Dragon & the Boy

Dragon was having a great day. He’d woken up to the glitter of sunshine on his gold pile, a crow cawing in the near distance and a healthy rumble in his tummy.

Mmm, he thought, I wonder what crow tastes like. Dragon stretched out, the hard arrow tip of his tail tapping the back of the shallow cavern, his wings squishing just so against the grey rock walls and his neck stretching out and out into the sunshine and the fresh air. He let out a thunderous yawn and SNAP! closed his teeth around the crow on the rock just to the right of his cave entrance.

Mm… chickeny. What a wonderful appetizer, I simply must keep a few more crumbs out to keep these crows coming.

When he said crumbs though, of course Dragon had meant bone crumbs. He was a very successful sheep catcher and often brought the bones home to crunch on and kept the soft fuzzy pelts to roll in when he was done with them. Not that he liked how soft and fuzzy they were – he was a dragon after all – but he did like how the cotton shined up his scales; it really brought out the blue. Dragon may not be old enough to be the biggest or the strongest or the richest dragon out there, but he was determined to be the prettiest.

Another grrgle grrgle escaped from his belly and Dragon knew it was time to crawl out of his warm nest of gold coins and look for a real breakfast. So he scooched the last half of his body all the way outside, bunched his right feet together and his left feet together and leapt into the sky, away from his mountain. He left a rock placed just in front of the cave entrance to guard his treasure. With a whoosh he was up in the blue, scales flashing sunlight as he wove through the air like firesmoke. Wings folding in and out, Dragon stirred the clouds into little wisps, leaving a rippled white trail in the sky the only sign of home.

As he flew, he spotted movement on the muddy winding road that connected the closest village with the one a few mountains over. He saw the trundle of an open straw wagon and several spots of the travelers’ rounded brim hats. Not a knight in sight! Dragon chuckled – which sounded like metal banging on stone– and snapped his wings open to catch air and stop short. None of his villagers were smart enough to keep Dragon out of their gold.

He curled his neck downwards and dove straight for the villager’s wagon. Lazily, he puffed small balls of fire at the field around them. Dragon never bothered burning people – they yelled too much and smelt funny (something about all that bathing) – but boy did they ever scare easy. He swooped straight down at the abandoned cart, ripping all four paws through the hay and catching several bags between them.

“Mine, all mine little people!” he yelled, streaming fire through the air. He laughed to himself, leaving the villagers hiding in the grasses by the road. Not a single one of them was even remotely Knight-like – Dragon’s sworn enemy. Of course, it couldn’t be possible that some silly, shiny human like Knight could scare a dragon, especially not this Dragon. Dragon had teeth and claws and fearsome, ferocious fire.

Once he was back flying straight towards the village, the muddy trail shrinking behind him and the clouds sliding over his wings, Dragon bent to look at his catch. He secretly hoped he’d find something no dragon had caught before.

Seeds? Nope. He dropped the first sack, watching it explode on the ground below. Dragon poked a talon in the next sack, finding laundry, then the next, finding more seeds. Nope, aaand nope. Both bags splattered on the ground like rotten fruit. He picked at his last sack apprehensively and howled in excitement, which sent a flock of birds cawing in fright from a tree below. Gold coins and lots of them. Yes! These are going to look just go-oh-orgeous in my pile. He picked at a few of the coins, examining the rough edges. These will be perfect for rubbing on… I’ll put ‘em right under my tail for night time itches.

Dragon’s pleasant thoughts were quickly interrupted by a grrgle grrgle rumbling through his stomach and rattling his wings. What better way to celebrate new gold than with a juicy bite of sheep? So he swished and swooshed his wings and moving this way and that, approached the centre of his village. He swooped down on the occasional thatch roof house to drop fire balls. With the crackle of popcorn, roofs burst into flame and little people ran out into the streets. Dragon saw the shiny shoulders of the Knight run out of one of the huts, shaking a sword in his direction and he laughed, dropping one more ball of flame. Silly, shiny human. Knight behind him, he was out of town in a few more swoops and soon came upon the best sheep farm this side of his mountain.

Aha! he thought. Delicious! Just over the last green hill, was a plump looking group of sheep ready for breakfast. Dragon shook out his shoulders, curled his back left claw around his treasure and dove. Down he went, streaming towards one particularly fat sheep. Out came his front feet, ready to grab his meal, out went his wings, braking Dragon to the perfect speed. From between the baaing white fluff of his breakfast popped the blonde head of a Boy, who was holding a boy sized sword sticking straight up at Dragon.

“Grraaagh” yelled Dragon, inches from breakfast and smelling grossly clean human skin. Dragon wrapped his front claws around the sheep. He growled and gnashed his teeth at the Boy to scare him away. Then Dragon felt a poke between his teeth and bit down; he yelped when something sharp slid into his crusty gums. He had no idea little boy was so pointy! Shaking his head until his ears rang, Dragon flapped backwards and upwards and away from the sword and the Boy, but as he hit the clouds he noticed the Boy clinging to his sheep.

“Get off, Boy!” Dragon roared. “Get off of me little Boy!” But the Boy climbed from the sheep onto Dragon’s paw where, despite Dragon’s shaking, he stuck. So Dragon flew up as fast as he could and he spun ‘round and ‘round until his tail was wrapped around him and even he was dizzy. The Boy, however, was still clinging tighter than a monkey to Dragon’s scaly legs.

“Fine, stay there!” said Dragon. “I’ll eat you when we get to my cave! I don’t want to drop little boy arms and legs on my way home and waste a perfectly good meal.” But the Boy didn’t say anything, so Dragon unwound himself and flew home, shaking his legs the whole way home to see if the Boy would fall off.

By the time he got home, Dragon’s wings were heavy and his teeth were hurting where the sword stuck like a toothpick between his two sharpest teeth. Carrying gold and breakfast and a little Boy were much more than he was used to and Dragon was hungry. He landed with a thump on the ground, threw the sack of gold deep into his cave and dropped his sheep onto the dusty sunshine of his plateau. First, though, he stretched his neck down and under his chest to examine the Boy stuck to his front leg. Between his beautiful blue scales, he could feel the Boy’s fingers digging in.

“Watch my scales Boy. You’ll pull them off like that.” Dragon snapped his teeth, wincing, and shook his head. “Worse than a giant tick.”

Dragon watched the little Boy dart towards the rock at his cave entrance, but ignored him – the Boy was too much bother before breakfast. Then he straightened out his neck and tore into his breakfast anyway. As he crunched through his meal, Dragon leaned left and right until he found the space at the back of his mouth without a sore spot. Within minutes he was belly flat on the ground licking the last of the bones clean.

Mm-mm juicy, he thought and pulled the last of the pelt toward himself. Dragon rolled over, spreading his wings like bed sheets over the sheep fur and, sighing contentedly, blew smoke rings into the sunshine.

Now I can’t have a Boy poking around my treasure... Dragon thought and craned his neck toward his cave. There, behind his favourite entry way decoration (the rock), a blond little head stuck out on a skinny neck. Ugh, I hate little people. “I can smell you from here, Boy.” Dragon blew a small ball of fire and rolled it the Boy’s way. He wrinkled his nose, growling at the pain in his teeth; if the Boy was right in front of him, what on earth was stuck poking the crusty roof of his mouth?

“I don’t smell. You smell,” the Boy called from behind the rock.

Dragon laughed his metal laugh and rubbed his wings on the sheep fur.

“Silly Boy, I smell like power!” He leapt off the ground, flipped through the air and landed on all four feet, winding this way and that as he approached the Boy. He blew smoke across the plateau until it pooled around the rock, the Boy and himself. The Boy darted, running straight at Dragon, through his legs and around into Dragon’s cave.

“You can’t run away from me!” he growled, curling his neck under his body and through his legs. Dragon jumped and rolled through the air, tumbling head over tail, snapping the whole time. Then Dragon snapped down too hard on nothing, the air squishing through his lips like popping bubbles and his teeth clattering together with a clank.

“Ow-oww-oww!” he howled, steam whistling through his nose. And Dragon stopped and he folded his wings and rolled into the cave, over the piles of gold. “Ow-oww-oww!” Dragon put a paw to his mouth, making little waves in the steam floating out his fist sized nostrils.

Dragon dropped his rump onto the coins, peering cross-eyed at the end of his snout. Through wisps of steam, he saw the Boy peek out from behind a pile of golden statues, blond hair glittering in the light sneaking through Dragon’s cave entrance.

“Hey Dragon? You okay Dragon?”

“Ow-oww-oww,” whimpered Dragon. “What did you do to me little Boy? I’m going to eat you after this! I swear, I will eat your skinny little arms and chew on your skinny little legs.” And he blew the biggest ball of fire into the back of the cave that he could muster, watching it roll over his coins and his crowns until it disappeared on his pile of statues.

But the Boy didn’t answer, and Dragon lay there for a few more minutes, neck swinging this way – to peek into the tall piles of treasure – and swaying that way – to peer under a particularly large statue – until he realized that the Boy was hiding from him. So Dragon jumped to all four paws, sending gold clattering in every direction and he clawed through the pile for the Boy.

“Come out, come out wherever you are!” he called. “This is my cave, little Boy. I’ll find you.”

But he heard nothing; the Boy was silent. So Dragon harrumphed, letting a great ball of smoke escape from his nostrils and padded outside to roll over his sheep skin and soak up the sun. A little bit of time and sunshine would surely cure the ache between his teeth.

Dragon had just began to doze when he heard a tiny crunch crunch come up right beside his ear. He opened one big, round eye, only to see the Boy’s pink nose right up close to his pupil and let a surprised cloud of steam.

“Dragon? I just need my sword back Dragon,” the Boy said, reaching both hands slowly towards Dragon’s open mouth.

Dragon jumped. He leapt back from the pelts that he was laying on and the Boy’s outstretched arms to land on his paws. He hissed, streaming smoke out from his nostrils and toward the Boy, who was waving it away with his hands.

“What do you want?”

“My sword, Dragon. It’s stuck in your teeth. Dad will never make me a new one if I don’t bring it home.” The Boy stood just where Dragon had been sleeping, a few steps from his shallow cave’s entrance but far enough that none of his treasure was visible. Dragon roared and dropped a ball of fire to splat on the plateau.

“Did you touch my treasure?”

“No!” cried the Boy, who’d run away from the fire and was standing firmly atop the rock. “Please, Dragon. My sword is stuck in your teeth.”

Dragon shook his head and snapped his teeth. Sure enough, his gums still hurt; the little Boy must have been telling the truth, no bone crunching ever hurt like this. So Dragon stopped blowing smoke and took a step forward. It’s not like that soft tiny human could do a dragon with such magnificent scales any harm, anyway. Dragon had yet to hear of any people hurting dragons ever, really. There had been one or two killed by knights, but they were just the weak ones.

“You’re not a knight are you?”

“No,” said the Boy, still standing on Dragon’s rock. He crossed his arms across his chest. “Knights are mean. And they smell worse than Dragons.”

Dragon laughed, the sound echoing into the mountains. “Okay little stinky human, take your sword.” So he walked up to the Boy and opened his mouth, careful not to breathe too hard should some fire escape.

The Boy reached up slowly, two hands out, and wrapped them right around the boy-sized sword handle that was visible just between two of Dragon’s sharpest left teeth.
“Ow!” he yelped, quickly letting go of the metal handle. “Can you turn down the temperature?”

Dragon laughed again, and shook his head. “It would be much hotter if I decided to roast and eat you. Which I just might do if you take much longer.”

So the Boy grabbed a hold of the sword again and began to yank. Dragon howled, but the Boy kept pulling. With the sound of squishing snow balls, the sword popped free of Dragon’s crispy gums and out into the air, shining.

“Are you bleeding?” asked the Boy, peering into Dragon’s open mouth.

“No.” Dragon let out a snuff of smoke. “Dragons are much too strong bleed.”

The Boy, coughing as he waved smoke from of his little blue eyes, lowered his sword until the tip rested just on the edge of his rock. “How come you have so much gold, Dragon?”

“I wanted it.”

“How’d you get it, Dragon?”

“By taking it from silly people. Like you.” And at that, Dragon stuck his snout in the Boy’s chest and pushed him off the rock. “I don’t have time for your questions, go home before I get bored and eat you.”

Dragon had never heard of any dragons talking to people without eating them – or at least caging them to keep for pets. This Boy, though, was much too much of a nuisance. He turned away from the Boy and went straight back to his pelts to enjoy what was left of the sunshine before he went for dinner. Maybe he could even round up a flock of crows tonight; that would certainly be delicious. As Dragon plopped down, facing out from the cave and watching across the valley in front of his mountain he noticed a very peculiar thing. A tall, waddling, shiny thing that looked vaguely like a human. Dragon sniffed. It certainly smelt like human.

Oh great. Dragon thought, rolling his eyes. It’s Knight. Now it’s going to take forever to get around to dinner.

“Boy, what is Knight doing here? Did you tell him where my cave is?”

The Boy scrambled to the edge of the cliff, dragging his sword through the dust.

“No! Blech!” Boy wrinkled his nose. “I hate Knight. He’s always so mean to me.”

Dragon looked over at the Boy, raising a gigantic, scaly eyebrow.

“When he comes to Dad’s shop for swords, he teases me for being little.” The Boy stood a little straighter, watching Knight work his way up Dragon’s mountain. “Dad makes the best swords in the land.”

“Dragon!” called the Knight, voice echoing over the edge of the plateau. “I’m saving that little boy, you terrible beast!”

Dragon lay there and laughed, his clanking laughter rolling down the hillside with the smoke rings he was blowing. Knight kept climbing upwards, clinking with armour until he reached the top of the plateau, where he doubled over, hands on his knees, to breathe.

“Dragon,” he puffed. “I am taking the scrawny little thing there. Boy, come here.”

“No.” The Boy crossed his arms over his chest.

“Come on, Boy. I’m the hero, here. I’m going to save you, I’m going to take the glory, and I’m going to get a free sword from your father. Now get over here.”

“No!”

But Knight had caught his breath and started toward the Boy, reaching for him. “I am not leaving without you. I’ve already had to scuff up my shin armour on this silly hike. Your stupidity is only going to make this more difficult.”

Knight dashed at the Boy, wrapping his arms around just before the Boy kicked and screamed, the sword trapped at his side under Knight’s big arms.

“I’m the hero here, Boy, stop your kicking!”

The Boy kept yelling and wiggling and Knight kept struggling, all the while backing away from Dragon.

“I’m the hero! I’m the hero you skinny idiot! Me, hero! My glory, my sword! Me, I’m the hero!”

This is ridiculous, thought Dragon and he took a deep breath, blowing a gigantic ball of fire straight at Knight’s legs.

“Aaaagh!” yelled the metal-clad man, jumping away from the fire, clinking and clanking as he tried to get out of the flame. As Knight jumped back, he dropped the Boy, who rolled over the ground with his sword still in hand, waving it wildly and coughing in the smoke.

“You’re dirtying my armour, Dragon! You can’t dirty a hero knight’s armour!” yelled Knight, brushing dust of his shoulders.

Dragon leapt straight into the air, arching over his fire ball and straight at the knight, pouncing with all four claws on top of him. And Dragon pinned him to the ground, ripping off all his silly metal pieces (none of which was gold and therefore utterly useless to Dragon) and with a snap, Dragon bit Knight’s shoulder.

Dragon gagged. Disgusting! He had always thought people would taste nasty. He swatted the now-naked Knight in the head, and lifted himself off of Knight.

“Get out of here, or I’ll eat you!” Then Dragon paused and puffed his chest out a little, streaming the biggest fire ball at Knight that he could. Knight screamed and jumped to his feet. Abandoning all of his armour on Dragon’s plateau, Knight ran stark naked all the way down the mountain side and off toward the village.

“Come on Boy,” said Dragon, holding out a paw. “I’ll fly you home.”

Rugby Poetry

So I was going through old piles of poetry for a project, and check out what I found!


smell the pitch.
green.
dirt, rain, pain.
paths traced one hundred fold,
trail broken skin.
heart bounding, beating
racing
over shredded field
torn grass.
blood; mud
grunt through barriers
break bones, tear muscle
grind pores into ground
shove; heave
line by line
win blade by bloody blade.
burn lines with sweat.
salt earth with victory
scream
taste pitch
queen of the green

.

Top Illegal Bus Stop Activites

Oh, the bus stop theme. It was all part of content creation for a class of mine, so bear with it. I swear no more.


1. Smoking. Not to offend the millions who campaign against smoking, but honestly, there is rarely a better feeling than sticking it to the man by smoking not near or around the bus stop, but directly within the prescribed five meter non-smoking radius. And, of course, there’s the added benefit of successfully killing time.

2. Drinking. Specifically, Underage-Drinking. Remember those days? The ones where “going out” meant sitting at a bus stop with ten friends on your way to a “house party” in someone’s basement and chugging a mickey of cheap vodka? Yeah. Now tell me all those times that you had to hold a friend’s hair back as she puked off the side of the bench didn’t make you feel like a bad ass mo-fo. Thought so.

3. Pot. It may just be the social nature of the drug, or that the smell of marijuana overrides the general foot-like stench of the bus your about to embark, but pot takes the cake (mmm… cake) when it comes to bus stop drugs. Trust me, serious considerations were put into a variety of other illicit substances – but, really, no one wants to snort lines off a bus bench.

4. Graffiti. It’s almost like bus stops were designed to be doodled on. And scratched into, and painted on. They’re the ultimate urban poster board of Sally + Joe 4Evas, cartoon faces, and local trademark tags; not to mention an excellent source of time killing literature.

5. General Destruction. The bus stop offers all sorts opportunities to take part in some good old fashioned wreckin’ stuff and, by wreckin’ public stuff, you get to really partake in some serious illegal activities. Go for the gold and send a bat through the glass, bring a screwdriver and dismantle the “bus stop” sign, bring spray paint and take graffiti to the next level and just paint the whole, bloody stop.

6. Sex. There’s a bench, shelter from the elements and – uhh – easy access. And that’s without the thrill of “riding the bus” in public.

7. Prostitution. None of the previous options quite illegal enough for you? Then take it all the way and “hang out” at the bus stop – auspiciously wearing thigh-high leather boots and short shorts that allow for under-ass – regardless of whether you’re male or female. Thanks to the high traffic nature of a bus stop, you’re bound to develop a fast-paced, publicly illegal business in no time.