Brunch?

Bandifar looked at the other dragons, grinning from horn to horn.

"You'll never guess what I found today," he squealed.

Landifar sighed. "Bandifar, it's Xandifar's turn to share. This is the third time this week you've failed to respect the sharing circle, and I think I speak for all of us when I say it really bums all of us out."

Five other dragon heads nodded and grumbled in agreement. Bandifar bit his lips in mock bashfulness at his indiscretion—really a dedication to the gesture, what with the sharp teeth and all. Landifar sighed louder.

"Clandifar," pronounced Landifar to the entire support group, "do you agree to cede time to Bandifar to allow for…extemporaneous input?"

The dragons all nodded and rolled their eyes, including the ones who didn't have eyes—again, an astounding level of dedication—and Landifar removed his bifocals, pinching the scales between his eyes a little too hard.

"You may proceed, Bandifar. Let it be known that your speaking time may not exceed two minutes in length, and that your having been allowed to interrupt the proceedings of our discussion circle may only be attributed to the magnanimity of those pres—"

"Yeah great," cut in Bandifar, eyes sparkling. "So you guys know how I love to walk through the forest, right?"

"Yes," droned the beleaguered chorus of dragons.

"You talk about it every week," growled Ampersandifar.

Bandifar clapped his hands frenetically, slurping up the blood from the inside of his tasty lips. "Okay, well today, I was going my usual way, doing my usual forest things, eating my usual forest beavers—"

"What are—" began Banandifar.

"No, don't ask," interrupted Sarandifar, desperation in her eyes.

"—when lo and behold, I saw a weird lump of something behind a tree. 'A lump of what, Bandifar?' you must be thinking."

"Absolutely no one's thinking that," assured DuranDurandifar.

"I'll tell you—no need to wait with bated breath any longer!! It was a lump of HUMAN!!!"

From the filthy sack at his feet, true to his word, he produced a very lumpy human child, raising it by the ankle for the whole Clandifar to see. Landifar gasped. Xandifar barfed out a childhood's worth of action figures.

"I ceded my time for this," mumbled Xandifar wearily, wiping the bits of plastic from his lips.

A faurwndewoolly, probably, maybe something else with just as many Australian vowels, twirled in from one of the holes in the wall on its three roller blades, scooped the plasticine vom into its anysack, screeched "IT'S A LIVING" and disappeared back into its wall-hole with a pirouette.

"Is it terrible that those guys skeeve me out?" muttered DuranDurandifar to Sarandifar, nodding at the vanishing flactopod.

"I mean, you tip 'em, right?" she asked lackadaisically.

"Of course, I'm not a monster."

"Then who gives a rat's ass?"

"Guys!" admonished Bandifar cheerily.

"Not guys," retorted DuranDurandifar and Sarandifar in unison, giving each other a side five. Bandifar plowed on with the momentum of a freight train.

"C'mon, this is exciting! How often do we just find a little human poopin' around the woods?"

"Not often, I'll admit," replied Banandifar. "But, uh, Bandifar—I don't think it's good to swing 'em around like that."

Bandifar had been gesticulating as though his hands were empty; but they weren't empty. One was full of human. The tiny human being tousled around by Bandifar was still giggling and smiling, though the laugh and the grin took on a certain sleepiness as its face turned slightly purple.

Bandifar looked at the human child as though for the first time. "Oh." He righted it and set it on the filthy sack where it fell into a chuckling heap.

"Anyway, isn't this exciting?" Bandifar looked at each of them excitedly in turn, wiggling the scales that were pretty much his eyebrows, mouth agape in a grin.

"If by 'exciting,' you mean 'disgusting,' then yes, I'll absolutely agree," snarled Ampersandifar. "I cannot stand humans. Their larvae are even worse."

With that, the human baby started to gurgle. Ampersandifar gagged.

"I swear to dragon god, if that thing ralphs on me—"

But it didn't ralph on him. It didn't even barf on him. The baby's gurgling intensified like it was strapped to a motor, its eyes going gray-white and smoky like an overheating motor. Slowly, the tiny human levitated into the air, repeating in rapid succession the cooing sounds of the background baby from "Are You That Somebody" by Aaliyah.

Just after Bandifar man-dragonsplained to all the other dragons how Aaliyah’s collaborations with Timbaland pioneered changes in timbre in R&B in the late '90s, and just as Sarandifar started to ask him what in the dragon hell he was talking about Jesus Dragon Christ Bandifar pay attention there's a baby floating RIGHT in front of you, one of the baby’s forehead lumps began to quiver.

“What…what’s it doing?” whispered Banandifar.

“I’m too sober for this,” groaned Xandifar.

“We’re all too sober for this, buddy,” muttered Sarandifar.

The baby’s gurgling went into overdrive as the lump raced around its skull, now shaking violently. Once the orbiting lump had reached impossible speeds, it shot off the baby’s head, flying in a figure eight just below the ceiling.

“HOLY MOTHER OF DRAGON GOD!!!” screamed Xandifar. “IT’S COMIN’ STRAIGHT FOR US!!!!!”

“Honey, I’m scared too, but it’s…it’s just not,” said Banandifar.

The lump reached breakneck velocity, releasing a screech like a tea kettle, glowing gold. Finally, with a simultaneous, multitudinous echo of every Britney Spears vocal riff ever recorded (but mostly “uh-uhh!! Oh yeah!!!” from “Piece of Me”), a massive waffle, seven feet wide and perfectly golden brown, floated down to hover seven inches off the ground, slowing to a halt to the disembodied titular chorus: “you want a piece of me.”

“Now it’s comin’ straight for us,” said Banandifar.

“Aren’t you so glad I brought that baby back with me??” declared Bandifar. “Look, now we have waffles!!”

“We have a singular, extremely sus waffle,” corrected DuranDurandifar.

Ampersandifar retched audibly.

“Good dragon god, Bandifar, you’re not actually gonna eat that, are you?

“Why not?” he asked with twinkly anime eyes. “It’s a WAFfle!!!”

“It used to be that baby’s…I don’t know, tumor or something!”

“But it’s not now!”

Bandifar tore into the buttery edge of the waffle directly with his face. Landifar groaned and rubbed his forehead.

“Shit, Bandifar, c’mon—the kitchen is right there! Just get a fork.”

But Bandifar was too busy weeping—fully on his back, fetal position, ugly tears weeping.

“Oh, oh no—oh, oh wow!” he whispered between sobs. “This is perfect! It’s the perfect waffle! The perfect flavor!! The perfect MOUTHfeel!!!”

“Of course you use the word ‘mouthfeel,’” said Sarandifar, rolling her eyes.

“What do you call it?” asked Banandifar.

“I don’t call it anything,” said Sarandifar. “I say, ‘yum, that was nice’ like a regular fucking dragon.”

“No, you don’t understand,” sniffed Bandifar. “This is the best waffle that could EVer exist!”

“It’s fuckin’ lumps,” grumbled Ampersandifar.

“Though he could’ve worded that more…gently,” said Landifar, “Ampersandifar has a point, Bandifar. We don’t know what’s in that stuff.”

“I just said, it’s f—”

“No, I get that it’s lumps,” cut in Landifar. “What I mean is, we don’t know what those baby lumps do. We don’t even really know what they are.”

A loud chomp followed. Each of the attendees turned to face Xandifar, who was chewing his own chunk of waffle. He shrugged and smiled sadly.

“I survived off cigarettes and Denny’s for 12 years; I’ve had worse things in my body. Besides, it’s really not bad.”

The baby started up the process again: gurgling, levitation, Aaliyah giggles, lump whirlies, lump zoomies, screeching; waffle. Instead of Britney, this wiffle burst into being scored by the entire musical catalog of Natalie Merchant (but mostly “la-la-la la-la-la la-la la la”), floating into place seven inches above the first waffle with the initial verse: “kind and…generurrrrsss.”

“Oh man, I love Natalie Merchant,” mumbled Xandifar.

He leaned forward before meeting Landifar’s gaze.

“Fork?”

“Fork,” Landifar agreed. “I still don’t think you should—”

Xandifar had already darted to the kitchen and back.

“—eat it.”

Xandifar dug into the newly birthed waffle chewed sumptuously. Immediately after, he too was thrashing on the ground, wailing like a duck.

“Oh no! No no no! It’s TOO good!! It’s the best waffle that could ever exist, I just KNOW it is!!”

The baby repeated its routine, this time ending with a cacophony of Sade. A “Sweetest Taboo” waffle hovered over the first two.

“The baby knows I love smooth genre-bending jazz,” breathed DuranDurandifar.

All of the dragons turned to stare at her nametag, and then at her. She got out of her chair, rolling her eyes.

“It’s just a name. Whatever.”

She came back from the kitchen with a fork and ate a bite of her own waffle before flailing onto the budget-conscious carpet.

“WHY?!?” she bellowed. “No! WHY?! It’s TOO good!!!! Stop! It’s too much!!”

Gurgle-go-go-glow-glow-waffle: “Touch-a, touch-a, touch-a, touch me!”

Sarandifar shrugged.

“Sarandon doesn’t have that many singing credits.”

She tore off a tiny piece and chewed it deliberately. After gulping the waffle down, she walked slowly to the nearest corner of the room, shoulders shaking, and slid down the wall.

“No, no, no,” mumbled Sarandifar through tears. “Caramel…no…too sweet…too…crisp….”

“Why the fuck do you guys keep eating these?!” yelled Ampersandifar.

“Not guys,” sobbed Sarandifar and DuranDurandifar, throwing each other an air five from across the room.

Landifar, Ampersandifar, and Banandifar looked across the circle at each other as the baby produced its fifth lump, and its fifth waffle. The full force of Miami Sound Machine heralded its arrival as Gloria Estefan urged them to “get up and make it happen.”

“You guys have shit taste in music,” grumbled Ampersandifar.

“Oh, whatever—Gloria’s great, you fucking bandicoot,” said Banandifar.

They left and came back presently with a fork and a plate, mumbling something about “ants don’t need an invitation.” After taking their bite, Banandifar lay spread-eagled on the ground, tears streaming silently from their face.

“Bandifar was right,” they breathed. “The mouthfeel…It’s the best waffle. And it’s full of bananas, just like me.”

Landifar rubbed his temples, sighing to Ampersandifar.

“We’re gonna eat these lump-waffles, aren’t we?”

“I hate bananas, I hate babies, and I hate this day!” shouted Ampersandifar, pouting. “Not even if they play—”

The baby gurgled in triple time, producing a sixth waffle: Alanis Morrissette's entire discography, replete with end-of-phrase yelps, wafted off of the waffle, with the phrase "Isn't it ironic" settling it into place above the others.

Ampersandifar began to shake.

"No. No, not Alanis. My f…my f…my favorite…."

He began foaming at the mouth.

"Ampersandifar," said Landifar, "it'll be okay. Just do your breathing exercises like we talked about."

He hyperventilated, copious jets of foam sucking into and blowing out of his mouth and nose.

"That's…a good start," Landifar lied. "Try to slow it down."

"IT'S LIKE RAY-EE-AAAAAIN!" unleashed the waffle. Ampersandifar screamed.

"I CAN'T! I GOTTA!"

And his jaws sank into the crust, ripping away at the golden sweetness. He hid himself under his chair—not well; he was very large—convulsing, sucking in air through his teeth, sobs coming out in choppy, slavering breaths.

“Cin…na…mon….Ma…ple….I…I’ll never……AHHHH!!!! AHHHHHH!!!!!!!!”

The baby floated in front of Landifar, gurgling again, spittle gathering around its mouth, chubby, lumpy hand outstretched.

“Just you and me now, isn’t it?”

The baby giggled and continued pointing at him as another lump started rotating, this one slower than the ones before it.

“Whatever, baby,” said Landifar. “You ruined my support group. We were doing good work here before you came along, really good work. Now it’s just waffles.”

The lump shot off into the air, taking its time to run the course of the figure eight.

“You can’t understand what I'm saying. You’re just a baby. You don’t even know that you’re making waffles.”

Light began to shine.

“I don’t care. Do your worst.”

As the halo expanded and dimmed into the shape of the seventh waffle, the steady, sparse melody of “Goodbye Horses” gradually filled the room. Landifar stared blankly, his eyes glassy.

“I never…I never told anyone about Q Lazzarus. No one knows I listen to them.”

Unlike the other waffles, this one’s song never ceased, the verses pouring out into the air; the golden-brown disk spun listlessly in place.

Landifar rose from his chair, taking a step forward.

I see you rise

Landifar closed his eyes, shaking his head.

All things pass into the night

A tear rolled down his cheek as he gazed at the other dragons.

I’ve seen my hopes and dreams

A-lyin’ on the ground

He reached out a hand to touch the waffle and then withdrew it as though burned.

Oh no sir

His arms dropped to his sides. He shook his head once more.

Won’t you listen to me

Landifar looked back at the waffle, biting his lip. He grabbed hold of the edge of the waffle and pulled, letting the momentum of its spin sever the rim into one long, jagged piece. He held it up to his lips.

Goodbye horses

He fed himself the waffle in one long chain, nearly choking as he stuffed the last crumbs into his mouth.

I’m flyin’ over you

Landifar sat back on the floor, leaning into gravity, letting the tough carpet meet his scales. He closed his eyes; visions of waffle discs flew past him, dragon nails needle-scratching new wave tunes out of their squares. He glided through the air with them, slipping past the clouds, looking down at the ocean, at the dragons of his support group flying in waffle planes, waffle rockets, waffle boats. He looked into the sky and reached a hand up into the myriad stars, watching them sparkle and wave with the touch of his hand. He felt his tears flowing softly into the air behind him as he flew.

.

.

TO BE CONTINUED

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The inspiration for this fever dream, itself a fever dream: