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 