Once upon a time I made computer games. Well, tried to anyway, the venture never really got off the ground. A lucky escape, all things considered, although I didn’t think it at the time. One of the games that I was looking at involved dragons. I’ve always found 3d modelling to be easier with a physical prop to work from, so I bought some air-drying clay and made some dragons. Not very well, of course. I’m no sculptor. Enough to get me going though. It was also something I enjoyed doing, so many more dragons appeared. The one in the picture is one of the smaller efforts. Neatly pocket sized.
Roll on a decade or two (yikes!) and said models were somewhat repurposed. On a family walk my daughter and I got to making up stories and we came up with the notion of pocket-dragons. We kicked around a few ideas and then left it be for a while. The idea has resurfaced again recently, and we might do some kind of joint effort — I’ll let you know if anything comes of it. What follows has nothing to do with what we’ve got planned. Think of it as a different jumping off point for the seed idea. I always enjoy exercises like that. It keep ideas from stagnating.
In the mean time…
It happened again. Something had definitely wriggled in my pocket. I shuddered at the prospects of what that something might be. I’m not good with mice at the best of times. That’s an understatement. I’m full on phobic. No idea why. It’s not like they can do anything to me. Rather the opposite. I could easily kill one by accident. That might be the problem. Maybe its just an epic case of squeamishness.
The something moved again. So forcefully my jacket bounced twice against my hip. I tried to stop my hand trembling. There was nothing for it. I had to get the poor, cursed thing out. Ideally quickly. Definitely away from me.
I lifted the flap of my pocket and the movement instantly stilled. My skin tightened all over. I was going to have to do something to get the whatever out. There was never going to be a comfortable outcome here, but this was not going the way I wanted. Still holding the flap open, I pulled the side of my jacket as far away from me as it would go and gave the inside a tap.
The something wriggled in a most mousy way. Nothing emerged.
I patted it again. Still nothing.
I was going to have to lift it out.
I felt my breakfast threaten a return and clamped my mouth shut to keep it and any co-lurking manly screams in.
Truly I don’t know how I managed to make my hand move. One moment it was trembling by the flap and the next I had plunged it into my pocket. Speed might be my friend.
What my hand met wasn’t furry at all. It was smooth. Hard like a stone. A stone that trembled.
I withdrew my hand. The shakes were gone now that curiosity had the better of me. My hand opened and wonder replaced every other emotion I was capable of. The something was a tiny green dragon. It curled around on itself, like my hand was a miniature treasure hoard that it was guarding.
The dragon straightened its neck and looked up at me, blinking its little brown eyes. There was an intelligence there that I was unprepared for.
Then it spoke in a voice unexpectedly deep. “Don’t eat me,” it said. “I promise it won’t end well for either of us.”
“I… uh… sure,” I managed. Pathetic really.
“Speaking of eating,” it said, “I could do with a snack.”
“Um, okay. Uh. What do you eat?” I asked.
“Steak if you’ve got it,” said the dragon. “Rabbit will do if you don’t.”
“I don’t actually eat meat,” I said. “Sorry.”
“Huh,” said the dragon. Its brow furrowed like it was wrestling with the notion of vegetarianism. “Well, I guess we’ll have to fix that.” said the dragon.
It drew a deep breath and puffed a glittering cloud at my face. As the vapour touched my skin it suddenly dragged itself in, like spilled milk into a micropore cloth. I coughed reflexively. When I could breathe again I was filled with an overpowering hunger. For meat.
I wrestled with the urge. It had been years since I’d eaten animal, and I wasn’t about to change that now. No matter what my new friend had done to me. Wait. Friend? Surely not. It had done something to me. I couldn’t be my friend, could it? And yet I couldn’t deny how I felt toward the creature. Fondness. A little bit protective. And an urge as strong as need to please it. Was this some enchantment the creature had put on me? I knew that it probably was, but even then I didn’t care. I was its human as much as it was my pocket-dragon.
“Okay,” I said, “let’s go get some lunch.”
Brandon Lim 