The Boy Fought the Dragon and the Dragon Won

Some of my fondest memories were reading stories to my son, Max, before bed. He loved all things Fantasy, noble knights, wise wizards, and epic battles, but of all the stories, tales about dragons were his favourite. Dragons rule, after all. The stories always seemed to revolve around a boy meeting a dragon and forming a fast and lasting friendship. He’d always wanted to meet his own dragon, someday.

But, if you’re reading this story, expecting some happy tale about my son going on adventures with a dragon, you’re in the wrong place! Finding Nemo had it backwards - Fish are food, not friends. My son’s tale was short, bloody, and brutal.

The last day of my son’s life began on a bright, Tuesday Morning. The sun was shining, birds chirping and the wind whistling. What, were you expecting storm clouds and rain? The usual morning routine ensued with that most intimate and loving activity between a husband and wife, sitting next to each other on our phones and not talking. Sounds dull, I know, but, God, I miss it.

I had a later start that day, so decided to take Max to the park adjoining the local native forest. He loved playing in those woods, like he was part of a story.

Arriving at the park, Max proceeded to find the biggest stick he could carry, waving it around like a wizard facing a Balrog but being all of 4, and on the smaller side, he looked more like a hobbit than a wizard. The more time that passes, the harder it is to remember him this way - so happy and full of life.

Playing the monster usually involved a good death scene, but since I had more time that morning, I kept the game going longer. If I hadn’t perhaps, we would have left in time. Running to escape the monster, Max, weaved in amongst the trees and I lost sight of him. The woods were safe, and I knew he couldn’t have gone far, so I wasn’t too worried - until the screaming started.

Max came pelting back through the woods, screaming, and looking terrified over his shoulder. I couldn’t see anything following him. But, the rustling of the trees and the crack of breaking branches, meant something was. I called out, for him to come to me, but he just kept running. I chased after him and scooped him up.

“Don’t stop,” he pleaded, “It’s a D-D-D-Dragon!” He was scared and something was coming, so I didn’t question it, but continued running back home. I should have been looking forward, But the noises and Max’s fear, had me jumping at shadows. Looking over my shoulder, I failed to see the approaching road. I ran into a parked car, and was knocked back, hitting my head on the ground, and letting go of Max. When I looked up, everything had changed. The sky had darkened to a muted red, the trees were blackened and burned, the ground coated in ash and standing over my son was the most terrifying thing I’d ever seen. All claws, fangs and scales, there was nothing else to call it - it was a dragon.

Its head snapped forward, jaws snapped shut, and my son was gone. Unable to think. Unable to react. I sat in shock, as it descended upon me, until the force of its beating wings knocked me back and I hit my head again. When I opened my eyes, the dragon was gone, and the world looked normal again - a clawed out bonnet and a pool of blood the only signs of the horror that had come out of the dark and consumed my boy.

I don’t remember what happened after that. The police found me hours later, unresponsive, and kneeling over the bloody remains of my infant son. The police didn’t believe me, of course, who would? They presumed I was in shock, and attributed the death to a wild animal, probably a mountain lion.

We had the funeral, three days later, burying a casket filled with his toys, blanket, and the stories I’d read to him. Alice hadn’t spoken to me for three days either. What was there to say, after all, our son was dead, and it was my fault. Who could blame her for not wanting to talk to me? When we got home, the silence ended, God, I wish it hadn’t.

“What happened to our son?” She said as the door slammed behind her. Arms crossed, eyes narrowed, tone sharp - she thought I was lying to her.

“I told you; we were attacked by a monster with wings and scales. I swear it looked like a dragon.”

The sigh, hit with more force than the door, “Fine, don’t tell me,” she said as she walked past me to our room, packed her things and left to stay with her parents.

For those of you currently screaming at the page because I didn’t run after her, how exactly was I supposed to convince her that dragons were real? And even if I could, would that make it any less my fault. I took him to the park, I lost sight of him, I let him go - and he died. I didn’t deserve the comfort of her presence or the relief of her forgiveness. It was my fault, and nothing could make it right again.

After years of living with someone, there is nothing more chilling than being alone in your home at night with nothing but your thoughts. Tears burning, chest screaming, wandering aimlessly through the rooms, insulting yourself. Is it any wonder, I turned to whiskey.

The limited booze in the house, meant the next morning wasn’t as bad as it could have been. I visited Max, stood out the front of Alice’s parents’ house trying and failing to will myself to enter and then hit the bars to avoid being alone in that empty house.

The days blurred after that, as I fell into a rut to escape my grief and loneliness. I’d visit Max, stalk my wife, and drink myself to sleep. The filthiness of my clothes and unkempt mass of beard the only sign of the passage of time. I couldn’t tell you how long it went on like that, but it ended as suddenly as it began.

Stumbling out of the bar one night I was blinded by the flash of the moonlight, burning red. The unmistakable roar of a dragon echoed in the street, sobering me. I ran home and bolted the door. By the next morning, the beginning of a plan was wrinkling my brain. If I could kill the dragon, I could avenge Max and prove to Alice that I wasn’t lying. It could work, and yet I hesitated.

You’re probably thinking it was the fear of being eaten. It wasn’t. Days, weeks, or months of trying to drink myself to death hadn’t left me with a particularly strong survival instinct. No, it was fear of a different kind. This plan had filled me with hope, woken me from my haze and resulted in a clean face, clean clothes, and a belief that I could regain at least some of what I’d lost. I didn’t want to lose that. What if I killed the dragon, placed its severed head at her feet, and she still wouldn’t take me back. It wouldn’t change the fact that I got him killed. I couldn’t forgive myself so, what hope was there really, that she could forgive me? None.

Free from the haze, but not the pain, my routine quickly became unbearable until I formed a new plan. If I died killing the dragon, then I could die believing that she’d forgiven me and would’ve taken me back. I began my preparations in earnest. I gathered as many weapons, traps and poisons as I could afford and setup in the park. My plan was simple, when the world changed, I’d lure it to me with a flare, hope that it got tangled in ropes so it couldn’t fly away, and then let it eat me and the poisons tied to me. I know it was a bad plan, but what do you expect, it’s a dragon, how would you kill it?

The plan worked surprisingly well. It came at the sight of the flare, the ropes failed, but it didn’t try to escape. I ran towards it, screaming my head off, to ignore the fear. The jaws snapped shut, piercing my legs. The pain was excruciating. I undid the bottles, the poison dripped down its throat and its jaw locked as it passed out, preventing the worst of the blood loss. I passed out believing that I had succeeded and that my suffering was over.

I awoke in hospital covered in bandages. Alice sat in a chair beside me, head slumped against the bed sleeping. This wasn’t what I had wanted, but I had to know. Ignoring the pain, I moved my arm slightly to nudge her. She stirred, saw me awake, jumped up and stopped somewhere between a hug and a slap, “What were you thinking?” she said instead.

“I had to prove to you that I wasn’t lying. Did you see it?”

“See what? They found you lying, bloody in a field. I thought I was going to lose you! How could you be so stupid?” The dragon must have disappeared back to its world. She hadn’t seen it, and what hope there was for forgiveness, was lost. I didn’t answer, the disappointment was too great.

“I’m sorry, I left. I-I didn’t realise that trauma could do that. That you could truly believe that a dragon killed our son. It’s OK, the doctors will help. I’ll help, whatever it takes.”

This was an olive branch, this was everything. All I’d wanted - a chance to be a family again. Those of you who believe, you would have stuck to your story, or your principles in that moment are either lying to yourselves or emotionless monsters. The dragon was dead, and we were safe, what was the harm? I accepted the doctor’s help and the promise of a return to life with Alice, even if it could never be as wondrous as it had been when Max was with us.

Weeks passed and the sessions went well. It got to the point where even I started to believe them. I wanted to, anyway. Things began to improve with Alice, too. The awkwardness, grief and anger lessened with time, and we started to find what I hoped would be a way forward. A way to be together, supporting each other through pain, rather than merely a reminder of it.

We had planned to have coffee together that morning and the Doctor’s had agreed to let us leave the hospital briefly. And so it was that Alice wheeled me out into the sunshine. She ordered the coffee and we sat together, like old times. And then I heard it, the roar. I closed my eyes, hoping to God, that the Doctors were right and counted to five like they told me.

‘1. It’s not real, when you open, your eyes, everything will be normal It’s been weeks with no signs, it can’t be real.

2. “What is that?” she whispered.

3. “It can’t be, is that a D-,” Oh, God, it’s real.

4. A wave of heat billowed against my back. If I hadn’t been so weak, if I’d stuck to my story. Maybe I could have convinced them. We could have prepared. My weakness was going to get people killed again. My broken body was useless, there was no way I could save her. I’d failed her, just like Max.

‘5.’ My eyes snapped open, and then the screaming started…