I Never Promised You A Dragon’s Lair
By: Robyn G.
Tags: Short Story, Psychology, Fiction, PTSD, Dragon

The device’s metallic shuffle faded into silence replaced by a distant child’s wail. Its despairing pitch enacted flight from the infant, serpent birds. Off their perches, they screeched into the air. A symphony of both human and monster cries seized her eardrums and spit sizzling synapses of delirium and anguish within her mind. Her memory of the child’s battle cry surfaced. Through the cold layers upon years of denial, the shriek punctured through and called her to action.

At this resolution, a gust of humidity greeted her. Unstartled, she rose from her seated position on the stump and met Limbic’s landing gaze. His forelegs clawed the dirt while he shook his muted yellow mane. His hind legs chicken scratched impulsively until he met balance with his scaley tail grounded.

“Are you going to get her this time?” Limbic’s mouth sliver opened and spoke while it simultaneously released multiple tongues flickererd into her face as well as around his snake eyes. It was a comical, yet menacing sight to see a dragon appear to be licking his own eyeballs.

“Perhaps.”

“You’ve been gone for a long time. Nothing’s changed but everything has.”

“Are your paradoxes supposed to inspire me or frighten me?” our hero spoke directly into Limbic’s face and felt the dusty debris of his breath released from his nostrils. “Can you pick your own nose with your tongues?”

“Hiding behind your snide remarks won’t save her,” the dragon hissed.

“Standing here and arguing with you won’t either.”

“I hope we won’t meet again.”

“Ok, see ya later,” she hollered over her shoulder and headed for the darker segment of the brush. Our hero caught a glimpse of Limbic’s feathers and scales interlaced wings as they lifted and shone in the air. The breeze of his flight slightly shoved her backside and pressed her forward.

She walked half determined and half nostalgic. The stones polished with glitter and grime, the sky cerulean and ripe red without a sun nor clouds, the calls of the creatures above her were features she only knew here. It would be a bittersweet journey to navigate through the beauty of her creations into the pits of others’ makings.

She approached the bridge known as Almond Passing. Upon recall, she couldn’t determine how many times she crossed it, if she ever crossed it. One step onto the dry rotted bridge summoned a rumbling beneath her feet. The frothy water bubbled and gurgled until three heads began to emerge from beneath the green river. She expected them. What terror she may have known subsided when she recollected their uniform motives yet contrary approaches. Towering above her they shrieked into the sky like a newborn’s terror in feeling the air for the first time. They settled their muddied torso back into the water and let their elongated necks circle around our hero.

“Where the fuck are you going?” Pugna spat and promptly began to bump his head into her side.

“You know where I’m going,” she spat back and shoved his slimy head into Fuga’s head. At this, Pugna nipped at Fuga’s nose.

Fuga recoiled and began to strain his neck away from the bridge and their body. The third, Concretum remained still as Pugna roared and spit fire at Fuga.

“Come on, let’s go, Concretum,” Fuga called to his stifled brother. Concretum zoned out and looked down at our hero with dead eyes.

“You all are pussies,” Pugna ranted and swiftly knocked our hero off her feet. “Do you have a sword? If you cut off their heads, I’ll let you pass.”

Still on the ground yet face up, our hero shuffled herself backward off the bridge.

A light splash was heard and another, new head appeared.

“Oh, you’ve decided to be present,” Pugna chastised.

“I had to see you do your wonders,” the slender, almost pretty head said.

“Who are you?” our hero asked, puzzled that there were actually four heads.

“I’m Adulo. I’d really like to help you but I’m spread thin.”

Pugna bolted between our hero and Adulo. “You better not help her.”

“Can we just go?” Fuga chimed from the background.

“Of course I won’t help her. You’re our brother. You’re so mighty and you protect us. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

Our hero stood still, hypnotized by the serenity of Concretum’s dissociation from the present turmoil.

“Are you ok?” Adulo broke her spell.

“What the fuck, Adulo,” Pugna scolded.

“Why are you so loud?” our hero replied, “What does it matter to you if I cross the bridge?”

“This is my territory. I won’t let you…” the child’s scream shook through the air and cut off Pugna. “I wish she’d shut up.”

“Poor thing,” Adulo whispered.

“If we leave and get to the edge of the woods, maybe we won’t hear her anymore,” Fuga announced.

Concretum’s sad eyes flickered up and met our hero’s for an instant before flinching and returning his gaze into the water.

The child’s cries remained while the silence between them lengthened. Our hero thought for a moment.

“Do you know why I’m trying to cross the bridge,” she inquired, mostly at Pugna.

“Because you want to go somewhere you can’t go,” he hissed, beginning to be belligerent again.

“I can make her stop crying.”

“I could make her stop crying too if I eat her,” he snarled.

Our hero paused, annoyed and tiring of the dominant dragon head’s idiocy. As a whole, the beast was fearsome looking without his offensive words. Many would run and, unlike Pugna, could flee. Her familiarity with the creature was what kept her stance. She had this confrontation multiple times. Sometimes she returned Pugna’s ferocity with her own and either drowned or was consumed. Other times she retreated before the dragon rose completely. Or she paused for a duration she could never recall until he went back beneath the river. Yet, charm: this was a new mechanism.

“I’m so sorry to awaken you. I didn’t mean to alarm you. Won’t it be so peaceful if we never do this again and you let me pass?”

Adulo caught on to our hero’s plan and rested his head on her shoulder. “I’ll let you eat all my fish for the next week if we just let her go.”

“I was going to take them all anyway,” Pugna huffed. “But this fight is getting old. All the ways I’ve killed her and that kid still screams. I’d go torch the kid myself if it weren’t for you weaklings getting in my way. I could face Organorum on my own, but your dead weights weaken my glory.”

The other three exchanged looks to each other and unanimously shrugged.

Pugna faced our hero, “He’ll destroy you anyway and much worse than what I’ve done to you.”

“I’ll take my chances,” she stoically replied.

“It’s now or never. Run!” His heated breath scorched her eyelashes.

The bridge creaked and shook with each one of her swift strides. It took a fraction of the time she estimated to enter the other side. It was a moment enough for the dragon to submerge itself back into the water. She turned back anticipating only one head, presumably Pugna, still above the surface. But it was Concretum, still drifted into space, and then darted down with the others when he finally caught on to what transpired.

Our hero steadily proceeded over the moss and gravel into the thick, unwelcoming forest. This felt unfamiliar to her. The conclusion she never endured this long in the journey struck weariness inside her. Apprehension laid ground a few steps into the thicket. This was the space she repeatedly yearned for yet feared from afar. It was a distant, unknown land with one treasure among many presumed horrors. The boulders and trees glistened iridescent mildew speckled with black spots and smelled like a pungent, moldy basement. It repelled her senses and panic arose.

Before she could turn back around she heard a shuffling nearby. She did not have time to determine the source. A hand grasped her wrist and swung her around to face a human. The person had green-tinged flesh and hair reminiscent of blonde hair opposed to excessive amounts of chlorine. Besides these abnormal physical features, the person was exact to our hero. Both mirrored the look of bewilderment. Our hero recovered equilibrium more promptly and shook her wrist free from her duplicate.

“None of us want to face you,” the replica said.

“You think I want to be here?” our hero sighed, “I’m not here to fight you.”

“But, you are…”

“You grabbed me. I’m here to get her.”

“This all I have. All I know. Who am I without Organorum or her?”

“You are her without Organorum.” our hero rebutted.

“Well, I won’t stop you, but I’m not going to help you either.”

Our hero already predicted the duplicity was docile and began walking away before she could finish her rejection. Her image faded into the background until one could not tell the difference between her and the tree stumps. Seeing herself provoked strength in our hero to continue. She deemed it a pathetic version despite what warmth she may have felt.

The march forward was purposeful. Our hero focused on each step and remained unavailable to the creeping darkness of the woods. She did not pay mind to the ominous howls and slithering creatures pulsating around her. Their distraction was only a threat if she allowed them. The child cried again, and the forest seemed to chuckle in unison.

Our hero accessed a clearing announcing the entrance of the cave. It was scattered with the remains of scorched dolls and playsets. A swing attached lopsided with one rusty chain rang into the air as it drifted in the musty breeze. The child’s sob rotated from quiet despairing hiccups to deafening outcries. Our hero clasped her hands over her ears and fell to her knees. The sound buzzed and made the environment flicker with glimpses of the past.

A bellow shook from the cave breaking the monotonous baneful sound. Our hero recovered composure upon Organorum’s call. She followed the echo into the cave. The darkness of the woods did not match how dim it was within the cave. It was beyond black. The shadows engulfed her to the pondering if she was truly there. She was blind to her own limbs. If it were not for the sensation of her feet touching the dirt and her arms scraping against the walls, she would have thought it was all nothingness.

The deprivation of sight did not thwart her endeavor. Rather, it inspired. For without vision, the terror of seeing it subsided. Many paces inside, the cave wall’s began to feel colder and softer. She propped herself against it to steady herself. It startled her when it felt likeclammy flesh breathing against her skin. Organorum replaced the cave’s wall and encompassed her. His stale breath filled her nostrils as his tongue and teeth grazed her skin. The fright dissipated once she resolved to keep moving. With each step, Organorum continued to attempt provocation with growls and nips. Yet, our hero’s fortitude in keeping composure while pursuing the child kept him tame.

She could barely hear the child as she got closer. Self-soothing had taken over. Organorum tightened around her until she tripped and landed abruptly onto the moist rock. Her head pounded against the ground. She felt the familiar moistness of blood releasing from a wound. It was enough to finally give her pause. Organorum’s figure hummed around her in a laugh.

She inched her body in towards itself. Leaving one of her hands outreached, she curled into the fetal position. Organorum amused himself with more diabolical snickering. Our hero closed her eyes. There was no difference between the darkness within the cave and the darkness of eyes closed. Yet, keeping them open seemed more horrifying. She rocked. Tears began to seep out of her tightly pressed lids.

Moments passed. Satisfied, Organorum stilled. A small, tender appendage cautiously tapped our hero’s hand. Upon recognition, the child briskly took it into her own.

“There you are,” our hero whispered. She inched towards the child until she had the full ability to embrace her. The child huddled into her until they both lied curled and spooning. So close they held onto to each other one could not tell where one began and the other ended.

“Heather. Heather, are you with me?” the concerned therapist spoke as the warmth of their embrace dissipated into her clutching a pillow in a homey, yet air-conditioned private office space.

“Yea, I’m here.” She noticed the length of the lights across the board flash in a testing mode.

“Well, it’s ready now. We are doing EMDR today, right?”

“Yes, we are.”