. . .He reaches his hand out, as if to touch mine.
Stop that, you know it’s not allowed! I mutter to him.
He nods his agreement, but touches me regardless. He must remember the rule, older than even the oldest of us. It is not like you could forget anyway, but yet he continues. They will notice at some point. Behavior like this could get you killed someday. Honestly, he should be more careful, don’t you think?
I am writing down this historical account for his own good. As an explanation to the (likely) confused reader, my current world is much unlike the one of ages past. It is ruled by many factions, of varying degrees of violence, of fire and ice-breathing dragons.
Yes, you read that correctly. Dragons. Even though you and I are in all likelihood very many years removed from each other, I can tell you just did a double take. No matter, you must keep reading, and tell others about what you have learned.
Our leaders are physically akin to those dragons of the fairy tales. They are most often roughly twelve feet tall when full-grown, with mouths full of razor-sharp teeth, and paws encompassing nearly twelve-inch claws. Except they take the “if looks could kill” idea to the extreme, since they can wear sweater vests, tweed jackets, and monocles. They can wear three-piece suits if they want. Or sparkly dresses. Anything they please, really.
They have made humans do their bidding. Anything they please, we must do it. At first, many of the dragons desired the mass killing of humanity, as retribution for the dragon hunts conducted so long ago they are beginning to fade from the history books entirely. But, then, some of the younger dragons proposed this: keeping the human race alive on their own terms. Any kind of human-on-human contact, must have prior approval from the Tribunal Council.
Last week, this girl I knew named Brenda broke the rules, and gave her next door neighbor a hug. Part of me wants to ask Brenda about what happened next, but Brenda and her neighbor, Eli, are both currently frozen in the same ice block in her front yard. They were reportedly strategically placed there to be an example to all who see it.
—–Oh gosh, the Head Dragon is calling me. If you refuse a meeting like this, the Tribunal kindly lets you choose your fate, a twisted and cruel choice where you cannot win. Honestly, I am not ready to choose between fire and ice, so I better go!
When I arrived at her chamber, she was glittering. That’s not good. She only glitters when she is
about to let the hammer fall.
Cheryl, you were seen conversing with a boy earlier today, and as I understand it you
let him touch your hand.
I apologize deeply. Then I bowed, as is the respectful way. She seems to soften at this.
Strange.
The next thing I know I am being escorted out by her guards because she is crying. But why? Can
it be that she does not enjoy being this harsh? Are dragons even all that bad anyway?
What do you think, dear reader?