I wrote this short story over ten years ago and found it recently. It’s so random but for some reason I still want to expand it or reform it somehow.
Dragon’s Eye
The field was beyond the fierce glow of the high sun, but I knew it was there. I could picture it in my mind but only with blurred detail. Every day I went there,
yet every night I forgot the clear smells or sounds I would find.
And so I travel again.
Someone like me should not be spending time this way, but I do. And each time I go the detail always astounds me.
It is nearing autumn season but the landscape still looks as beautiful as spring. The added colours often seen as dull only cause the green to be more appreciated in the field. Many go there, many like me; hopeless dreamers.
This field is a haven for beautiful life, be it flowers, animals or even hopeful young maidens dreaming of romance. We are all drawn here.
But the field is not the only reason, only a certain area of it.
At first I would think it a dull area to explore for no green grew here. The soil was hard, as though fighting the very elements to defy being admirable. This hard soil is strong in scent, smelling damp even when never wet.
The area will always be enchanting as such, for what lies within its centre affects the very earth beneath it. Those around it.
The statue is anything but ordinary, crafted from stone which refuses to erode by times command. No one knows how long it’s been here, only that it will never fade. Its form is that of a dragon, one looking fierce and long in a stance similar to a cat when under threat. Its face was one which would always shock you at first sight. Gazing into your very soul.
It was much more than what it appeared. Within its left eye a glimmer could be seen, one that you could miss if you were to blink. But once seen it could not be missed, there was something alive there, something much more than a fierce statue.
I peer closer at the eye so my nose is touching its own. I can see the glimmer again. And I learn its true form.
There’s a very small sun, it couldn’t be anything else. And as strange as this discovery sounds I do not question it, I have no doubt.
I touch the eye and it glimmers again, burning my finger. Yet I don’t pull away, I loosen it into my hand and look closely while it burns me. It’s the colour of a black pearl, yet heat pours from it which makes me think red, orange or yellow would describe it better. Fire; dragon’s breath captured in its eye.
Again I don’t question this strange idea but drop the eye onto the hard soil, shattering it to tiny fragments. The ground here as hard concrete, not as easily enthralled by the eye’s beauty as others.
I pick up a simple fragment and gaze at its inner colour, beyond the black gleam of the armour outing. Yellow; like fire. Like the sun.
It does not burn my hand again, it remains cold, defeated. Destroyed by a curious human who wished to gaze at its beauty more clearly.
And I know the detail I see now I will forget during the night hours. But I also know that by the next day the eye will be restored, back in position with its easily missed glimmer.
For this statue is untouched by time and its fine detail will remain. No matter what.
Scribbled Thoughts 