The terror seeps from my eyes to my chest, from my chest to my gut, and from my gut to my feet. My feet feel like lead blocks, unable to move. I am cemented in place by fear. I manage to duck a wave of searing fire, bellowing from the mighty beast’s nostrils, and raise my fear ridden eyes to his. He looks down at me; I can almost see the mocking in his eyes. He knows that I am no match for him. I am a stick insect in his eyes; he is the king of all beasts. What chance do I or my miniscule village have against this awe-inspiring, vomit-inducing monster?
An eagle catches his eye, and I take a chance and disappear into the smoke. Stifling a cough, I run towards what I think is home, or what is left of it. I hear quiet sobs, dying animals and I smelt putrid, burnt flesh. I stumble over a log, no an arm, no, no, I don’t know! I run and run, and don’t stop until my legs give out on me. I lift my head from the dirt, and glance over the dirt mound back to my decimated village. I see black, and I see smoke. Skeletons of buildings remain; broken skeletons. The beast is slumbering in the middle of it all, warmed by the coals that he has created from the buildings, people and animals of my village. I need to keep moving. No, no I can’t leave. I cannot let this beast consume me. I will not let this beast destroy my whole village. My village is lying in heaps of smouldering coals, but I will live to tell its story.
I gingerly walk back to my village; my courage egging me on, my fear begging me to turn around and run, and never look back. I take a deep breath, and walk up to the beast. He looks down at me, taunting me with the smoke smoothly rolling off of his tongue. A piece of silver catches my eye; my brother’s dagger. My brother and his dagger were always one; if the dagger is lying alone, that means that my brother is too. Without knowing how and with what strength, I grab the dagger, and plunge it deep into the beast’s eyes, gouging both out in a matter of seconds. His arrogance got the better of him; how could I, something so small and insignificant possibly defeat him, the king of all beasts? The beast writhes in pain, and exposes his one weak area; the fleshy scales underneath his arms. I run with all of the strength that I can muster, and force the dagger between his scales, finding his heart almost immediately, feeling the pounding through the dagger, feeling his life ebb away with each weak beat. I stand with my hands almost in the beast for what seems like hours, until I feel a hand on my shoulder. Astonished and exhausted I turn around, and it’s my brother. My brother is alive. Injured and weak, but ALIVE.
I collapse to the ground, holding him close. We survived. He survived.
This week’s What if challenge.
What if your hometown is attacked by a monstrous, flying, fire-breathing dragon?
Do you run and hide? Do you break out the medieval weapons you’ve been hoarding for just this moment? or Do you try to calm the beast by singing it a lullaby?
Don’t hold back, anything goes in the what if challenge. Feel free to show us the crazy.
As an added dimension to the challenge we would love to know where you live and how you think your city/province/country would react to the dragon attack as well.