Flower and the Dragon
(Random
2-word prompt- dragon, quiet)
The
dragon wasn’t quiet; it snored. A deep
and sonorous rattling wheeze.
Syncopated. But Flower was still
careful. He only dared to move when the
room was filled with the cacophonous snorts of the sleeping dragon.
Flower
managed to roll from the comfy bed to his feet, the floor was cold against his
bare soles, without disturbing the six-foot scaly creature that he’d lay next
to all night. Never again. Never.
Of
course, the sleeping man wasn’t really a dragon, just a bit of a monster. He’d had a short fuse. Snapping and barking at the waitress. Blowing up at the chef, who’d been kind
enough to come over to the table after the dragon had complained about his
food. He’d chatted with his mouth full,
chewed agape. Chain smoked through the
meal and screamed at anyone who’d asked him to smoke outside instead. The man had been inconsiderate and abrasive. Flower had been mortified last night, the
whole night.
This
morning, he was full of regret.
‘Dragon’
had felt like a very apt internal nickname for the man, and Flower had forgotten
the man’s real name. He was handsome,
but cruel. Muscular. Penny-pinching and greedy. He hadn’t even left a tip for the staff,
though Flower had snuck a little extra to the waitress on the way out. And as for the man’s scales? He clearly didn’t moisturise.
Flower hastily
pulled on his underwear just as the latest snore disguised his movement. He retrieved his trousers and shoes during
the next. Found his shirt draped over a
lamp during the third gurgling rattle.
He dressed himself with each consecutive thunderous crackle from the
man’s throat, almost tripping over his own leg while trying to squeeze back into
his shoes while he stood. He stumbled
forward and caught himself, just in time.
He’d almost crashed into the bedside cabinet.
The
snoring stopped.
Flower
froze.
His head
crept along the axis of his neck, his eyes tiptoed over his shoulder, and he snuck
a glance at the slumbering monster. Its
prostrate form was sprawled, tangled in the duvet it’d hogged all night. Flower studied the dragon, trying to work out
if he’d woken it, but his terror was lessened by the return of the unmelodious raucous
snuffling.
He
sighed. He’d been holding his breath.
Sunlight
had begun to slither in through the edges of the curtains, and Flower slinked
along the line it left across the floorboards.
He headed for the door. Escape
was in reach.
He
stole another look at the dragon.
Still sleeping.
Still snoring.
Flower smiled to himself.
He was almost there.
He reached out for the handle of
the door, wrapped his fingers around the metal, slowly turned the mechanism. The hinges whispered as they moved, and
Flower was careful not to elicit squeals by moving too fast, rushing; he didn’t
want to cause any premature arousal of the sleeping creature. The door opened in crawling degrees, inch by
second. It came toward him. He took a step back as the empty hall came
into view.
Yes!
Flower raised his foot, a final
step into freedom, and…
He realised the voluble death
rattle of the dragon had ceased. He
heard the click of a lighter instead.
“Where are you going?” The monster breathed its smoke and ash,
filling the room with its grey and noxious clouds. “Stay.”
“I… er…” Flower faced the foe, fighting back the cough
already tickling his tonsils. “I’ve got
work,” he said. He didn’t but…
The dragon made a face. “Aww, spoilsport!” The man sucked on his cigarette and exhaled
more billowing fumes into the small space.
“You owe me,” he sneered with a wink.
“I paid for dinner.”
Flower started to say something
but stopped himself. He just wanted to
leave, not argue; he didn’t want to face the wrath of a dragon.
“Oh come on,” moaned the man,
feigning an exaggerated frown. “Please?” And when Flower shook his head in response, he
threw his arms up in frustration and sighed almost as loudly as he’d snored.
And that action, casting his
hands into the air with a lit cigarette betwixt his fingers, would have been a
boon as a dragon, but was a curse as a human.
A spark from the tip of the cig flicked free and floated, drifted down,
a patient plummet, until it reached its destination and fulfilled its blazing destiny.
Flower was surprised by just how quickly
the flames caught, how quickly the dragon screamed and leapt from the fiery
duvet, the red-hot breath of the fire expanding along the rest of the bed in an
instant. The naked creature, expelled
from its nest, fell forward through the thick smoke that was already subsuming
the feeble smoke from its cigarette.
Flower caught the bare man in his arms.
“We gotta go,” coughed Flower. The bedroom was already half consumed by the
fire, though the grey sludge swelling in the space blurred and obscured the
orange and red rage. It was getting hard
to see anything, hard to breathe.
Flower dragged the nude man into
the hall, exposed scaly skin pressed against his clothes; the man didn’t object,
just let himself be carried. The smoke chased
them. So did the fire. They hurried to the exit, burst through the front
door, and out into the street.
He dropped the man to the floor
against a shop window opposite, then took off his shirt so his charge could at
least cover his dignity.
“Oh my god,” cried the dragon. “My… my… house!”
It was already fully enveloped in
flames. Fire and fumes poured from every
egress, licked at the bricks, tickled the tiles on the roof.
“This… is… your fault,” growled
the creature. He pointed at Flower, his fingers
still clinging to the now spent cigarette that he’d been smoking. “If… if… if you’d come back to…”
“No,” snapped Flower. “We’d be dead.” There was a crowd of gawking pedestrians beginning
to gather, splitting their attention between the scorching house and the partially
nude arguing pair. “Both of us would be dead.”
“But…”
“I’m going home,” he sighed.
And Flower left, ignoring the man’s
tears and protestations, surviving the dragon whose breath had been its own
downfall, and decided that it was the last time he ever went on a blind date. It had been an awful night; Flower hadn’t
even managed to pilfer the dragon’s horde…
The
End.
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