A few years ago, I wrote a story that was surreal in many respects and speculative in others. It centered around a man who removes his heart from his chest and spends his life protecting it. Along the way he is haunted by camel spiders, visions of his past, and a war for his soul. The combatants in this war are the camel spiders and a fleet of tiny dragons. I never published the story because I didn’t like the way it turned out. I like the concept, the theme, the non-human characters, and even the setting. I just couldn’t get it to the point of publication. So it rests, waiting for the light of day.
Every now and then, I take this story out and work on it some more. I can never seem to get it right. Perhaps, someday.
Today, I’d like to share an excerpt from this story. It’s a small passage that involves the protagonist and his encounter with Orogon, leader of the dragon force. I’m not sure where this story should head, but I’ve always been fond of this scene at least. I hope you will be too.
Paidraig walks toward the stairway. He reaches the stairs, ascends them. They are wooden, rigid.
As he walks, he talks. “Are you protected? Yes, Padraig must protect it. Must protect the sacred organ.”
The further he walks the darker it gets, until he reaches the top of the stairs. It is pitch black. He turns, stretches his hand in the dark toward the banister, wraps his fingers around the wood, feels his way up another flight.
“Protect it, yes. It must be protected.”
He walks the second flight of stairs with the same focused effort as the first. As he nears the top he glimpses a glow of purple and green light. “Protect it. Oh, yes.” The purple and green alternate like a current. First, purple; then, green. Purple. Green. Purple, green. Steady and constant, like a heartbeat.
“Must protect. Must protect.”
He reaches the top of the stairs. Another set ascend higher, but he does not take them. He recalls this was once his mother’s music room, a conservatory with piano, a harp, an accordion, and several stringed instruments, all prepared for play. She called it The Empire Room then. Now there is nothing in the room save one door and one window. Padraig walks toward the door. The purple and green escape through the bottom of the door and fill the room. He wraps his fingers around the door knob, turns. The door swings open.
Out fly a swarm of winged creatures. He is blinded by purple and green. He throws his arms up to shield his face from the bat of wings, but too late. He is slapped thousands of times in the face by little wings.
Behind him, the winged creatures flit around the room, turning it purple and green, purple and green, purple and green. Padraig gets on his knees, rummages through the closet. He has almost forgotten the creatures, but that they keep showering him with purple and green. He ignores the light, fumbles through the closet. Through layers of clothing, underclothing, children’s toys, a shaving kit, a revolver, boxes of shotgun shells, old dehydrated fruit, unidentifiable odds and ends, a straitjacket, and several old memories, he moves it all from one side of the closet floor to the other until he finds what he has come for. A glass box.
The box is a lock box, the key still in its slot. Padraig takes the box and the straitjacket, tucks them under his arm, closes the closet door. He turns, finds thousands of tiny dragons staring at him, hovering in the air in the center of the room, each one in unison showering him with purple and green rays of flickering light. The light is coming from their eyes.
Thump-thumpd, thump-thumpd. He is surprised to hear the heart beat up here, on the third floor. Thump-thumpd. Thump-thumpd.
“How about a ride?”
It is the lead dragon. He hadn’t noticed, but since the dragon has spoken, Padraig now sees it is hovering a couple of inches in front of the others, which are flayed out in a Z formation. The lead dragon is slightly larger than the swarm behind it.
Thump-thumpd.
Padraig, afraid, asks, “Are you talking to me?”
“Of course,” the dragon says. “Who else?”
Thump-thumpd. The heartbeat grows louder. Thump-thumpd.
The dragon grows until it is the size of Padraig’s fist. It is too small to ride. But Padraig doesn’t say so. “Where would we ride to?” he asks.
The dragon smiles. It is a small smile, but it is fascinating to Padraig, almost soothing. The dragon replies, “Out, and up.”
Thump-thumpd.
Behind the dragon come little chuckles. The lead dragon grows some more. He is now the size of Padraig’s head, still too small to ride. Padraig tries to steal some time. “Do you have a name?”
“Orogon. In your language, it means ‘winged warrior’.” Thump-thumpd.
Winged warrior. Padraig contemplates this. So I’m to ride a winged warrior, he thinks. While he is thinking, the dragon grows again. Padraig moves back to make room for the dragon’s head and bumps his naked back against the closet door. The dragon’s face is huge. Its eyes meet with Padraig’s. Their noses are almost touching. Padraig notes how clean the dragon smells less than an inch away from his nose. It is big enough to ride now, he thinks.
“Hop on,” Orogon says.
Thump-thumpd. Thump-thumpd. Thump-thumpd. The heartbeat sounds like it is right in Padraig’s ear. Thump-thumpd.
Padraig looks at his hands. In one hand he holds the glass box. In the other is the straitjacket.
“Would you like my army to deliver those downstairs for you?”
Padraig nods affirmatively.
“Place them on the floor and climb aboard.”
Padraig does as he is told. The dragon’s scaly skin is rough, dry. He can feel it between his legs from his ankles up to his man sack. There is nothing to hold onto. He leans forward, wraps his arms around Orogon’s neck. Before he has a firm grip, the dragon lifts speedily, up and out the window. Paidraig wonders how the window got open when it was closed just moments before.
In an instant, he and Orogon are hundreds of feet above a floating archipelago of houses. Padraig looks down, tries to find his house, but they all look the same. As far as he can see, there is water, houses, a tower, and more houses, more water. In the distance, he thinks he sees a whale. Orogon swoops down into the city, flies between the houses as if down a paved street. Padraig looks down. The water is flowing in the same direction they are moving. The water is clear and he can see fish swimming in the opposite direction. He looks again. They are dolphins. Upstream, he sees several paddle boats entering and exiting driveways made of water. Orogon dips, reaches his talons into the water beneath them. Padraig slips and almost falls, but he catches himself with his legs squeezed against Orogon’s belly. He looks down and Orogon is holding a shark in his talons.
They fly up again, above the houses, and hover. Padraig wonders why they are hovering. He looks at Orogon’s wings. They stretch out in both directions the length of three houses, flapping like huge banners. They are covered with purple and green scales that glitter in the sunlight. Suddenly, Orogon takes off again in fast flight. He turns, sharply, and Padraig falls. He can feel the air against his skin as he falls, faster and faster, until he lands with a splash in the waterstreet. He continues to fall below the surface. When he stops falling, he orients himself to the surface and paddles his feet.
He breaks through the water’s surface and looks for Orogon, but the dragon cannot be seen. The sky is clear, empty. Padraig sees his house. He swims to the doorstep and opens the door, walks in. All is dark. Sandy. Almost normal.
Thump-thumpd.
