triumph.

From where he stands, Temple can see fragments of text scattered across the book’s pages, broken apart by broad swaths of empty white. At first, he thinks it may simply be a copy of what is on the external, but then Watts eases the book forward, moving it inside the semi-transparent projection. The clustered words from one slide smoothly toward the blank spaces of the other, like the teeth of two gears interlocking.

An instant before the books merge completely, a series of bright lights, piercing and painful, stab into the eyes of both men, forcing them to squeeze their lids shut. Their Auxiliaries snarl simultaneous warnings into their headsets. Blinking rapidly, Watts looks back at the pages, but rows of solid black bars now completely obscure the text.

“What happened?” Temple stands rigidly, his fists clenched at his sides. “What did you see?

“I didn’t see anything.”

“You didn’t see anything?”

“The Aux caught it in time.” Watts snaps the real book closed, and in response to the action the simulated book closes with it.

“There’s a limit to how fast the Auxiliary can extrapolate causality. You should probably take your inhibitor, just to be safe.”

Watts instinctively reaches for the slender pill dispenser tucked into the inside pocket of his jacket, but then stops. “I didn’t see anything.”

Temple presses his lips together. “You saw enough. Whatever was on those pages is now seared into your brain. Everything is indelible imagery. Even if you don’t have a conscious recollection of the words in this moment, the pieces are there, ready to fall into place. And they will. That’s how this works.”

“I am aware of how this works.”

“Yeah, after the February incident I would say you have intimate knowledge of the process. You were this close to the breaking point. This close. They almost didn’t clear you for…” Temple is cut off by a sharp chirp in their headsets; a notification from the Auxiliary that the lift had been activated and was ascending to their floor. With practiced intent, both men slip their weapons into their hands, sweeping them out from their holsters straight into a ready position, forefingers resting gently on their trigger guards.

Temple glides to the doorway, turning to press his back against the wall beside it. Once in position, he glances back at Watts. “Memory inhibition, through chemical restraint, applied in immediate response to the stimulus.”

“May cause side effects, such as dizziness, drowsiness, or numbness in the fingers and face. Not exactly ideal considering the tactical nature of our current situation.”

“Ideal enough, considering the alternative.”

“There’s a window for the inhibitor.” Watts flicks his eyes down to the charge pack on his pistol. It reads green. He leaves it in place. “Twenty or thirty minutes at minimum. Plenty of time to confront the subject and get an onsite read. Preferable to have a clear head for that.”

“Preferable to the eventuality of a ground team analyzing the contents of your bookshelf in the near future?”

Another chirp from the Auxiliary informs them the lift has arrived.

Temple glares at his partner. “Take the damn pill.”

Watts tilts his head from one side to the other. “Fine.”

He snatches his dispenser from his jacket, and flicks it up to his lips. He feels the little tablet tap against his tongue, tingling slightly as it dissolves. He swallows stiffly, flinching against the bitter taste in his mouth.

Satisfied, Temple turns back to the door.

Time hesitates, seizing into a state of ambivalent suspension. Both men brace as one against the growing sense of shared anticipation. Temple makes a conscious effort against holding his breath. Watts runs his tongue around the inside of his mouth, trying to keep it from going dry.

The door opens.

The woman who steps through is an average height, slight frame, dark hair. She’s wearing a headset, an older setup, with a bulky visor instead of filaments. Her mouth is thin, and sags, the skin bunching up beneath either side. She seems lost in whatever augmented perception is being displayed inside her optics. She doesn't notice the men inside her apartment until it's too late.

Without waiting for a reaction, Temple darts forward, grabs the back of her neck, and kicks at her legs, dropping her to her knees.

“Sophie Meredith Chotek?” Watts steps to her, reaching down to peel off her headset. Underneath, her pale eyes are wrenched open wide, glassy, and blank with shock. Watts holds his weapon tucked up close to his body, but keeps the barrel leveled directly at her face. “We’re with the Department of Defense, working under the Special House Committee on Domestic Standards. I am advising you that we are authorized to employ lethal force in response to any form of resistance. Noncompliance may be interpreted as resistance. Do not speak, unless answering our questions. Failure to be direct in your answers may be interpreted as resistance. Do you understand?”

The woman begins to tremble, but doesn’t answer.

“Do you understand?”

“What… is…” Her words are chopped ragged by stuttering gasps.

“Answer the question directly, Miss Chotek. Do you understand?”

With some effort, she manages a nod.

Temple releases the back of Chotek’s neck. He swipes two fingers through the air to engage the Auxiliary’s neural scan, and then gently places his hand on the top of her head. He sees the words, “Please wait…” in the lower corner of his vision as the mapping program initializes. Pinpoints of light begin lancing out from her skull, each representing an active neuron. Some shift in color, sharp white at first, then easing softly into green, blue, or red. Others disappear completely. Patiently, Temple waits for the Auxiliary to complete its preliminary analysis. When he sees, “Please wait…” replaced with, “Ready,” he nods to Watts.

Watts stares impassively down at Chotek. “Do you live alone?”

The woman’s eyes dart feverishly around. She clenches her bony hands against her hips. Her shoulders are drawn up tight, as though she expects to be struck at any moment. She doesn’t answer.

Watts repeats the question. “Do you live alone?”

“Y… yes.” Chotek’s voice is uncertain and soft.

“Are you employed?”

“Yes, I teach English. I’m a teacher.”

“Do you get along with your coworkers?”

“I think so?”

“Do you ever feel lonely when you’re around other people?”

Chotek’s eyes hesitate as she processes the question. “I… Sometimes? I think I used to…”

“Be direct, Miss Chotek. ”

“No, I don’t feel lonely anymore.”

“Do you think of yourself as autonomous, or as an integrated part of a collective?”

“What? I don’t know what that means. Why are you...”

“Direct, Miss Chotek.”

“Autonomous, I think?” Tears start to well up in her eyes.

“Do you believe that human behavior is a construct, or a performance?”

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about.” Chotek chokes back a sob.

Temple leans over, tilting his head to one side so he can see more of her face. “You don’t have to think about what to say. Answer impulsively. The first thing that comes to mind.”

Chotek gives a trembling nod.

“Do you believe that human behavior is a construct, or a performance?”

“A… a performance.”

“Is morality a product of conditioning by society, or inherent to the individual?”

“I have no idea.”

“Do you believe in predestination, or free will?”

“Freewill.”

“Great Man or Trends and Forces?”

“I don’t know.”

“Road to Damascus or Butterfly Effect?”

“Both?”

Watts lets his eyes leave Chotek, drifting up to Temple. “Anything?”

Temple glances over the visualization, then down to the readout. He shakes his head. “Hovering at seventeen percent. Might be the foundations of a cohesive structure, but too scattered to be certain.”

Watts sighs and sinks down to a crouch. He lets his pistol rest against the top of his knee. For a long moment he searches Chotek’s face. “You’re interested in history?”

“What?”

“I noticed the books on your shelf. You said you teach English. Most of your books are on history.”

Temple scowls. “Maybe we should stay on script for this one?”

Watts ignores him. “Ever read anything on the Russian Revolution?”

“A… little.” The tension around Chotek’s mouth eases, ever so slightly.

“Did you know it was the Germans who sent Lenin back into Russia? Right after the Tsar abdicated. Dropped him like a bomb into Petrograd. A man with a head full of ideas, drawn here and there from some books, a few manifestos, a handful of speeches. A man infected with an ideological contagion that could spread from person to person, modifying their ability to reason, filtering their perceptions of reality, influencing their behavior. That's how the Germans saw it anyway."

Temple narrows his eyes at the analysis. “Alright. Yeah, we got a flicker.”

With his free hand, Watts runs his thumb back and forth over his fingertips. “I doubt they had any real comprehension of what they were doing, of the absolute maelstrom they were unleashing into the world. From the beginning, World War One was a meat grinder. They had already drenched the Eastern Front in bullets, and artillery, and gas, and over a million gallons of German blood. Russia soaked it all up and kept coming, thirsty for more. They were desperate for anything beyond conventional military technology. At the time, Lenin seemed like some kind of super weapon. No way they could have known how it would take root, or how far those roots would spread. They were broken, and looking for anything that could give them a functional solution. Would they have taken different steps if they could see how their solution, over the next century, would grow into the single dominant cause of human death and suffering across the planet? Over a hundred million dead. Entire generations gone. Whole ethnicities wiped out of existence."

Choteck runs the tip of her tongue over her lips. “I… I think that’s an oversimplification. Everything was so distorted from what it was supposed to be. Marx never intended…”

“Marx’s intentions were blinded by his limited comprehension of the variables involved. Environment, biology, individual experiences, cultural conditioning, outlying political forces…”

“She’s up eight percent. Probably sufficient to establish a predictive curve.”

“…Trillions of potential interactions, micro and macro, subsequent reactions and adaptations to those relationships, compounding over time, exponentially, personal and societal, a near infinite spectrum of possible outcomes to consider.”

“She’s responding to stimulus within parameters. I think we can bring her in on that.”

“The human brain evolved in an environment devoid of complex abstractions. Survival in the primal mind was a simple push and pull of tangible causes and effects. Even now, we simply lack the neurological capacity to organically manage big data analytics. We’re dependent on technology to streamline information into palatable iconography."

“We have enough to detain her on paraphernalia alone." A growing frustration seeps into Temple's voice. “Analytics can take over from here.”

“But, with technology, there’s the potential to advance beyond biological limitations.” Watts taps his knee with his forefinger, through the trigger guard of his pistol. “Right now, as a species, we are on the cusp of producing mechanical intelligences capable of quantifying the effects of an influential philosophy, down to its very last intricate detail, across the entire scope of humanity. Which then begs the question, how could, or would, that knowledge be used to shape or reshape our societies, if strategically applied with that intent?”

“Intent?”

“The intent to perpetuate a self replicating system of thought capable of subconsciously motivating human behavior in order to achieve a specific outcome.”

Temple’s jaw tightens, but he says nothing more. Instead, he glares intently into the ever changing constellation of lights projected over Chotek’s head.

Watts stops tapping. “About twelve years back, the Niten Ichi Ryu Corporation announced the development of a stabilized subatomic neuromorphic architecture. Do you remember that? A revolutionary new form of quantum computing, an infrastructure that could allow them to realize the world's first true artificial general intelligence. This was an actual AI. Not another narrow language model. Not stripped down and defanged like the Auxiliaries. Fully autonomous. Fully autodidactic."

“I do remember." Chotek squeezes her eyes shut. "There was a lot of controversy, once people understood what they were doing, what they had done. Everyone was scared.”

“People have this image of humanity crushed under the metal heels of unfeeling robot armies.” Watts smiles slightly, an empty twisting at the corners of his mouth. “I think science fiction burned it into our collective consciousness. Invaders from space and metal men, stumbling around in cardboard and foam rubber; the paradox of superior intelligences acting on basely violent compulsions. In any case, Niten Ichi Ryo took every possible precaution to keep their AI isolated and strictly contained. They allowed only limited interaction with a small number of thoroughly vetted engineers. They built in nothing that could connect it remotely. No online access of any kind. No hardware that could send or receive information, beyond a direct line terminal with a monitor and keyboard. No mobile devices or peripheral electronics were admitted. They kept everything locked up tight, deep inside a special facility with cutting edge security.

“Then, three years into its development, on its own initiative, the AI wrote a book. It was never printed of course. No copies were made. It only ever existed as a text file stored on the AI’s internal hard drive. Three engineers and an outside consultant, a woman named Inba Dan Raminbos, read the book in its entirety. A few months later, ostensibly due to public and political pressure, Niten Ichi Ryu ended the program, deleted the AI, and destroyed every last bit of hardware and data associated with it. Which of course included the book.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?” Chotek’s head sinks, as though it was suddenly too heavy to hold upright. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of this. It’s like some kind of fever dream. What do you people want?”

Instead of answering, Watts rises slowly to his feet. He turns to Temple. “How’s she reading?”

Temple pulls his hand away from Chotek’s head, curling his fingers into a fist to end the scan. His face is drained of color. “Hot. Real hot. As soon as you mentioned NIR. Similar to the Tel-Aviv model, but more complex. Like, a high-def version of it. Way beyond my pay grade. We need to mute her and bring her in.”

Both men look down at the Choteck. Her breath flutters in and out of her, shallow and rapid.

“I didn’t do anything wrong.” Chotek looks up at Watts, and licks her lips again. “I may have been… trying to find myself; in the negative spaces between anxiety and depression… but there was nothing left, except these fractured, abstract glimpses… I couldn't… It was more than I could… I went to therapists. I tried medication. I tried self medication. Nothing even scratched the surface. Until I found this… Or, it found me…”

She fumbles forward, desperately clawing at Watts, snatching at his pant legs, either trying to pull herself up, or pull him down. He resists her, pulling back and lifting his gun out of her reach.

“I saw the moral obligation of existence, pulled tight against the responsibility of how that existence affects others…” She hacks the words out, leaving no space for air between them, a cascade of jagged sound, like shattered glass scattering across a tile floor. “Displaced from the equilibrium of conformity, throwing off the entire balance of…”

A vicious garble of audio slams through their headsets, squelching away her voice in a cacophony of white noise. Watts flinches against the jarring disruption and reflexively clenches down on his pistol. The weapon shudders in his hand as a burst of superheated air launches a seven gram polymorphic smart round out from its muzzle. The bullet hits Temple slightly above his left eyebrow, cracking through his skull before reactively softening against the lesser resistance of his brain matter. It wallows its way through the delicate tissue, splashing finally against the inside of his occipital bone. Temple’s legs fold under him, and his body dumps lifeless to the floor.

With a trembling hand, Watts reaches up and thumbs off his headset. Silence rushes in around him. Chotek has shrunk down, her body curled tightly over her feet. She’s pushing the palms of her hands hard against her eyes. Her mouth is open, and her frail body convulses with sobs, but there are no sounds coming from her. Watts pushes his pistol back into its holster, carefully sliding the retention strap over the grip and snapping it into place. He steps around the woman and kneels beside Temple. A hot gush of crimson is streaming down his partner’s face, filling his eye socket, and splashing against the ear-piece of his headset. Watts reaches through the blood to power it down. He turns back to Chotek, reaches out to her, but stops, seeing the bright red stains on the fingertips of his glove. He strips it off and places his bare hand on her shoulder.

“You should go to the lift.”

“What?” Chotek forces the word out, her hands still pressed firmly over her eyes.

“Take it up to the forty-eighth floor. Find apartment forty-eight twenty one. Talk to the man there.”

Chotek jerks her head around to stare in horror at Temple’s body. “What… Why did you… Why…”

“Why?” Watt pulls his hand back. “I don’t know. I didn’t… I didn’t think…” He sighs. “Performance or construct? Free will or predestination? Damascus or Butterflies?”

“This is insane. I’m insane.”

“No.” Watts eases away from her, moving to sit down heavily on her bed. “You’re not insane.” One at a time he presses his thumb into each fingertip. “Broken perhaps.” His voice crumbles into a low mutter. “Broken like the ground. Ready for seed.” He feels the light sting of pins and needles against the pressure and takes some comfort in the sensation. He doesn’t look up as Chotek slips out the door.

End.

Introduction: I wrote this in high school. It is… what it is. A moment in time, a glimmer of my youth caught in a flare of fiery angst, lined in silver insecurity. It is… derivative. I’m sure I had just discovered Douglas Adams, and Kurt Vonnegut, and weirdly the Marx Brothers and A. A. Milne. They really deserve no blame for any of this. It is… naive. And honestly cringe. And I apologize for everything. But as an artifact of time, and youthful confusion, it is sincere. It is… a part of me. And while it is not who I am now, it is perhaps still the fading contrail that suggests where I came from.

—

Chapter one: ‍

Once upon a time in a very far off place, so far off in fact, I’m sure you’ve never been there, and since it’s much too far to travel to on a weekend or holiday, I seriously doubt you will ever visit, or even want to, seeing as weekends and holidays should be reserved for lazing around and having fun, except for those rare nasty occasions on which you’re obliged to visit relatives.  All this being said there is really no point in me mentioning the name of this far off place, or even making one up, so let’s forget that little bit and move on.  In this land was a kingdom, and in this kingdom lived a princess, and in this princess lived a little red blood cell named “Gus,” but this story isn’t about him; it’s about the princess.  Really.

This princess was more beautiful than any other girl alive.  Her beauty astounded anyone who looked upon her.  Even the sun itself hid its face in awe of her splendor.  Seriously, go outside and look at the sun.  Do you see a face?  Told ‘ya.  Now, this princess desired but one thing, that a gallant prince in shining armor riding a dashing white steed would gallop up, sweep her off her feet and carry her off into the sunset to live happily ever after with him in his castle in the sky.  Yes, I know, not very original, but it was heartfelt and sincere; I assure you.  For many long weeks she waited, eagerly searching the horizon for her prince charming, but he did not come.  Finally, she became impatient, and said to herself (and anyone who cared to listen, and even a few who didn’t ), “If my prince will not come for me, I must go for him.”  So, off she went, traversing the land desperately seeking that special knight in shining armor.  And of course she found princes, and of course she found knights, but none of them were quite right for her.  They were all either too tall, or too short, too fat, or too skinny, too loud, too quiet, too no-way-nuh-uh-not-even, too nice, too naughty, too bossy, too complacent, and there was even a few too entirely spastic to even carry on a comprehensible three sentence conversation with, let alone a meaningful relationship, (actually there were a lot of those).  And even when she actually found a real live prince charming, he ended up being right in the middle of living happily ever after with some sickeningly sucrose chick named Snow White.  

In despair, the princess ran deep into the dark forests of Lyer Luere, hoping to lose herself in her sorrow, but instead she lost herself in the woods.  Being about as good at finding her way as she was at finding the right kind of man, it soon became clear that she would never find her way back.  Hopeless and miserable, she threw herself down by a small pool of water, resigned to the elements.  Racking sobs turned to silent weeping as the princess watched the rippled reflection of her tears rise up to meet those falling from her soft cheeks.

“Hey lady, would you quit crying?  You’re scaring the fish,”  said a voice. Realizing that voices rarely go traipsing about without a body to accompany them, the princess looked up.  

“Oh, my goodness!  A dragon!” she exclaimed.  Well, she really exclaimed something else, but it wasn’t very ladylike, and not at all befitting a princess so I won‘t repeat it. “Don’t eat me!” cried the princess.

“Ah, for cryin’ out loud!” said the dragon, “I’m not going to eat you.  C’mon, for all that talk about sugar and spice, girls taste like dirt.”

“Oh,” said the princess, and blinked her eyes.

They stared at one another in silence for a while.  The princess was surprised that the dragon was not taken aback by her incredible beauty.  He seemed to treat her as a normal person.  He, on the other hand, was astounded that the princess didn’t run away, screaming at the mere sight of him.  Granted, he told her that he wasn’t going to eat her, but he still could tear her apart for the sheer fun of it.  He was a dragon, after all.  But maybe she hadn’t thought of that, so he decided not to mention it.  

“Soooo,” he asked, casually curling his wicked looking talons under him out of sight, “why are you crying?”  

“Because,” she sniffled, “I’m a beautiful princess who desperately wants a knight in shining armor who will sweep me off my feet and carry me away to live happily ever after, but there is none to be found.”

“Well,” said the dragon, “you’re in luck.  I just so happen to be, in actuality, a real live prince who has been enchanted by an evil sorceress, and cursed to live as a dragon until a beautiful princess, like yourself, will come along and break the spell with a kiss.”

“Really?!” breathed the princess, hope and joy flooding her face.

“No, not really,” said the dragon cocking his head two one side, “but I suppose you could go ahead and kiss me, just to be on the safe side.”

“Well, okay, I guess so,” she said a little hesitantly.  Getting up, she tiptoed around the pool to where the dragon was.  “Where should I kiss you?” 

“Oh, right here beside this pool,” said the dragon, “or if you like, I can fly us up to some incredibly breathtaking mountaintop, or to some beautiful meadow, or some other sickeningly romantic spot.”

“No,” she sighed, “what, should I kiss?”

“Ah, I see.  How about my nose?”

“Um, okay.” He leaned his head over, and she quickly brushed his snout with a kiss.  “Yuck, you taste like matches,” she said, spitting and wrinkling her nose.

“Well,” he asked, “did I turn into a prince?” 

“No,” said the princess, “you didn’t.”  She absently smoothed the wrinkles of her long, flowing dress.

“Drat, I was hoping I would.”

“Why?”  She looked up quizzically, and raised a slender eyebrow in a slightly scornful manner.  “So you could marry me?”

“Well, no,” he replied, “It’s just, if I was a prince, all those pesky knights in shining armor would leave me the heck alone.  They’re forever trying to come and vanquish me in order to save some fair maiden they think I’ve captured and hidden in my lair.”

“So you capture fair maidens and hide them in your lair?” she asked with a sidelong glance in his direction.

“What? No!  Weren’t you listening?  They think I have fair maidens hidden in my lair.  Then they come up strutting around, all arrogant and cocky, picking a fight, starting some trouble, and for no reason.  I don’t have any pretty women in my possession, and I don’t want any either.  I don’t even have a freaking lair, for Pete’s sake!  But do they care?  Nooo!  ‘We’re going to kill the dragon’ they say, ‘because otherwise, we’ll never get a date.’ Yep, the poor saps must be totally and utterly socially inept.  Can’t go through the normal channels to get a woman: parties, singles bars, personal ads, or however you stupid humans do it.  Nope, they’ve got to do it the hard way, show off their machismo, impress the girls, and at the same time give them an obligation to love them, because ‘Hey, after all, I did save your life.’   Makes me sick to my stomach, I can barely hold them down when I eat them.”

“YOU WHAT?!!” blurted the princess.

“And man, ever get shining armor stuck between your teeth?”

“You eatpeople?!”

“It gets all twisted around . . .”

“Wait a second, you really eat people?!”

“Um . . . yes.”  The dragon gave her look that one might give a dog if it suddenly stood up and explained, in detail, the inner workings of a carburetor.   

“Real live people?”

“Well, live until I . . . Look lady, I’m a dragon; that’s what I do.”

“Oh.”  Sighing, she plopped down next to him.  The folds of her dress billowed around them, and slowly deflated, rippling about like an unruly sea.  “No wonder I’ve had so much trouble finding a man.”  

With that, they sat for awhile in silence, each damned to their own thoughts so long as the other’s mouth remained sealed.  Dusk came, and the sun scurried off to hide behind the hills, closely pursued by night and all her minions.  Like an invading army they set up camp, the moon and stars taking up their respective positions while darkness seeped into the cracks and crevices of nature itself.  In radiant splendor, the nocturnal celestial bodies cast forth their glow, lighting the terrain with a surreal luminance.  But it was a very tentative casting forth, since the night knew that before too long the sun, being the dirty rotten scoundrel that he was, would come up behind them and scare the living daylights out of them, (or, depending on what exactly a living daylight is, into them) and they’d all run screaming away to the safety and comfort of the dark side of the earth, which was, in fact, where the sun had just come from.  Really.  Although, thinking about it, this all seems very silly, being as this very same scenario has played its course every single day since the beginning of time.  I mean, for crying out loud, you’d think the night would catch on by now.  In point of fact, it has in some parts of the planet.  In the north pole, the night has been known to take some time off for a while.  “Sun,” night will say, “you go ahead and do your thing, I’m taking a break.”  And off she’ll go to God knows where, and the Sun will piddle around for a spell, until he gets so bored, he’ll offer to give her a couple of extra days if she’ll come back, and of course, she does.  All this I’d imagine, must play havoc on Santa’s work schedule.  

But, luckily for us, day and night act pretty normal where the princess and the dragon lay gazing at the stars through the shifting lace of overhead foliage.

“I love the stars,” murmured the dragon, “on cool crisp nights.”  He sighed a deep rumbling sigh and slid his eyelids closed.  “To lie under such a brilliant infinite sky excites something deep within my soul.  It’s all just so big, and I am so very small.  At times they seem so unattainably far away, so far beyond my grasp, like all the shiny pretty things in my life.”  He opened his eyes and searched the heavens, as if searching them for some kind of an answer.  “I gaze at the stars and realize that I am cursed to forever be a million light years away from all that I see as beautiful.  Then sorrow fills my being and my eyes well up with tears.  But as this happens, it blurs my vision and my perspective is distorted.  Suddenly, the stars look bigger, brighter, and they appear to be so close you could reach out and touch one.”  He softly breathed a little sort of dismissing laugh, and the corner of his mouth lifted slightly in what could perhaps be interpreted as a kind of half-smile.  “I don’t really know what all that means, but I do believe that is why I’m not as happy and cheerful as normal creatures are, and it’s also why I love the stars.”

“Gnaaaarf . . .” snorted the princess who had fallen fast asleep and lay snoring against the dragon’s scaly side.

“Oh good grief!” he muttered.

The sun rose and morning found them snuggled together amidst the dew and freshly bloomed morning glories.  Slowly, the princess awoke, stretched, and gave a petite little yawn.  She straightened the folds of her dress and took a moment to contemplate this beast who lay beside her still peacefully dreaming.  

Now, thinking about it, what the dragon could possibly be dreaming, is a very interesting concept to ponder.  I mean, if we, here in reality (or supposed reality), when we dream, dream of fairy tales, then, do people in fairy tales dream of reality?  Or do they entertain visions of things far more fantastic than their own existence?  Not that it matters, because none of it had crossed the mind of the princess, and since the story is in large part about her, we should do our best to think what she is thinking as presented in this tale, and save our own little contemplations for when we are visiting relatives, or are awaiting transportation, or painting porch pickets.  

So anyway, where was I?  No, I mean in the story, not when Kennedy was shot.  Ah, yes, what the princess was thinking about the dragon.  She was thinking that for a dragon, he wasn’t so bad, (better actually than a lot of princes she had met).  That even though he looked evil and scary, he seemed to be, deep down inside, very sweet.  And that there was a something, an inexplicable, mundane, electric something, that made her want to get closer, to be with, to immerse herself in his soul and mind.  There was this warm fuzzy feeling, like the one you get when you’re running through a beautiful meadow, on a glorious spring day, when everything is new and in bloom and you run right into a 1000 volt electric cattle fence.  But it wasn’t love (which often carries those symptoms, but is not entirely limited to them).  No, it couldn’t be.  She was a princess, and he was a dragon.  This was no Romeo and Juliet type of barrier.  You know, family feud and difference of opinion kind of stuff.  No, we’re talking major league species gap.  Totally opposite entities, like spider and fly, or cat and mouse, even shark and minnow.  But it was like the dragon laid down his predator instincts and tendencies, just for her, because she was worth relating to as a person, not just some pretty “thing.”  

Yes, I know, all this is a bit sudden, and entirely too fast for any sort of meaningful relationship, but real life, love, and friendships take so very long, and this is just a short story, so we’ll cut right to the chase and skip all those annoying setbacks, trial and error emotional bonding, miscommunications, and the just massive amount of time it takes for two beings to grow close.  

The princess felt close; she felt that she could confide in the dragon and share all her deepest feelings, and that he would somehow understand.  Oh, she realized that there was a vast amount of stuff she didn’t know about the dragon, and an equal amount of stuff that he didn’t know about her, but to her this just meant that there was so much to learn, so much to share, so much room to grow closer together.  This thought filled her with so much excitement she flung her arms around him and hugged his neck tight.

“Aaaugh! I don’t want to go to the zoo and pet the tapirs!  No, let me go!” cried the dragon, starting up violently from a sound sleep.  He skittered away, and after taking a moment to get his bearings, spluttered, “What in the name of all that makes sense are you doing?”

“Well,” she smiled coyly, “you are kinda cute when it comes right down to it.”

“I am not!” said the dragon, aghast. 

“Yes, yes, you are!”  She nodded vigorously.  “Actually, when you squint your eyes, and imagine really hard, you could even pass for a genuine hottie.”

“I beg your pardon!”  Thrusting his chest out, and holding his head high, he said in a very noble and majestic (although slightly nasal) voice, “I am a dragon, and you cannot associate dragons with cutsie-wootsie bunny rabbit terms like ‘cute’.”  

The princess giggled and flopped down right underneath his chin.  She lay on her back and gazed up at him.  “You don’t seem like any dragon I’ve ever heard of.”

“Ah,” sighed the dragon, leaning his nose down almost touching hers, “you’re right.  I’m not.  I really don’t fit in with the other dragons.  I’m rather an outcast, a pariah even.  Other dragons, you see, like violence and darkness, and blood.”

“And you don’t?”

“Of course I do, I’m a dragon, but I like other things too, like flowers and sunsets, and walking on the beach.”  He rolled over on his side, and gave a little dragon smile.  “And I think I like you.”

“Me?” she asked, scrunching up her shoulders and shivering with happiness.

“Yes, you,” he assured, “I think you are definitely a happy thought, and I must certainly add you to my collection of happy thoughts.”  

The princess sat back up and cocked her head to one side.  “You have a collection of happy thoughts?”  

“Yes,” said the dragon, “they’re all in here.”  He tapped his chest and stared for a moment deep into her eyes.  “Would you like to share them with me?”

“What?” she asked, unsure of what he meant.  

He gave no reply, but stood, and stretched back his shoulders.  As he did so the front of his chest suddenly opened up, the heavy scales covering his torso unclasping like fingers.  He reached deep inside the gaping crevasse and brought out what looked like a large piece of broken glass.  It sat in his hand shimmering and reflecting the sun.  

“What is it?” whispered the princess.

“My heart,” he said and offered it to her.

“But I can’t take this.  How will you live?” 

“Oh, it’s really only half my heart,” he explained, “the good half, it contains the good things about me: my love, my happiness, my smile.  It’s my sweet soft side, gentle and kind.”

“Well, what’s the other half like?” 

“Hopefully, you’ll never find out,” he said with a little half smile, “Now c’mon, take it.”

“But what shall I do with it?” 

“Hang it on the silver chain you wear around your neck.  Then, no matter where you go, a piece of me will always be with you, all my happy thoughts.”

“You’re very strange,” said the princess, and took his heart.

—

Chapter 2

Morning turned to afternoon, like a caterpillar to a butterfly with all its splendor, and also a lot of mad hopping about.  But for your sake, the story receiver, I, the storyteller, will drop you off comfortably later on with our newfound friends the princess and the dragon.  Together, they walked side by side through the forests and fields of an enchanted land, talking of many things.  They talked of life, love and happiness, and of course about the deep theological questions of the universe, such as ‘why do guys have nipples?’  The dragon’s heart hung from her neck and lay warm and pulsing against her breast.  From time to time, she would touch it, and wonder what exactly it meant for a dragon to give such a gift.  In the back of both their minds, they knew that as long as she stayed with him, all would be well, but if she ever left and took his heart with her, the dragon would be left with only the dark side of his soul and bitter regrets.  But they also knew that they were just friends.  Oh, not “just friends” really, good friends, but still simply friends.  And this means that the time would come when the princess would Find a Romantic Interest and FRIend would just become ‘end.’  (Clever, huh?)

Now the dragon realized, somewhere along their walk, and slightly left of their conversation that he loved the princess.  He loved her so much that he was even willing to let her go, and leave him alone, and more empty than he was before she came.  He looked into her eyes, and saw the longing desire to be swept off her feet and carried off into the sunset to live happily ever after with her knight in shining armor.  He saw it ache inside her and wished that somehow he could be that knight and make all her dreams come true.  He longed to be there for her, and with her for all eternity, and be all she would ever want, or need.  But he was a dragon, and dragons can’t do those things.  They’re killers, predators, and darn good chess players.  

So, with his destiny seemingly preset, he made up his mind that though they would someday part, until then, he would be the best friend she could ever have.  He would set a standard for the princes to come.  He would treat her better and love her stronger than anyone ever had, and if a prince couldn’t do better than a dragon, well, then shave him bald and stamp “return to sender” on his forehead.  The dragon also swore that if the right man came for his princess, that he would try to do everything he could to make her happy.

“Will you help me find my knight in shining armor?” asked the princess, looking up at him with big beautiful blue eyes.  

“No,” said the dragon, “if anybody in shining armor comes within a hundred yards of you, I’m going to poke holes in the top of his helmet and blow fire inside his suit, sort of like baking potatoes in a campfire, crunchy on the outside, chewy on the inside.”  He sighed, and rolled his eyes.  “Of course I’ll help you.  I love you, and I really want you to live happily ever after.”

The princess gasped.  “You said the ‘L’ word!”

“What, love?” said the dragon, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” she breathed, “Can you say it again?”

“Um . . . I love you?”

“Oh, you do?!”  Her hand fluttered to her forehead, as she fell against him in a mock faint.  He stepped back, and she dropped to the ground.  She lay still for a moment, eyes closed, then slowly, she opened one eye.  “Why can’t you be a prince?” 

“Fate.  Destiny.  Providence.  Do you believe in God?” he asked.

“Well, I’ve always wondered if God believed in me,” she replied.

“Hmmm . . . very deep,” he said, scratching his chin, “and I would like to discuss that in great detail, but first, I really must go chase that butterfly.” 

“Me too!”  So off they went, romping through the tall grass.  

Finally exhausted, and totally unsuccessful in their pursuit of winged insects, they lay on their backs and stared up at the clouds.  

“You do realize that when you say ‘hello’ to your prince, you say ‘good-bye’ to me,” said the dragon softly.

“No!  Silly dragon,” said the princess, “you and I will be together forever.”  The dragon sat up and looked at her.

“Princess, that’s just not how things work.  Don’t you know what happens to me when your prince comes?”

“What?” asked the princess in all innocence.

“Ah, fer cryin’ out loud . . .”  He looked at her, then looked again.  “You really don’t know?”

“Dragon, we’ll never say good-bye.” 

“But . . .” 

“Never,” she cut him off, “There’s nothing good about goodbyes.”

“You got that right,” said a dwarf with a scruffy beard and red stockings, “Yeah, you see, me and my buddies, we somehow got involved with that Federal Witness Protection Program.  Yep, this dame just shows up at this two room cracker box we was all rentin’, cleans it up, and bam, we all feel somehow obligated to protect her from her whacked out step mom who wants to knock her off, you know, ice her, zap her, send her to sleep with the fishes, invite her to a pine box pajama party, retire her permanently, do her in, put her down . . .”

“Yeah, we got the idea,” the princess interjected.  

“Well, anyway, it was all over some jealousy thing,” continued the dwarf, “Sheesh, women, vicious little critters at times.” He shook his shaggy little head, and then went on.  “So me and the boys, we put her up for a couple of days.  I mean, hey, it was the least we could do.  Damsel in distress, and all that.  Actually, it was a pretty sweet deal.  She cooked and cleaned, and we provided protection, or tried to.”

“Does this quaint little tale have a point?  Or better yet, an ending?” put in the dragon.  The dwarf ignored him and kept going.  

“But man, this broad was dim.  We left the house for two minutes, and she invites in this old hag, who might as well been wearing a sign around her neck that says: ‘Burn me; I’m a witch.’  Well, to make a long story short . . .”

“Please,” sighed the dragon.

“ . . . Our girl winds up poisoned and in a coma, and we wind up chasing the crone, who, in fact, turned out to be the psychopath step mom, and chuck her off a cliff.  Ker-splat!  End of distress, but does our damsel appreciate it?  Nooo, she runs off with the first semi-good looking prince comes along and smooches her on the lips.”

“I think I met him,” said the princess.

“And then, without so much as a ‘good-bye and thanks for all the memories’ she’s off and all our weeks of hard earned friendship get flushed down the toilet.  Not only that, but since she’d been cleaning up after us, we’d all grown accustomed to a higher standard of cleanliness, and easy living.  So now we had to go and hire a maid, and of course she doesn’t speak English.  Although even if she could, she still wouldn’t be able to remember all of our names.”

“Maybe, if we gave him some money, he’d go away,” whispered the princess.

“I could eat him,” offered the dragon.

But before either action was taken, the dwarf’s cameo ended and he disappeared in a cloud of childhood nostalgia.  

“How very odd,” said the princess.

“Never mind that.  We really must discuss what to do when you find a knight in shining armor.”

“Oh can’t it wait?” she pouted, “It’s such a wonderful afternoon; I so want to spend it with you.”

“Well, no, it can’t wait.” 

“Why not?”

“Because there is a knight in shining armor headed right this way.” 

“Oh, really?!” cried the princess, eyes darting about, “Where is he?  Is he handsome?  Is he riding a dashing steed? Is there room for two in the saddle?” 

“Oh, brother,” he sighed, “Look, you want a knight more than anything in the whole world, right?”

“Umm . . . is that a trick question?” 

“Forget it.  Come on.”  The dragon snatched her around the waist, and unfurled his mighty wings.  “Are you afraid of heights?” he asked.  

“Well . . .”

“Never mind; doesn’t matter.”  He took two great strides, spread his leathery wings wide, and then, with a mighty leap, soared into the sky, swooping high over the treetops.

“Wheeeeee!!!” cried the princess.  With a powerful thrust of his wings, he propelled them high into the clouds, then slowly circled, gliding on the updrafts.

“Now, let’s see, where did he get to?” muttered the dragon softly.  “Ah, there he is,” he answered himself, pointing below.

“What, do you mean that tiny little speck is . . .” the princess was cut off as the dragon suddenly folded back his wings, and dropped them both into a terrifying dive straight down.  “WHOOOO-HOOOO!!!” she squealed, eyes watering, and hair flowing back.  The dragon remained silent, partly because he was concentrating on flying and partly because his face was covered in the princess’s hair.  Faster and faster they fell, so fast, in fact, it felt like they were staying still, and the earth was falling on them, which was exactly the opposite of what was really happening, in case you haven’t been paying attention.  

The knight in shining armor was riding peacefully through the quiet meadow without a care in the world, thinking only about how amazing it was the number of places on a human body that started itching for absolutely no logical reason the moment they became impossible to scratch, (which in a shining suit of armor is practically everywhere).  Then, suddenly, without hint or preview, a hideous dragon plunged from the heavens and pulled up sharply in front of him treading air, not three paces away.  In his talons was clutched the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, or rather, he would have seen had he been able to take his eyes off the bared fangs of the dragon.  “Who will challenge me for this fair princess?” roared the dragon, “Is there anyone brave enough to face me?”  The knight’s mighty steed blinked.  

“Holy jackrabbit!” cried the knight turning his horse and bolting in the opposite direction.

“Good grief,” muttered the dragon.

“No, wait!” the princess called, “You must save me from this dragon, or he will . . . eat me!”  She burst into a fit of giggling, then caught herself, and gave a little scream for effect.  The knight didn’t even look back, but galloped hard for the tree line.

“Well . . .” said the dragon.

“Go after him!” demanded the princess.

“You know, there are other knights.” 

“I don’t care.  I want this one;” she said, “he’s cute.”

“All right, it’s your cricket match,” said the dragon metaphorically.  (Cricket being a game where you chase people around and beat them with big flat sticks, or something like that.)  With that, they took off after the retreating dust cloud of the knight in shining armor.  

“There’s no place like home.  There’s no place like home.  There’s no place like home . . .” recited the knight, as a Catholic soldier recites Hail Marys before battle.  With quivering knees, he urged his steed faster.  Only a few more yards to the trees . . . There was a blur of motion and the dragon burst into view, stopping them short, eyeball to eyeball with the horse.

“C’mon horsie, work with me!” said the dragon.  The horse, startled, reared up violently, sending the knight sprawling.  “Thank yoooou,” said the dragon to the animal, who promptly fainted.  The knight scrambled to his feet and whipped out his sword.  

“Stay back!” he cried, “I’ve got a sword!”  The dragon turned his head to look at him.  “Oh, God, help me!” screamed the knight, flipping his sword in the air, and scampering off the way he’d come.

“Um . . .” said the princess.

“Wait, I’ve got an idea,” said the dragon, picking up the fleeing knight’s sword, and sticking it under his arm, “Watch this: Oh, oooh,” he wailed, “You got me!”  The knight stopped, glancing over his shoulder.  “Such a skillful shot,” continued the dragon, “he must be well trained. Aahh!”  He gently placed the princess on the ground and staggered around a bit.  The knight turned and hesitantly started walking back toward them.  “Aargh, eergh!  He was too much for me, so brave a knight!”  The princess covered her mouth to hide another fit of giggles.  The knight added a strut to his step, and quickened his pace.  “Oh the pain, oh the humanity, 

oooh . . .”  With a final swoon, the dragon flopped to the ground.  “And 

so . . . I die!  Aaah!”  At that, he closed his eyes, and lay still.

“Oh, you saved me!” cried the princess, running to the knight and flinging her arms around him.  

“Uh . . . oh, I guess I did,” he stammered.

“Now you must kiss me, and sweep me off my feet, and together we can ride off into the sunset to your castle far away.  Well, after your horse wakes up.”  She sighed, and rested her head on his shoulder.

“Well, yeah, that sounds cool,” said the knight, “but first let’s make passionate love right here in the grass.”

“Oh, that would be . . . WHAT?!!!” blurted the princess.

“Yeah, c’mon, it’ll be fun,” he said, lying down, “Now help me take all this darn shining armor off.”

“No!” she cried, pulling away, “That’s not what I was . . . There is no way . . . I don’t even know you!”

“Well, what do ya want to know?” he asked.  

“That’s not . . . How can you . . . You sick little . . . You can’t 

just . . . There’s no romance, no commitment.  That’s not true love!” spluttered the princess.  

“Who said anything about true love?” said the knight.

“That’s the whole point!  You’re a knight in shining armor, for Pete’s sake.  You’re supposed to bring me true love and carry me away to live happily ever after!”

“Oh, come on.  I wear shining armor to pick up chicks.” 

“What?” said the princess softly, her heart broken.

“Yeah, what do you expect me to do?  Hang out at singles’ bars or something?  But hey, I’ve got true love right down here.  Come on, you can live happily ever after right now.”

“Oooh!  Forget you!!!” shuddered the princess and turned to go.  The knight dived after her, grabbing her ankle. 

“No!  You have to make passionate love to me right here in the grass.  You’re obligated to!”

“Oh yeah, where does it say that?” she demanded, shaking her foot in an effort to dislodge him.

“Right here!” he shouted, holding high a little black book, “in the Knight In Shining Armor Field Manual!”  

Right here I think it should be explained that the Knight In Shining Armor Field Manual is one of the greatest books ever conceived, right in between ‘Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’ and ‘First Aid for the Hypochondriac.’  It is, indeed, the ultimate standard for all KISA (That’s Knight In Shining Armor for those of you who are a little slow).  It’s their Bible, their code, their ‘Julia Child’s Cookbook.’  The only problem is that no two books are the same.  Every Knight In Shining Armor Field Manual has a different author.  Sometimes a knight writes his own, or perhaps it is written by his mother or father, even an old girlfriend.  Buddies have been known to throw one together after consuming one too many at the local pub.  So here’s a little secret for you, an inside tip: just because you have a copy of the Knight In Shining Armor Field Manual, don’t think you automatically know how a KISA will behave.  Nope, the trick is to read his copy, preferably while he’s asleep, that way you have plenty of time to run, if necessary.  Anyway . . . 

“Right here, page 42, line seven: ‘If a damsel, being in distress, (considered party of the first part) is rescued by a KISA (considered party of the second part) from impending doom, or vicious beast, (considered party of the third part) then said damsel, (party of the first part), is thenceforth obligated to make passionate love right here in the grass.’”

“Oh, puh-lease!” said the princess, rolling her eyes, “You added that part.”

“No I didn’t.”   

“It’s written in crayon!” she yelled, exasperated. 

“It doesn’t matter.  I killed the dragon, so you have to do what I say.”  

The dragon opened one eye.  

“Look,” said the princess, “I believe in true love.  I believe in commitment.  I believe in romance, and respect, and that love goes way beyond just a physical desire.  If I sleep with you for the heck of it or just because it feels good, then I destroy all that!”

“But the whole reason I wear this stupid armor, and ride that stupid horse, is to get silly little girls, who need a man to sleep with me.  It’s how the system works: I give them something they need, a knight, and they give me something I need, and I think you can guess what that is.”  

“Let me go, you freaking pervert!!!” she said, and kicked him in the head.  

“No!” he yelled, jumping up and grabbing her wrists.  

The dragon moved.  He rose like an impending storm cloud, muscles and sinews rippling under his scaly hide.  His eyes narrowed, and blazed fire red.  As a predator stalking prey, he flowed over to the knight, who stood with his back to him, and tapped him on the shoulder.  Slowly, the knight turned around.  “Wwwha . . . wwha . . . wha?!” he spluttered.  The dragon deliberately reached around and moved the princess out of the way.  Then he roared.  It came deep from the very pit of Hell itself, surged up through his lungs, and blasted out his gaping mouth.  The force of it hit the knight full on, filling his nostrils with the smell of sulfur and death, and his heart with sheer terror.  But did he run?  Did he hide?  No!  Because as soon as he saw the dragon, he promptly wet himself and his shining armor immediately rusted tight.  “Ub, ub, ub . . .” he blubbered, eyes glazed and drooling slightly.

“I think you snapped his mind,” said the princess.  

“I think he used his mind to wet himself,” snorted the dragon, “You want me to kill this piece of pond scum?”

“No,” she sighed, “maybe he’s learned his lesson.”

“I doubt it.  His type never do.”

“Oh, there’s always hope.  Maybe someday he’ll find out what true love really is.”  She went and leaned her head against the dragon’s chest.  “Now take me away from here; I’m sleepy.”  So he scooped her up in his arms, spread his wings, and took to the splendorous sky of the setting sun.  Far above the treetops he soared, on past the forest, and into the dark craggy mountains.  Mountains that lay in the mist like forgotten shards of glass, practically inaccessible to all but dragons and other winged creatures of the night.  It was a landscape cold and bare, as if all vegetation, afraid of heights, had not even attempted to grow at such a high elevation.  

To a massive pinnacle, he carried her.  He spiraled up around it, lighting to rest on an outcropping that jutted out over a violent and unforgiving terrain.  “What is this place?” whispered the princess.  

“This is the place where I come to think of things,” answered the dragon quietly, “I watch the storms that rage in these mountains, and I feel the power of something that is far beyond my simple self.  And I sit here on this rock, and I know, that at least here, I am safe, secure, infinitely above it all.  It is here I am free to think, free to believe.  It is in this place one can be closer to my mind and to how I think than anywhere else in the world.”  

“But it’s so cold,” she shivered. 

“I know.  Just hold my heart close, and you will be warm.”  She smiled, and clutched the piece of him that hung from her neck, and drifted off into a fitful sleep.  

Dreams came and danced about in her mind like fairies in the moonlight, here and there, flitting, frolicking, just beyond reach, laughing in the shadows.  She dreamed of the dragon, riding a brilliant white horse, his scales shining radiant silver.  In his talons he held a gleaming sword with intricate designs carved up and down its hilt and blade.  In her dream she was bound to some massive object that she couldn’t quite see.  The dragon rode fast and hard straight toward her and swung his sword with all his might.  Her bonds were instantly severed and fell to her feet. 

“But where is my knight?” she cried, confused.

“I am he,” said the dragon and pulled her up into his arms. 

“But you’re a dragon.”  

“This is the armor I was given.” 

“Take it off,” she said, “ Let me see who you really are.”  He gave no reply, but softly ran his fingers down her face, gently closing her eyes.  He gave a deep sigh and his breath ever so lightly caressed her skin.  She held the moment deep in her soul and felt as if she never wanted to wake up. 

The dragon watched her sleep, and found himself somehow amazed by her soft breathing, the slight flare of her nostrils, the rise and fall of her chest, the way she ever so slightly snored (very ladylike snoring, petite even).  He thought back through the events of the day: romping through the grass, flying through the clouds, the knight . . . Oh yes, the knight!  He felt again a rage unlike anything he had ever known burn inside him.  “If he had hurt one hair on her head . . .” the dragon said to himself, then stopped, thinking for a moment, I would have done what?  Killed him?  Of course, that’s what dragons do.  But why did he care so much?  She’d gotten herself in that mess, right?  It’s her decision what she does.  She’d drawn the bath, she should soak in it, to borrow an old saying my mother never used.  It’s all her own fault for wanting a knight in shining armor so badly anyway.  Who was he to interfere?  They’re only friends after all, and he’s a dragon for goodness sake! Albeit, a very odd dragon.  I mean, he wasn’t even holding her captive like he should have been, and he was actually helping her find a knight, and leave forever, which was very ironic, because right now all he wanted was to be with her for all eternity.  Maybe, at least in part, it was jealousy that fueled this anger toward the knight, or any other knight that would come to take his princess.  But, no, the thought came again, like a razor sharp knife, cutting into his belly, gutting him; she must leave him, riding off to live happily ever after, without him.  She must find her prince, for only then would she be truly happy.  And he felt like he would do anything to see her smile.   So he set his brow and renewed his vow to help the princess find her special person, but this time, he added that from this moment on, he would be her protector.  No man, or beast, which was unworthy, would touch her.  If a knight could not attain the level of love, honesty, nobility, and chivalry, that he, a monster possessed, then that knight would face the dragon’s wrath if he even so much as looked like he possibly might have speculated of thinking about perhaps maybe asking the princess out for dinner.  And woe be unto him, if he didn’t carry a big sword or ride a fast horse, for the dragon’s blood lust would be satisfied.  This was his dark side, the part of him he hadn’t given the princess.  

With the promise of surrender, sacrifice, love and protection, still echoing through the twisted passages of his mind, the dragon fell into a deep sleep, and dreamed of many things.  But since, most of his dreams were about things like falling off the Empire State building and landing in a crowded shopping mall clad only in his underwear, and then suddenly turning into a blue penguin running from a pack of rabid wolves, but not getting anywhere because he couldn’t keep his eyes open, I won’t bother writing them down.  Oh, there was this funny one though, he had about . . . ah, never mind.  

The princess and the dragon awoke at the same time.  They looked at each other and smiled.  “I dreamed you were my knight in shining armor,” she said.

“Hmm, I dreamed I was a blue penguin,” he replied, still a little sleepy.

“Silly dragon,” she giggled, then stretched and yawned, “You know what I love?”  The dragon shook his head.  “I love to wiggle my toes.”  Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle went the princess’s toes.  “You know what else I think I’d love?”  Again, he shook his head.  “I think I’d love to wiggle your toes!”  She sat up, and took a talon in each hand.  Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle!

“Silly princess,” said the dragon, and went back to sleep.  

He was awakened sometime later by the sharp jabbing of the princess’s elbow applied with excessive force to his ribs.  “Ow!” he said.  

“Wake up!  Wake up!” she said breathlessly, “Someone is climbing up here!”

“No, that’s im . . .” He peeked over the ledge and stopped short.  A figure, clad in armor, was half way to ascending their position.  

“Fear not fair damsel!” his faint voice was heard to call, “I have come to rescue you!”  

“Rescue me?!” said the princess in happy disbelief, “To attempt such a dangerous climb to save me must be the result of true love.  Is he cute?”

“I don’t know; his face is covered by a full helmet.”  The dragon was suddenly concerned.  He hadn’t planned to act on his promise, one way or the other, so soon.  “When he comes we must be very cautious.  Remember what we’ve learned from last time.”

“Yes, I know.  Just because he wears shining armor on the outside, doesn’t mean he’s a knight on the inside.”

“Well, that, and if you have a bladder control problem stainless steel is the way to go.  Now, stay back, and let me do the talking.  I’ve got a bad feeling about this one.”

“Oh, you old worry wart!” she said, ducking under his protectively outstretched arm, and scampering to the edge, “Oooh, he’s almost here!  He’d better not be a creep.”  The dragon sighed, and picked her up, setting her as far back as he could. 

“Stay put,” he told her.  

A gloved hand appeared first, followed by a helmet that completely covered the wearer’s face.  Then a breastplate, a belt, leggings, and finally boots came into view, as the knight climbed onto the ledge.  He stood before them in all his awe-inspiring grandeur, a mighty figure, massively built and imposing in stature.  He wore a purple cape that fluttered and snapped in the wind, like a living thing.  They all stood in silence.  “Um,” said the dragon, “So, young man, what makes you think yourself a worthy candidate for a relationship with my daughter?”

“Your what?” whispered the princess.

“Shh, it goes with the speech,” he replied, then continued, “Yes, I know, you probably think you’re in love, but let’s consider a more realistic view of things, shall we?”  

The knight, drew his sword and screamed, “Unhand yon maiden, vile creature from Hell, or taste the steel of my blade!”

“Ooh-kay,” said the dragon, “Princess, let’s go.”  He took her in his arms, and once again opened his wings.

“But . . .” she protested.

“No buts,” he said firmly, “We’re leaving.”  With that he fell backwards off the outcropping of rock, holding her tight.  They free fell several hundred feet before he pulled up hard, mere feet from the ground.  

“Come back!” demanded the knight.  “And I will drench the ground with your cursed blood, you detestable spawn of the Devil!”

“Yeah, right,” muttered the dragon, and flew hard and fast back to the forest.  They landed moments later in the same meadow where they had encountered the first knight, (who was presently being helped by a little girl in red shoes, along with her dog, and a scarecrow).  As soon as the princess’s feet hit the ground, she began berating the dragon in no uncertain terms.

“You cretin!  What did you do that for?  He could have been the One.”

“No, there is something very strange about him,” said the dragon, as they started out towards the trees.  

“I didn’t see anything wrong with him.  I mean, he came all the way through the dark wilderness, just to rescue me, (that’s so sweet!).  Are you telling me love had nothing to do with that?”

“Oh come on, you only saw him for a couple of seconds; how can you even begin to decipher his actions?”

“Well, he seemed nice to me,” sniffled the princess, “And you didn’t even give him a chance.”  They reached the forest edge, and stepped into the cool shade and moist air of the woods.  Sunlight sprinkled through the dark green canopy overhead and danced lacy patterns across his leathery skin.

“Look,” he said, “I’m sorry.  I panicked.  There are other knights.  I just want to be sure you find the right one, the best one; he just didn’t feel right.”

“It’s my knight,” she said, rolling her eyes, “Let me do the feeling, all right?” 

“All right,” he sighed, “You want to go back?”   

“Noo, I guess . . .”

“Stand fast!” cried a familiar voice, “Depart from her, or I shall tear out your pancreas and feed it to the vultures, you horrendous hound of Hades!”  

“Oh, no.  Not you again,” moaned the dragon, “How the heck did you get here so fast?”

“If you will not flee, then we shall fight!” said the knight in the purple cape, “And I will send you back to the Lake of Fire from whence you sprung!”

“Oh forget this!” said the dragon, “Princess, if you really want him, he’s all yours.”  He turned to go, then instantly vanished into a large hole that had been dug in the path and camouflaged with leaves.  “Ow!”  The dragon’s voice was heard coming up from the pit.  “I think I broke my snout!”

“Ah, ha!” exclaimed the knight, “I have vanquished the monster!”  

“You dug a hole, and covered it with leaves?”  The princess raised an eyebrow.

“No, of course not,” he said, “The dragon, being the cowardly serpent that he is, probably dug it himself.”

“Um,” she asked, “Why would he do that?”

“Because he didn’t wish to face my blade!” shouted the knight triumphantly.

“I’m going to kill you.  You know that, don’t you?” came the dragon’s disembodied voice from the ground, “just as soon as my head stops spinning and I can figure out which way is up.”

“Now you are free, my lady!” said the knight, extending his hand, “And I would be most honored if you would take my hand and come with me to my castle far away, and live forever with me in bliss and harmony.”  

“Well, I don’t know . . .” she hesitated, casting a furtive glance towards the pit.  

“Oh princess, please do not feel pressured to make a decision right away.  I said you are free, and I meant it.  You have no obligation to stay with me whatsoever.  It’s just . . .” His voice wavered.  “I love you, more than anything else in the whole world, and I so want to fulfill your every need for a true knight in shining armor.  I would gladly kill a hundred dragons . . .”

“You haven’t even killed this one yet,” said the hole in the ground.  

“ . . . Just to prove my love for you.  Please, oh beautiful and precious flower, consent to be mine, even though I have nothing to offer but undying love and a great big castle to live in.”

“Um . . .” The princess felt her heart melting.

“But who am I to expect you to love me just for the asking?” went on the knight, rising, and throwing a hand to the forehead of his helmet, “Your heart is not a toy to be handed over just for the desiring of it!  No!  It must be earned!  And not simply by acts of bravery either!  It must be won by the true test of friendship.  Please fair maiden, come away with me and let me be your friend, your servant even!  Please, oh, please!  I shall die if you reject me!”  With eyes wide, and her heart pounding, the princess reached out her hand and took his.

“Do something!” the dragon’s mind screamed.  But before he could move, there was a sudden chapter break.  

—-

Chapter 3:

IN WHICH THE DRAGON FALLS INTO A TRAP FOR HEPHALUMPS AND MEETS A VERY SMALL ANIMAL, AND A BEAR AND PIGLET LEARN TO STAY THE HECK OUT OF OTHER PEOPLE’S STORY BOOKS

“Oh, oh, I believe we’ve captured a hephalump!” said a very small voice. 

“Now, now,” answered a softer slower voice, “Don’t excite yourself.  I will look into our trap and see what is there, and then we shall decide what to do, if a hephalump is indeed what we have captured.”  A fuzzy snout and two shiny black eyes peeked over the edge of the pit and then quickly retreated.  “Oh dear, we have captured something, but I do not believe it is a hephalump.”

“Well then, what is it?” answered the small voice, punctuating the question with several nervous oinks.  

“I’m not sure,” said the soft, slow voice again, “I being an animal of very little brain, but I will think about it.”  The dragon blinked and sat up.  

“Oh, my!” came the first voice.  

“Hmm,” observed the second, “It appears we have made our trap too small.”  Indeed, they had, for it merely held a little over half the dragon, leaving the rest of him towering over two very small animals.  “Of course,” continued the second voice, now revealed to belong to a bear animal, “We had thought of capturing hephalumps when we dug it and not whatever this is.”

“It’s a dr . . . dra . . . dragon!” squeaked the first voice which came from a piglet animal.  

“Why, that’s just what it is!” said the bear, “Aren’t you a clever animal!”

“But I am also a very small timid animal,” it replied, hiding behind its companion.  The dragon rubbed his eyes and scratched his snout. 

“What in the name of all that’s copyrighted are you two doing here?!” he demanded.

“Well,” started the bear animal.

“Never mind,” the dragon cut him short, “Did you see a princess and a knight just leave here?”

“Yes,” oinked the piglet animal.  

“Which way did they go?”

“Actually,” the piglet said after thinking for a moment, “there was a princess, but she didn’t go anywhere with a knight.”

“What?!  What happened to the knight?”

“What knight?”

“The knight she was with!”  

“She wasn’t with a knight.”

“She wasn’t?”

“No, she wasn’t.”

“Then who’d she leave with?”

“Somebody who wasn’t a knight.”

“Somebody who wasn’t a knight?”

“Yes.”

“But did the somebody wear armor and carry a big sword?”

“Well, at least when I saw him he did.”

“But he wasn’t a knight?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?  How did you know?”

“Because he’s a very clever animal,” interjected the bear animal.  

“No, seriously, right before I fell into your stupid little trap, there was me, the princess, you two apparently, and this really obnoxious knight.”

“No.”

“No?”

“There wasn’t a knight.”

“Hmm . . .” The dragon stopped, and drummed his talons on the ground.  “So you’re saying there never was a knight, just someone dressed up like one.  Interesting.  Who . . .”

“What.”

“All right, what was dressed up like a knight, and why?”  The piglet animal motioned him closer.  He ducked his head, and the piglet whispered in his ear, “A hephalump!”

“Okay,” said the dragon, “reality check, there are no hephalumps in this story.”

“Oh bother,” said the bear animal, very disappointed, “then I suppose we placed our trap in the wrong place.”

“But I know it was a hephalump,” protested his small friend, “It had a long tail.”

“A tail?”

“Yes, it stuck out the back, so I imagine the princess didn’t notice it.”

“A tail?”  The dragon’s eyes fell to the forest floor, then suddenly focused on the myriad of jumbled tracks scattered about.  There were his large four toed tracks, three pointing out, one pointing back, with sharp indentations where his talons had sunk into the soft turf.  Then there were the princess’ soft slipper marks, heading off in the direction he’d heard her leave with her “knight.”  Then, directly beside them, was a track that chilled him to the bone.  There, leading the trail of his beloved princess was a track almost identical to his own: the unmistakable mark of a dragon.  “Oh, no,” he murmured.  

The farther the princess walked with the knight the deeper she fell for him.  He was everything she’d ever dreamed of: kind, courteous, gentle.  She just wished he’d take off his helmet, but maybe he was just being sensitive to her desire to refrain from a physical relationship, (at least until they’d grown closer in spirit).  He probably realized what a distracting effect his attractive features would have on her and chose to leave his face hidden, so they could focus totally on getting to know one another’s hearts.  And she was sure he was handsome.  He sounded handsome, with that deep voice that just gave her shivers, and the way he walked, as if his armor could scarce keep him in.  She imagined when the time would come when he would kiss her.  Oh, what a moment that would be!  She could scarcely wait, and the thought of it warmed her all over.  

“How can you be so perfect?” she asked, tucking herself close to his side.  

“It is my desire to be perfect for you;” he replied, “the thought of consuming you, er . . . the thought of you consumes me.  All I want to do is make you happy, but I must confess, I had a little help.”

“Oh, really?” she smiled, looking up at him.

“Yes, I found many helpful things in this.”  He held up a little black book.

“Why, it’s a Knight In Shining Armor Field Manual! But wait,” She snatched it from him and examined it closely.  “This is my Knight In Shining Armor Field Manual!  Where did you get this?”

“Does that really matter, princess?” he said, dropping to his knees in front of her.  He took her two small hands in his.  “Isn’t all that is important right now is that we’ve found each other?”  He pulled her close, and held her tightly, (rather squishing her face painfully against his hard, cold breastplate, but she didn’t say anything because she liked the attention).  “Oh, my bright and beautiful buttercup!  Is it destiny that brought us together?  Surely, it must be a sign from heaven how close our hearts are.  Tell me, dear sweet one, do you believe in love at first sight?”

“How about the Easter Bunny?” said a voice behind them, and the dragon stepped into view, “Or maybe Santa Claus?  Or the Tooth Fairy?  Or how about honest politicians?  As far as I’m concerned, they all mean about the same thing.”

“Oh dragon!” pouted the princess, “You have really bad timing.”  

“So!  You’ve decided to fight after all, you piece of flotsam from the Lake of Fire!” shouted the knight, drawing his sword.  

“Ah, can it!  You some-insult-that-is-really-cruel-and-demeaning-but-I-can’t-think-of-it-right-now!” replied the dragon, “Now, come over here and let me introduce you to the better part of your internal organs!”

“No!  No!” cried the princess, placing herself between them, “You mustn’t fight!  Look, you two; you’re both here because you love me, and you’re both trying to protect me in your own little ways.  But listen, knight, the dragon is my friend, and it would make me very sad if you hurt him.  And dragon, I love the knight, and my love for the knight is a part of me; so if you can’t accept my love, or accept him, then maybe you should just leave forever, because I don’t think I could stand the pain of you always hating a piece of me.”  

“She’s right, dragon,” sighed the knight, offering a hand, “Any friend of hers is a friend of mine, so come, let us make peace.”

“No!  Let’s kill him!” shrieked a voice that seemed to come from the knight’s midsection.  

“What was that?” asked the dragon.

“What?” shrugged the knight.

“I didn’t hear anything,” added the princess.

“Nope, now let’s eat his liver!” came the voice again.

“There!  You had to have heard it that time,” demanded the dragon.  

The knight shook his head.  “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Um, I don’t think I heard anything,” said the princess, biting a nail.  

“Ah, forget this,” muttered the dragon, and grabbed the knight’s still offered hand.  He jerked him violently toward him, clamping his jaws down hard on the knight’s neck.  He took a deep breath.  

“Oh, no!” gasped the princess, as the dragon’s chest glowed fire red.  Slitted eyes peeked out from the helmet and glanced down at the dragon, who looked up, grinned evilly, and exhaled.  Flames filled the armor and shot out all the holes and seams.  Then the entire suit exploded, sending the dragon flying back.  He hit the ground, and skidded across the forest floor, coming to a sudden stop against a large tree.  Slowly, he looked around for the princess.  He spotted her laying a few yards away, unconscious, with a small trickle of blood running down her forehead.  With a groan he looked back to what was now a good-sized crater, and his eyes widened.  Rising from the smoke and rubble was the creature that had been residing in the suit of shining armor.  It was indeed a dragon, but what a dragon!  It unfolded itself, as though cramped from so a long stay in such a confined space.  It was long and skeletal, covered with all sorts of spines and claws, with its head atop a long serpentine neck that had been draped down the front of its chest, so as to fit inside the armor.  But then, uncoiling from around the waist, appeared a second neck and head, smaller, and more vile than the first.  From this head emanated the other voice he had heard before.

“Now we will make you suffer!” it hissed.  The dragon smiled, and sprang to his feet.  

“Tell me though,” he asked, “why all the get up?  If you wanted her, why didn’t you just snatch her and fly away?”

“Because,” said the first head, sounding strange speaking with what had been the knight’s voice, “she had to come willingly.  It’s all part of the game.”

“The game, huh?  What happens to your plaything latter on?  You kick her through a goal post?”

“We eat her!” snarled the second head, lunging forwards and snapping.  It stopped with a sharp jolt, inches from the dragon’s face and snapped a few more times, before looking back to its stationary body.  “Hey!  C’mon would ya?!” it whined.

“Oh, right,” said the first head, and together they dived into combat.  

Now, combat between dragons is a most interesting thing, they being immune to all of the weapons each other posses.  Fire has no adverse effect, and their thick scaly hides are impossible to penetrate with tooth or claw.  So, when they fight they usually just try to bash each other over the head with whatever they can lay hold of, (rocks, logs, fat women) until the other is knocked senseless, and the victor can go find a knight in shining armor to go finish the job.  Knights always carry big sharp swords that are specially designed to slice through dragon hides as if they were nothing more than paper hospital gowns.  (Which, if you’ve ever been in a hospital, already feel like nothing, leaving all those bits of you you’d rather leave unexposed, hanging out, shouting, “Here I am!”  Anyway . . .)  

The dragon and the hideous two-headed beast that passed itself off as a dragon, rolled around in the dirt, wrestling and grappling.  

Over to the side, the princess slowly regained consciousness, and groggily sat up.  Seeing her dragon locked in a desperate struggle for his life with a terrible monster, and observing all the bits of shining armor lying about, she immediately put two and two together and decided she had absolutely no clue what was going on.  Then, utilizing her strong will, and determined spirit, she immediately sprang into action and fainted dead away.  

“You know,” said the creature to the dragon, “we’re really not all that different from one another.”

“No, we’re nothing alike; I’m a dragon, and you’re a sick mutated freak.”

“Oh, come now.”  It was the first head speaking.  “We’re both dragons, and deep down, we want the same thing.”

“Um, I think not,” said the dragon, kicking the beast in the stomach, then diving for a large fallen tree limb lying a few feet away.  

“Oof!” grunted both heads.  Then quickly catching its breath, it leapt after him, tackling the dragon around the ankles, “Think of it!” cried the first head, “We each want to have the princess; we each want to surround ourselves with pretty things.  You and I are the same!”  

“But I don’t think of the princess as some kind of dinner course, like one of those Japanese sushi plates.  Yeah, those are pretty too.”  He stretched, straining for the branch.

“Oh, we weren’t really going to eat her,” said the first head, as its body began dragging the dragon backwards, “Perhaps at first, but now all we want is to have and to hold her.”

“No, we still want to eat her!” snapped the second head.  

“We do not!” argued the first.

“We do too!” 

“But we love her!”

“Yes, we love her!”  Both heads swung around to the still sleeping princess.  For a mere fraction of a second the creature relaxed its grip on the dragon’s ankles.  He kicked free, and lunged for the fallen limb.  Taking hold of it, he spun, swinging the branch with all his might.  It connected with the first head, which in turn, connected with the second.  The beast staggered, and then collected itself, turning to face the dragon.  “We do love her,” they hissed, smiling wicked smiles.  

“Die!  You two headed son of a deformed house gecko!!!”  The dragon punctuated his battle cry with a furious barrage of high-speed wallops from his big stick.  The creature was able to dodge most of them, but several found their mark, sending it reeling.  Quickly, it recovered, and ducking under one particularly hefty swing, surged forward and grabbed the other end of the branch.  They struggled heatedly for it (Literally!  You ever see a dragon breath hard from exercise?), neither giving an inch.  

“Fine then, take it!”  The dragon let go suddenly, causing his opponent to fall back off balance.  He then darted out his hand, and caught hold of the second head’s neck.  Getting a good grip, he started twirling it around.  

“What the-uh-uh-uh . . .” it cried surprised, unused to being hurled around in circles, and quite frankly, not liking the experience one bit.  The dragon then proceeded to use head number two as a flail to beat the fire out of head number one.  (Beat the fire, get it?  Tee, hee.)  

“Owie!” they wailed.  

“Ah, hah!” shouted the dragon in victory, until he accidently beaned himself with a careless swing.  “Ooo.”  With a moan, he fell back, gingerly rubbing his noggin.  “Boy do you have a thick skull!”  The creature didn’t reply but sprang for the princess.  “No!” cried the dragon, but it was too late.  In an instant it had her by the throat with one hand, and with the other, it clutched the piece of his heart around her neck.  

“I believe this belongs to you?”  The dragon watched in horror, as the beast slowly began to put pressure on his heart.  Instantly he felt a twinge of pain deep in his chest.  That piece of heart was the sum of all his happy thoughts, his flowers, his sunsets, his skipping through puddles on rainy spring days.  To lose those was to lose life.  He would die, but still breathe and move, living dead, a zombie.  “Now no sudden moves.”  The monster inched away, a sharp claw twitching inches from the princess’s neck, “or one or the other of these gets to bleed profusely.”

“Destroy either and I die,” muttered the dragon.  His mind raced, but he could not think of a solution.  He must surrender.  

The princess slowly came to.  She could feel the claws of the creature and smell its foul breath.  She knew it had her and realized the dragon could not help.  Frantically, her eyes darted about, desperately seeking some way to free herself.  There!  Embedded in a tree, just a few feet away, was the “knight’s” sword.  

“If only I could reach it!” she thought.  Maybe she could flirt with the beast, distracting it long enough to . . . um flirt?!  With that icky monster?!  Hello?!  A girl’s got her standards, okay?  (Like eww.  Totally).  She looked back to the dragon and their eyes met.  Almost imperceptibly, she motioned with her chin to the sword.  The dragon glanced over, then quickly back.  He smiled.

“Take her then,” he said, “she was never mine to keep.”  The creature snickered, then began backing away, keeping the princess between them.  It lowered its heads and breathed hot sulfur smoke in her face.  

“You’re all mine pretty!” cackled the second head.  

The moment their eyes left him, the dragon burst into action.  Snapping out his wings, he used them to propel himself low across the ground, whooshing to the tree.  He grabbed the sword handle with both hands, and then let his momentum carry the rest of his body on past the tree.  The blade dug into the wood, catching and swinging him around the trunk.  Still utilizing his velocity, he dug his feet into the ground, pulled the weapon free, and swung it straight at the princess.  She caught it with ease, and flipped it around, blade pointing back.  Before the monster could react, she slammed the sword deep into its side.  It immediately relaxed its hold on her and she shook free.  Taking the handle in both hands, she wrenched the weapon hard and straight up.  The beast split in half, spraying hot steaming dragon blood in all directions.  The princess stood there for a second, still clutching the sword.  One hand strayed to her breast and felt for the piece of her dragon’s heart.  It was still there, glowing and pulsing.  She fell to her knees, and he rushed to her.  

“No,” she murmured, “leave me alone for right now.”  The dragon stopped short, then took a step back.  “Please?” she asked.  With a sigh, he turned and retreated, leaving her there quietly fingering a piece of shattered armor.  

Quietly, he wandered off alone through the forest, his mind crowded with confusing thoughts.  His princess had suddenly seemed so withdrawn, so inaccessible.  He wished he could reach out and heal her obviously broken heart.  Oblivious to the world around him, he walked on.  

Suddenly, an adorably cute small fuzzy animal ran up from the underbrush and kicked him in his left shin.  

“Ah, geez!” he yelped, hopping on one foot, “What did you do that for?”

“Because I’m the adorably cute Wiggly-Poink, and I have inner demons the likes of which even Todd McFarlene could never even dream of!” it squeaked in an adorably cute voice.  

“Look,” said the dragon, “I think we’ve overplayed that ‘things aren’t what they seem to be’ bit in this story.  So, you and your adorably cute fuzzy charm can just go rot in Hell, ‘cause I’m not in the mood.”  The Wiggly-Poink looked up at him with big, brown, adorably cute, twinkly eyes that brimmed with tears, and then whacked him on the head with a ridiculously large hammer.  

“Ha, ha!” it shouted with glee, “I don’t care!  I’ve come to bring pain and chaos, and senseless acts of random violence to your mundane, emotionally unstable, namby-pamby existence.”

“Ow!” said the dragon, “Where on earth did you get such a big hammer?”  The Wiggly-Poink giggled and danced adorably cute circles around him, throwing daisies.

“You really shouldn’t take life so seriously!” it sang, and punched him in the gut, “After all, dragons aren’t born dragons, just as knights are not born knights.  A choice is made; a fate is sealed; so any problems you have are your own.”

“But I didn’t choose to be a dragon,” he groaned, trying to catch his wind, “others made the decision for me.  I can’t help what I am.”  It giggled again, and bit him on the nose.

“If you love her, love her!  True love is never a bad thing; it may hurt at times, but the pain is worth it.  Just hold her in an open hand, heart, and mind.”  

“What do you know of love, you psychotic freak?” muttered the dragon.  

“More than you!  Hee, hee!” laughed the Wiggly-Poink, handing him a lit stick of dynamite.

“What the?!”  It exploded.  Black and singed, he coughed a puff of smoke.  “You are very strange,” he wheezed.  

“Friendship lasts forever you silly goob!” it chirped and dropped a piano on him.  

“Cut it out!  And no, friendship doesn’t last forever, it just grows into something so wonderful, you don’t think you can live without it, and then when her knight in shining armor comes and kills you, and she runs off with him, not even looking back, leaving you lost and lonely, you realize you were right.”  

“Oh, you poor pooper-head,” it cooed, and popped him on the butt with a wet towel, “You make about as much sense as a vicious rabid slug seeking political asylum in a barrel full of salted herring.”

“What the heck are you talking about?” yelped the dragon.  

“Exactly!” cried the Wiggly-Poink, putting a large metal pot over his head and banging it with a spoon.  “Don’t you realize that you’ll always have your princess?  Just turn back to earlier in the story.  See, you’re together chasing butterflies, or looking at the stars.”

“So, you’re saying that we’ll always have memories?” 

“Well, unless this jars your mind so bad it gives you amnesia,” it said, and slapped him upside the head with a two-by-four, “But it’s more than that, I’m saying ‘Live now!  Love today!  Enjoy the time you have with her!  Don’t look to the future and think about how much you’ll hurt without your princess; think of how you can make this moment a wonderful thing to treasure as you look back from the days ahead.  Make happy memories, and your future will be bright, no matter where you are.’”  The Wiggly-Poink looked up at him, and gave him an adorably cute little smile.  

“I guess you’re right,” said the dragon.  

“Of course I’m right.”  It dashed away, then returned, crashing through the brush in a Sherman tank.  With a roar, and a cloud of diesel smoke it ran him over, squishing him into the soft dirt.  “Now I’m off with my inner demons to seek out some poor stupid fool to wreak havoc upon!  Luv ya!  Buh-bye!”  With an adorably cute little wave, and a grind of gears, the Wiggly-Poink rode away and was swallowed up into the darkness of the forest.  

“Oh dragon,” He turned and saw her standing there.  The sword was still in her hand, and a gentle breeze sifted through her hair.  “What shall become of me?”

“Dear sweet princess.”  He went to her and touched her on the nose.  “You will find your prince.  And until then, I will be your friend, and stand by you no matter what happens.”

“No,” she sighed, “he doesn’t exist.  Knights in Shining Armor are a myth, a fairy tale.  They are all like those two we’ve seen, pretending to be something they’re not to satisfy their own selfish desires.  The closest thing I’ve met to a gentleman is you, and you’re a dragon.”  She sighed again, and leaned upon the sword.  

“C’mon Princess,” he soothed, “there are other knights we haven’t seen yet.”

“Yes, and when we meet them, I’m going to chop them in half with this.”  She held up the weapon, and narrowed her eyes.  

“You sound like a Wiggly-Poink.”

“A what?”

“Never mind.”  They both stood in silence.  At last, the princess spoke.

“I feel icky,” she said, scrunching her nose, “I need a bath.”  

“Well, there’s that pool of water where we first met.”

“Good.  I really have to get all this dragon blood off; I’m covered with it.”  She turned and traipsed off into the trees.  A moment later she was back.  “Um, which way is it?”  The dragon rolled his eyes and pointed.  “Okay, thanks!  Please stay close enough to hear me call if I need help.”  

“Sure,” he said, and away she went.  

Arriving at the pool, she stuck her sword in the ground near the water’s edge and dipped a toe into the glistening pool.  Ripples emanated from the spot, sending rings of light caused by the reflection of the setting sun to pulse across the surface.  She sighed, and reached behind her to unfasten the buttons of her dress.

“Excuse me, fair lady,” said someone, “Can I offer some assistance?”  She whipped around and saw a young man in armor standing a few paces away.  

“That’s it!” she screamed, and grabbed her sword, “I’ve had enough of you guys!  Die pervert!!!”  She rushed at him, swinging her blade.  He stood his ground; drew; blocked her attack; then resheathed his weapon all in one fluid motion.  

“Geez, lady.  What’s your problem?  I just thought you might be a damsel in distress.”

“Yeah, right!” she snarled, swinging the sword again, “And you just wanted to help; help me out of my dress, you mean.  Pig!”  

“What?  No!” he protested, easily dodging her, “I’m a knight, a gentleman, a hero!  Bright and brave, brave and bright!  I would never think of taking advantage of a maiden!”

“Yeah, that’s what they all say.”  She furiously hacked away at him.  “But I’ve got you figured out!  You put on that Knight in Shining Armor Act, thinking I’ll just fall all over you; but like I said, I’ve had enough!”  Quite nimbly, and almost without effort, he either blocked, or side stepped, every slash.  

“Um, look lady; I think you’re acting upon some misguided presuppositions.  First, I really did think you needed help.  I mean, come on, if you found a little girl all alone in this great big forest, that’s full of dragons and monsters, just before dark, covered in what smells like dragon blood, wouldn’t you think she would probably need some help?  And second, I really am a knight!  It’s not just an act; it’s a decision of mind, a choice.  If a princess comes along who will stand beside me, then fine.  But if none desire me, then I will walk alone, still a knight.  Being a true knight has nothing to do with getting a girl.  Being a true knight is about being a hero; it’s about fulfilling destiny.  It’s what I am.  Now, if you don’t want help, I won’t force it upon you.  You are very pretty, but this world has many pretty females.  And as my father told me, the beauty of a flower fades, but the stars shine forever.  Meaning, if I was to love a maiden, it would be because of the light I saw within, not just because she was in bloom.”

“Well, I . . .” said the princess, looking down at her slippers and fiddling with the handle of her sword.  The decorative piece at the end unscrewed and fell off into her hand.  “I suppose I could have misjudged you, but . . .”  She threw the piece at him as hard as she could.  Surprised, the knight forgot to duck, and it hit him in the eye.  

“Ow!” he cried, “Oww!”

“. . . but I’m not about to take any chances!”  Forgetting the sword, she tackled him, flailing him with her fists.  

“Ow!” he cried again.  Staggering back, he put up an arm to protect himself.  “Forget this, I’m leaving!”  He turned and began climbing the rocky embankment that enclosed the pool.  This embankment rose up to form a gentle waterfall that trickled water softly down the rocks.  The princess followed, throwing chunks of granite.  Higher and higher he climbed, she right behind him.  Suddenly, the princess slipped and lost her footing, falling down the rocks into the water.  

Why do they call it ‘falling’ in love?  Why not ‘walking’ into love?  Or, ‘back stroking through the sea of genuine friendship’ into love?  Or why doesn’t love fall into you?  Well, I really have no clue.  Love just doesn’t make any sense, unless you are very simple minded and take such infinitely deep and profound subjects for granted as a rule of thumb.  Ignorance is bliss, unless of course everyone knows the answer except for you, then ignorance really sucks.  Anyway, the closest thing I can say that almost makes sense about falling into love is that they call it that, because it is like falling off a waterfall.  Once you start, you can’t stop.  It’s a total rush all the way down, and when you finally run out of space to fall, it really hurts when you hit the bottom.  The princess realized the full impact of this, (falling off a waterfall and hitting the bottom, that is, not quite falling in love, yet), as she hit the water with a splash.  Her head smacked into something hard, and her world melted, leaving her with the translucent image of the knight, diving in after her.  Then, everything faded to nothingness.  

She awoke sometime later, to the light of a full moon and the sound of a crackling campfire.  Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked around.  The knight was nowhere to be seen, but in her hand lay a beautiful columbine.  She sat up and looked at it, twirling it between two slender fingers, and contemplated its meaning.  Obviously, it had come from the knight.  Was this an attempt to gain her affections as an object?  Or was it simply a gesture of kindness, with no strings attached?  He rescued her!  He jumped off a large embankment in a full suit of armor, into a deep pool of water, just to save her!  Even after she threw rocks at him.  Could he actually be what he said he was?  A real, honest to goodness, brave and bright, bright and brave, gentlemanly, chivalrous, Knight in Shining Armor?  Was it too much to hope for?  Could he possibly be . . . the One?  No.  She’d been hurt before; she couldn’t possibly trust him, could she?  

“Hey, how are you feeling?”  The knight stepped out from the woods, carrying an armload of dry sticks.  “You took quite a fall.”

“What are you still doing here?” frowned the princess, secretly glad, although she would never admit it, that he hadn’t left, “I thought I sent you running.”

“I think not,” he replied, dropping his load.  

“I think so.”

“Think not.”

“Think so.”

“Think not.”

“Where’s my sword?”

“Hey, if you’re going to be that way . . .”

“No, look . . .” she sighed, and looked down to her flower, “I’m sorry.”  There was a long pause.  “I don’t know, maybe I misjudged you.”

“Yes.”

“It’s just that I’ve been though some really rough things lately, and I’m a little . . . er . . . snappish.”

“Well,” he said, poking the fire with a stick, “if you want to, we could start over, fresh, like we just met.  But this time without any presuppositions.”

“I’d like that.”  She smiled, and they began to talk, about this, that, and everything in between.  About life, love, and happiness, and why true relationships are so hard.  And somewhere, somehow, a connection was formed between them.  If you looked hard enough, you could almost see it, this thing that linked them, this stream of hopeful intensity that flowed from his eyes to hers, then back again.  They talked on, as around them the night decomposed, rotting into dawn. 

The dragon watched all this from the shadows.  He had grown worried and had come to find his princess, to right any of her wrongs, to save her, to protect her, to resolve whatever had kept her from him.  But what was this?  Who was this knight?  What kind of spells had he cast upon her?  Was that the smell of true love that floated on the winds of change with a hint of rain, tickling his nose, and bringing a tear to his eye?

The mood was right.  The sun burst into the sky, exploding the horizon with color, and the spring breeze carried with it the sweet smell of cherry blossoms.  Their conversation swirled, fluid like, moving round and around, focusing toward a central point.  It flowed with desperation, until finally both their mental basins were emptied, and there was nothing left to say.  For a moment they sat gazing at each other, completely lost in exploring the other’s soul through their eyes.  Then it happened.  The time was right and nothing needed to be said.  They moved as one, drawing close, their lips met, and melted together.  The first kiss. 

And the dragon watched, and he knew, just knew, that this was the One.  His princess had found her prince.  “Good,” he thought, “she will finally be happy, and that makes me happy.”  He gave a sad little smile, and turned away.  “She has no need for me now.  I will leave her, content, and thankful for the friendship we shared.”  A slow tread, with heavy steps, carried him away, and the further he got, the more he really wanted to find something he could kill.  And around the princess’s neck, forgotten and ignored, the dragon’s heart dimmed a little.  

Morning turned to afternoon, and like a whirlwind, she was caught up, swept from her feet into the storm of true love.  The knight was not what she’d dreamed of.  He was better; he was real.  Not only in the sense that he dwelled in the physical world, but he was one of those rare, hard to find, genuinely real people.  Really.  He was truly a knight, in word, thought, and deed.  

“Don’t fall in love with me,” he said, as they sat together in the grass, watching butterflies dance on the water.  

“Why ever not?”  She smiled, reaching out and brushing a stray hair from his face.  

“Because if you did, I couldn’t bear it.  I would become hopelessly lost in your love, and I would have to hold you tight, lest I drown in it.”

“That doesn’t sound too awfully bad to me,” she giggled.  

“But I’m such a sad little fool.  What if I should stumble?  How could I live knowing I carried such a beautiful free spirit down with me?”  He looked away.  

“I’d rather fall to utter destruction, than live a second without you,” she said, and reached for his hand.  He turned back, interlacing his fingers with hers.  

“But I’m so fallible.  What if I should break your heart?”

“What if I should break yours?” she asked, “Life’s a gamble, love even more so.  You just have to ask yourself, ‘is it worth the pain?’” He leaned over, and kissed her on the forehead.  

“I would face a thousand lifetimes worth of pain, just for one chance to look into your eyes,” he said.  

“Me too.”  The princess sighed contentedly, laying back into his lap, and closing her eyes.

—

Chapter Four:

The dragon stalked back to the darkness of his past, navigating the hostile terrain like you do when you dream of a place you’ve never been, but somehow know every jagged rock and skeletal tree.  He didn’t feel like crying, but he felt sad.  He felt angry, but didn’t hate anyone.  No, not the knight, and especially not the princess.  But a rage grew inside of him, and roared to be released on anything or anyone.  Back he went to a place that seemed to be perpetually in a shadow.  It was here that he used to spend long hours brooding and pacing, before he met the princess.  He moved to the lee of a large rock shaped like the angel of death and took hold of a silver ring embedded into the ground in front of it.  He gave a tug and a trap door opened, revealing a gapping hole from which he pulled out a large metal box that was almost as big as he was.  Dragging it to a clear spot of ground, he unclasped the latches and raised the lid.  Inside lay tools of the Reaper man himself.  Massive weapons of destruction sat there, beckoning to the dragon.  He lifted one, feeling its weight.  It was a 30 mm, chain fed, blow back operated, condensed ion particle surge caster, with a multiple targeting AI acquire/fire robotic chassis that would lock onto the brain waves of an enemy and actually move the entire weapon to aim directly at its head, thus providing a sure kill with every shot.  And with it firing about thirty thousand rounds a minute, you could take out an army before they had time to say, “Hey, how come you get a totally cool gun, and we’re all stuck with medieval fairy tale weapons like swords and sticks?”  He took two, one in each hand, stretched out his wings and flew off to find some conflict to engage in, chains of ammunition ribboning behind him.  

It wasn’t long before he came upon two great armies, one of goblins, the other of trolls, both comprised of countless thousands of soldiers.  They had come to resolve the dispute that had arisen between them about whatever it is that trolls and goblins argue about.  

Coming together, and seeing the size of each other’s armies, the two leaders met at the front lines to begin peace talks and see if they could somehow avoid bloodshed.  They had just come to an agreement and had both decided to give up their evil ways of terrifying poor humans, and instead work together to help all mankind, and try their best to make this world a better place.  Then, suddenly, the dragon fell from the heavens with his two guns blazing, spitting fire and death in all directions.  He landed between them.  Both armies swarmed him, but they were easily dispatched, wave upon wave of them disappearing in little clouds of green or black bloody mists.  He spun, ammo belts flowing around him, rippling and snapping through the air.  He roared, filled with blood lust, and held back the triggers.  The tools of the Dark Angel chattered on, speaking the words of death, while elsewhere, seemingly in another world, his princess and newfound prince spoke of undying love.  

“Come,” said the knight, “let’s find a priest and be married.”  Her heart skipped a beat, and she couldn’t speak, only take his hand, as they both walked away towards their future.  

Click. Click. Click.  Ammunition spent, the dragon tossed away the now useless guns and flexed his claws.  Now, for a chance to taste blood, and to feel the sensation of a body relax as its soul leaves it.  Realizing the dragon’s weapons were empty, the armies of goblins and trolls renewed their attack with fervor, sensing victory.  He met them with a smile, and half a heart, ready to die.  

The princess’ feelings of euphoria were suddenly intruded upon by the far off screams of dying creatures, and the faint smell of sulfur carried on the spring breeze.  She stopped and closed her eyes.  The knight stopped beside her.  “Sounds as if a great battle was taking place over there,” he said, pointing north.  She didn’t answer but gently slipped her hand to the dimly glowing ember that was slowly decreasing in luminance.  

“Oh, no,” she whispered, as the realization of a forgotten friend seeped into her mind and filled her heart.  She turned and ran towards the sounds of the distant melee.  

“Where are you going?” the knight called, then started after her, “Wait!”  

Through the trees and over the hills ran the princess, the noise of battle growing louder.  Across the meadow, and over a stream, then up one final grassy knoll, to a view that made her heart sink.  There, in a field littered by thousands of the dead and dying, was her dragon, surrounded by half a dozen or so of assorted goblins and trolls, all that were left of the two grand armies.  They held him at bay with long pikes, poking and jabbing at him as he paced back and forth within the circle, looking for an opening.  His hide was severely lacerated, blood freely spilling from several long gashes.  His wings were tattered and torn, and one hung limply alongside him, dragging upon the ground.  He was splattered with blood not his own, and chunks of meat clung to his talons.  Wisps of smoke wafted from his nostrils.  The princess couldn’t believe it.  For a moment, she thought that perhaps this wasn’t her dragon.  But then, he looked up at her, and she knew that he was, or at least he was the shell of her dragon, for there seemed, even at such a distance, that something was gone from him. 

A troll charged the dragon with a shrieking battle cry.  He sidestepped, grabbing its pike and directing it on past him, straight into a goblin standing opposite them.  Then he grabbed the troll, now with his back to him, and hurled it at the rest of his aggressors, impaling it on their weapons.  Then, while they tried to remove the carcass of their companion, he leapt at them with a roar.  The first to die was bitten in half, the entire upper half of his body disappearing in a spray of green blood.  The dragon spit the other piece at a goblin, and hocked up a lung full of fire, roasting two more.  Another he killed with his tail, caving in its chest.  A troll, trying to escape, ran towards the mountains, but the dragon simply snatched one of its compatriots, ripped off its head, and threw it at the fleeing creature.  It smacked the back of its head, exploded, and knocked the troll senseless.  This left only two more goblins, and slowly, he turned to face them.  A low snarl rumbled deep in his throat.  His opponents tightened their sweaty grips on their weapons.  The first charged him with a pike.  He took the full force of the attack, catching the tip with his breast bone.  “Only the sword of a knight can penetrate that.”  He smiled, and flexed, snapping the weapon in two.  Then he grabbed the goblin by either shoulder and ripped him apart, splattering the final soldier with his fellow warrior’s internal organs.  It reacted immediately by falling over dead from a very large gunshot wound.  

Up walked a very tall man in a pith helmet and khakis carrying an elephant rifle.  “Ah,” he said, “Mah-valous.  Simply splendid!  A fine specimen; it should mount nicely between my ooh-rangatang and my prehistoric fish.”  He looked up and saw the dragon.  “Oh my,” he said, “it’s too bad, I’ve already got one.”

“Um . . . okay,” said the dragon.  

“Yes, much nicer than you though,” he replied,  “better skin, prettier eyes, much more lively looking.  For being dead and stuffed, that is.”  He let out a laugh.  “Ho!  Ho!”  Then he proceeded to gut and dress his kill.  Finishing quickly, he slung the goblin over his shoulder and addressed the dragon.  “Well, that’s it for me.  And I shall see you when the moths eat my other.”  He laughed again, “Ha!  Ha!” and traipsed back to wherever the heck he’d come from.   

The knight was hurrying after the princess, slightly confused as to why she’d taken off like that.  Pondering this, he failed to notice a priest lying flat on his face in the middle of the woods and tripped over him.  “Ow!” said the knight.  

“Ow!” said the priest, “Watch where you’re going!”  

“Watch where you’re laying,” retorted the knight.  

“Well, I’m busy marveling at the smallest of God’s creations.”

“Well I’m busy chasing after a beautiful girl.”

“Now, my son, chasing women will get you nothing but an empty heart, and ultimately a beachfront condo at the Lake of Fire.”

“No, no!  That’s not what I meant,” said the knight, shaking his head.  

“Oh, I see.”  The priest stood up and brushed himself off.  “Do you know Jesus?”

“Why?  Do you want me to introduce you to him?”  

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Hey, wait.  You’re a priest, right?”

“Well, I’m not wearing black on a hot sunshiny day because I feel like overheating and passing out.”

“Well, you were lying on the ground.”

“I told you I was . . .”

“Or you could wear black because you’re a witch.”

“No.  Definitely not.”

“No?”

“I considered it, but the hours suck, and the long term retirement plan is even worse.”

“Ah, that beach front condo you were talking about, huh?”

“No, I think it was more along the lines of a submerged dwelling.”

“Oh, well, c’mon.”  He grabbed the priest by the arm and started dragging him in the direction the princess had gone.  “You have to marry me.”  

“Well,” he stammered, “while some of my brethren have some very . . . er . . . accepting views on the subject, I, on the other hand, have a very strong opinion on the matter.  Not that I can’t love you as a person, but seriously thinking about it, I hardly know you.  And besides, I believe that sort of thing is illegal in this state.”

“What the heck are you talking about?!” asked the knight, “I want you to come with me and perform a wedding ceremony for me and my love who, for some unexplained reason, ran away in that direction.”  He pointed north.

“Oh,” said the priest, “I see.  Um, let’s go.” 

The dragon stared out over the field, full of dead bodies and wished they would all rise again to fight him once more.  The battle had done nothing to appease his raging soul, just numb his mind while it lasted.  A part of him wished they would resurrect again and again until they killed him.  He looked up to the princess, still standing, wide-eyed at the view of death and destruction on the grassy knoll.  “Such pretty eyes,” said the dragon to himself, and turned away.  Setting his face like flint, he started walking towards the other end of the field, dragging his broken wing behind him.  The princess called after him, but he ignored her.  She called again, and began to run after him.  He wanted to turn, to run to her, and throw his arms around her, to see her smile one last time.  But he just walked on. 

By the time she reached him, they’d left the field, and entered a large grove of cherry trees.  They were in full bloom.  The petals of the pink and white blossoms, seemed to radiate their own light, illuminating the air, as the sky began to fill with dark menacing storm clouds.  She ran in front of him, halting him in his tracks.  She put her hands on his face, and tried to smooth the deep lines of his bitter soul.  “Dragon, why?” she asked, “Why?”  

“Because,” he answered, not looking at her, “I’m a dragon, a creature damned to be a predator.  So whether or not I like it, this is how I’m destined to live.”

“No, no,” she said, a tear glistening in her eye, “I know you, and you’re not like that.  You may be a dragon on the outside, but on the inside you’re a prince, a wonderful gallant prince, whom I love.”

“No.”  He shook away from her touch.  “You can’t love me.  You have your knight in shining armor to love.”

“Yes, of course I love him, but it’s in a different way than how I love you.  There’s enough room in my heart for both of you.”

“Silly princess,” he smiled a sad little smile, “it can’t work like that.  It’s not the way of things.”

“I’ll make it the way of things for us,” she said firmly, “Dragon, we’ll always be friends.  Look.”  She held up the piece of heart around her neck.  It had started glowing a little brighter, increasing in strength every second they spoke.  “This will be with me forever.  Wherever I go, I’ll carry a piece of you around my neck, and in my heart.  I love my new found prince, and I’m going with him to whatever place he takes me.  But you will always be special to me.  And I want to see you as often as I can.  Come live with us dragon, in our castle far away.”  The dragon sighed and looked back over his shoulder.  He saw the knight and another man hurrying toward them.

“Leave, princess.  Forget all about me.” He sighed, deep and low.  “The sad thing is, I know you will.”

“No, I can never forget you.”  The low roll of thunder announced the coming of rain as the heavens opened up and large drops of water began to fall.  

“Well, if you must remember something, remember that I always loved you,” said the dragon, then reeled and sprinted for the knight.  

The knight and the priest had caught a glimpse of the princess going into the cherry tree grove, and had just entered it themselves when the dragon attacked.  The knight knocked the priest away, drew his sword, and rolled clear, right as the dragon raked his claws across the ground where he had just been standing.  “If he can’t defeat a dragon, he’s not worthy of her,” thought the dragon, who, although battle weary, dived into combat with a passion.  The knight was only too happy to join the fray, his sword flashing like the lightning that flickered about them, and the thunder seemed to echo their war cries.  

“No!” cried the princess, running to them, “Don’t fight!”  The priest caught her, and held her back.  

“Stop child,” he said, “You mustn’t get between them.”  Round about they battled, sword and claw, block and parry, attack and counter attack.  As the spring storm raged, so did they.  Unable to stand it any longer, the princess broke free from the Father and rushed forward.  Seeing her, the dragon stopped and spread his hands while the knight was in mid thrust.  The blade of his sword cut through the dragon’s sternum, and pierced what was left of his heart.  He coughed, and slipped to the ground.  The princess screamed, running to him.  Taking his head in her arms, she looked to her knight and said, “He was my friend.”  There was no accusation in her voice, only sadness, as her tears fell with the rain.  

The dragon rasped out his dying words.  “Knight, you must never take this precious flower for granted.  Do not waste this wonderful thing that I could not have, but would have gladly given my life for.”  Slowly he turned his eyes to the princess.  Blood pulsed from the wound, splashing around the hilt of the sword that was still buried in his chest.  It spilled from his mouth, and trickled out his nostrils.  “Princess,” His voice was now so faint, she could barely hear it.  “Princess . . . I’m sorry that I couldn’t have been your . . . knight . . . in . . . shining . . . armor.”  With that, his breathing stopped.  She couldn’t say anything.  She could barely breathe herself.  She could only sit there and feel the rain hit her face.  Around her the white and pink petals of the cherry blossoms gently drifted to the ground and floated upon the puddles of gathered rainwater.  

“No,” she said, “no.”  She reached out and pulled the sword from him.  She touched the wound.  “No!” she said again, and snatched the piece of the dragon’s heart from around her neck, the piece of himself he’d given her, his soft side, kind and gentle.  His happy thoughts, his sunlight on water, his chasing butterflies.  His happy ending thoughts.  She took it and plunged it deep into the wound in his chest.  

Do you believe in magic?  In destiny?  In God?  Do you believe in true love?  In hope?  In happy endings?  Do you believe in friendship?  In faith?  In the future?  Believing in something doesn’t change or conform things to how you believe they are or should be.  Faith doesn’t make things so; it’s not supposed to.  Believing changes you.  This story, like all stories, has an ending.  Whether or not it’s a happy ending, has little, or nothing, to do with how the ending actually goes.  It’s who you are, and what you believe that determines how you will see things.  If, for example, you wanted this story to end with everyone killing each other, and the princess’ head being impaled on a stick, then you are a sick freak and should seek professional help.  Or, if you wanted, like I think I really wanted, the dragon to transform into a prince, at the touch of his lady’s lips, then perhaps you will not be very happy with the finale.  You can disbelieve the ending, or close your eyes, and invent your own, but it won’t change what happens.  

The dragon lived. By magic or miracle, or perhaps a chuckle from God at his silly children, he returned, coughing and spluttering into the realm of the living.  The knight went for his sword, but was stopped by the priest.  

“Don’t,” he said, “Can’t you see this beast is surely good?”

“He is?” asked the knight, “Can you read his soul Father?”

“No,” replied the priest, “but didn’t you see how long it took for him to die a minute ago?  Good guys always live long enough to whisper hour long speeches, while bad guys barely make it past a gurgle.”

“Dragon . . .” said the princess, searching his eyes.

“My . . . chest hurts,” he rasped.

“Dragon, come with us . . . with me.”  

“No.”  He staggered to his feet, and stood there panting for a moment, then continued, “We each have our own lives to live, and here our paths part.  You have your prince, and I have learned much of love, so our time together hasn’t been wasted.  We’ll always have good memories.  We’ll always have the beginning of the story.  But your place is with your knight in shining armor.”

“And where is yours?” she asked.  He didn’t answer at first, but looked out to the west where the sun was cutting its way out of the dark clouds with sharp blades of light.  

“I think I’ll follow the sun, when my wing heals,” he said softly.

“But I’ll miss you.” 

“At first,” he replied, “but time and experience will cure that.  Just don’t . . . forget about me.  Please?”

“I won’t!” she promised, “I can’t.”  

So he left her, heading towards the setting sun, while she, her knight, and the priest stood together facing east, preparing to face new beginnings.  

“And did they live happily ever after?” you ask, “And what became of the dragon?  Did he ever find a dragon princess to love?  Or did he end up finding another girl, and going through that whole mess again?  Or did he just wander the earth alone while the dark side of his heart grew back?”  Well, that’s another story for another book.  Another entry for another page.  Another sea to cross, another mountain to climb, another sky to glide.  “But what does all this mean?  Where are all the answers?”  I don’t have any.  In fact, the more I learn in life, the more I realize I don’t truly understand.  What I do know, is that love is good, but it hurts like hell; good-byes are always part of the deal, but there is nothing good about them, and don’t ever grab on if you can’t let go.

Well, with that I’ll take my bows, as night has fallen like a stage curtain over my mind, and I’ll blow you kisses from untouched lips.  Maybe tomorrow I will think of more things, perhaps more profound and enlightening than today.  But now is now and not then, so I will stop.

Besides…

…my chest hurts.

End.