Saturday's Storyteller: "The villagers were shocked to see a little girl and her dragon in a tiny rowboat, floating down along the lava floes."
by Belinda Roddie
The villagers were shocked to see a little girl and her dragon in a tiny rowboat, floating down along the lava floes. The wood of the bow never burned. The tongues of molten aggression never singed the hair on the girl's head or the whiskers on the dragon's snout. They were merely floating, floating, as the volcano ended its deadly belch and grew quiet.
The chief of the village hurried to the edge of the ashen stones to reach the stranded beings, but upon the boat's nose touching the "shore," the dragon allowed the child to climb onto his back and cling to the scales of his neck. He walked seamlessly on the hot rocks, steam billowing from his nostrils, as he reached safe land with the scattered men and women staring in awe.
"Where did you come from?" the chief asked the dragon. But the dragon shook his head.
"Take her. Raise her. That is all I ask."
They took the girl, and the dragon became fire, spinning through the air, melting with the hellish moon as high as the sky grew darker with each drift of gray wind.
***
Across the room, two boys had turned into lions. The girl watched blankly as the shaman performed his magic, eyes black as the new maned maniacs roared for redemption.
"Their personalities exposed."
She elevated her legs on her makeshift ottoman. The shaman was watching her, as if expecting her to be impressed. Since as long as she could remember, the villagers had treated her like a queen, all the way down to asking for her opinion.
"Is it necessary?" she asked.
"I suppose not."
"Could you change them back?"
He did. The boys cried and scratched their heads for manes. They did not viciously quarrel much after that.
The chief had told the girl her story. The dragon and the boat. The lava river. The volcano, dormant now for several years. It didn't matter much to her. She felt hollow, like her heart was missing and a giant cavity quaked and quivered in her chest. It was a very awkward feeling, one that made it hard to sleep.
She told herself she would search for the dragon. She never did.
This week's prompt was provided by Daniel Bulone.
The villagers were shocked to see a little girl and her dragon in a tiny rowboat, floating down along the lava floes. The wood of the bow never burned. The tongues of molten aggression never singed the hair on the girl's head or the whiskers on the dragon's snout. They were merely floating, floating, as the volcano ended its deadly belch and grew quiet.
The chief of the village hurried to the edge of the ashen stones to reach the stranded beings, but upon the boat's nose touching the "shore," the dragon allowed the child to climb onto his back and cling to the scales of his neck. He walked seamlessly on the hot rocks, steam billowing from his nostrils, as he reached safe land with the scattered men and women staring in awe.
"Where did you come from?" the chief asked the dragon. But the dragon shook his head.
"Take her. Raise her. That is all I ask."
They took the girl, and the dragon became fire, spinning through the air, melting with the hellish moon as high as the sky grew darker with each drift of gray wind.
***
Across the room, two boys had turned into lions. The girl watched blankly as the shaman performed his magic, eyes black as the new maned maniacs roared for redemption.
"Their personalities exposed."
She elevated her legs on her makeshift ottoman. The shaman was watching her, as if expecting her to be impressed. Since as long as she could remember, the villagers had treated her like a queen, all the way down to asking for her opinion.
"Is it necessary?" she asked.
"I suppose not."
"Could you change them back?"
He did. The boys cried and scratched their heads for manes. They did not viciously quarrel much after that.
The chief had told the girl her story. The dragon and the boat. The lava river. The volcano, dormant now for several years. It didn't matter much to her. She felt hollow, like her heart was missing and a giant cavity quaked and quivered in her chest. It was a very awkward feeling, one that made it hard to sleep.
She told herself she would search for the dragon. She never did.
This week's prompt was provided by Daniel Bulone.
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