The Man in The Valley

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Everything used to be so different.

I think about the Valley often. Sometimes when I’m lucky, I get to wear the special goggles and see all the greenery of before. There was something so peaceful about it there, I imagine. Maybe it was the blue of the sky and the way it reflected on the fast moving water. The way that the green colored mountains split and allowed you to stand in the middle to take in all of its beauty. Or how even if you close your eyes, your senses are still filled with the different sounds of the animals nearby.

And although I never got to see it myself, sometimes I pretend that I used to live there. I imagine myself running through the trees, playing a game with a friend in which we would see who could run the fastest. My mother would call out from a distance and tell me it’s time for lunch. I’d walk home to a beautiful house beneath the mountains. We’d have a garden full of fresh vegetables and fruits, maybe a dog or two, and everyday would be simple.

All I know is what has been created for me living here in the Building. When the war broke out, they told us that the dragons are for our protection, that they will guard our building, our communities, from which we should be afraid of. But don’t go outside either, it’s safest inside, because you should be afraid of the dragons too. It’s not their fault that they can’t distinguish between us and our enemies. They were created to destroy. Their rewards have always been that of flesh.

Most people are thankful that they created the Building. The Building protects us, they say. The Building is home, they say. It’s much easier to plug into the reality that they’ve told us, I get it. Most people in the building like easy. Easy means not having to think too much, to go with what’s already been chosen for you.

As a result of war, the dragons have burned our lands leaving them barren and gray. Vegetation and “meat” is made here in our labs. We eat specially curated meals that look farther and farther from what real food should be. Most people in the building are sick, but the specially curated medicine “heals” that too.

Now, as I sit near the only window assigned to my family, a window the size of a pillowcase, I look out to the Valley. The gray of the mountains doesn’t keep me from imagining what used to be. I cling on to the dream of before. My mother tells me that I’m foolish for spending so much time near a window. That the best use of my time would be to work in the lab alongside those in my year.

At the age of twenty, I shouldn’t spend most of my time in quarters. Duty, my mother would say, is what gives our lives purpose. I couldn’t disagree with her enough. My father agrees with everything that my mother says. I think that he is far too tired to think on his anymore. The stress of his job, working in security, hours on hours on end, has left him impartial to the world. I know that he was once an academic, in pursuit of knowledge of all things, even though he would never admit it, because of the books that I found.

Novels, history books, cook books, scientific journals, and so much more were all hidden in a crate far out of reach from us, belonging to him. I found this crate several years ago and brought it to my quarters late at night, away from anyone's watch. Since then, reading has become my favorite pastime. I’m always careful to change the sleeve of the book I’m reading so as to cover it with one that is acceptable.

There is nothing like these books in our public library. Novels are simply not written anymore. Fiction is something for children, they say. It is a much better use of your time to learn about a craft, such as in the health, science, technology or manufacturing fields. We should all take part in the maintenance of our community.

I tire of the community. I tire of spending each of my living hours stuck inside, hearing everyone talk about safety. It’s so convenient, they all say, that we can all work, shop, send our children to school, and enjoy recreational activities from the comfort of the Building. What an amazing thing they have created for us while simultaneously protecting us. The dragons make us feel so safe.

I remember the first time my father explained the dragons to me. We were at this very ledge, I standing on it to get a view out the window, not even 7 years of age yet, and him sitting. I was looking at a dragon in the far distance and asked him why they always came near. He had said, “Elena, the dragons are here to protect us.”

“Papa, is it true they blow fire out of their mouths?” I had asked.

“Yes, they do. They do it for several reasons, but often simply just because they like to.”

“And can’t fire burn people?”

“Yes, and that is why we must always remain in the building, where it’s safe,” he had replied with a hesitancy that I still remember to this day.

At that age I wanted to learn as much as I could about the dragons. They were these enormous, winged creatures that flew high in the clouds, that seemed magical to me then. I wanted to ride on top of them and see the world. I wanted them to take me as far as they could.

In my early years of school, kids would often talk about a wizard with magical powers. They would say, the wizard lives in the Valley and he can talk to the dragons, the dragons do whatever he wants them to. Kids would play and pretend to be the wizard by casting “spells” on their classmates. The adults didn’t like that though, and soon we weren’t allowed to talk about wizards anymore. I imagine if there is a wizard living in the Valley, his life must be better than this. Anything must be better than this.

I get up to start my day, pick up my belongings on the bench, and that's when I see him.