Those Who Discard Dragons

Tears well up in her eyes as her skin chills, the wide woods closing in. She had thought she was playing hide and seek with Mommy, just in a new place. But Mommy was never this hard to find. Signaling her defeat and calling for Mommy didn't work. She was tired, her feet were stinging, and she thought she might just die. There was nothing scarier than a world without Mommy. And she didn't even know, yet, that Mommy had left her there on purpose.

It was a wonder she heard it in her panic, but she did. A soft slapping, polite pitter-pattering, leaf crunching approach. She looked around through uncontrolled breaths, near sobbing but still curious. Mommy? She was hopeful. The sound was certainly too small for an adult woman who carried the weight of a little girl's entire world, but that was the sad trick of faith. You believed when you shouldn't. The sound was closer and yet Mommy was not. Devastation. The thing about faith, though, was that it often was still rewarding, even when you got the details wrong.

At her feet now, the sound ceased. She raised her shoulders and sunk her head into her chest. Her arms hugged her tightly and she could almost imagine Mommy’s warm coffee smell, Mommy’s loose hair scratchy on her skin, Mommy’s wet shoe poking and poking and poking her ankle. Wet shoe? Mommy never got her shoes wet, and if she did, she wept. They would be destroyed in the water, and there simply was no money for a new pair. The girl looked down. Her eyes widened in a way that only a child could master. Bugged out, both shocked and awed, fear melted away as if it never existed. As if Mommy was right beside her.

A sharp inhale, and then, “A dragon!!” The girl squeaked at the end, her voice octaves higher than usual. Mommy was forgotten for the moment, because who the fuck gets to find a real dragon licking at her tired little ankle in the middle of the woods? At about 18 inches long, the creature at her feet was not a dragon, but a lizard. Some species of bearded dragon, yes, but dragon only in name. Dragon or not, they were a kindred spirit, abandoned by a caretaker in the woods. Also, eating a cricket now, apparently. The girl screwed up her face and said, “ew,” and then giggled.

“Hello, there,” she cooed to the messy eater at her feet, “my name is Anna.” The dragon looked up at her introduction, cricket leg poking out of their mouth. Anna crouched down and the lizard skittered away a few steps, then tilted their head to assess her. Anna was reminded of her own fear, her missing Mommy. She looked around again, then began to cry. The dragon watched Anna and foraged for small insects around her. They approached again, the girl now crumpled on the ground. The dragon pawed at her leg, seemingly wanting to climb into her lap. Anna brightened, and picked them up.

“I’m going to call you Mr. Kitty,” Anna announced. There had been a gray cat living around her home, scrounging for scraps just like her family always was. Mommy told her she wasn’t allowed to name it, so she didn’t. She held Mr. Kitty up to her face, and stared into their eyes. Mr. Kitty blinked. Anna was delighted. “You blink differently than me,” Anna exclaimed. “Mommy blinks the same way.” It was nice to stare into those eyes, Mr. Kitty’s and Mommy’s, but Mommy never liked Anna’s eyes. This was such a treat for her. Mr. Kitty squirmed in her hands, and Anna put them back on the ground.

She was hungry, and had only ever eaten what others had given her, what Mommy had given her. She stared at the dragon. They ate bugs. Her stomach gurgled and the sound was scary, echoing through the woods she was lost in. Anna stood up and stomped around, eyes focused on the ground. She leapt, and caught a cricket. It was cute, not gross at all, but a bit small for a meal. She ate it, anyway.

When she burped, smoke came out.