by Chris Smith
***
Waiting for the right moment, James swirled to his right. His hand whipped through the air behind his twisting body. Uncoiling with the agility of a discus thrower, he released the fine particles of dust from the floor of the cell, surreptitiously collected when he’d deliberately fallen over the panel. He had known from the moment he’d entered the cell that something or someone was lurking in the safety of the darkness, watching him. James had had the intention of exposing the prowler right from the start.
The attack startled the dark figure. Though harmless, the dust surprised him and caught him off guard. He recoiled, throwing himself against the black panels, then held perfectly still, hoping to remain invisible against the darkness of the scales.
‘I know you’re there.’ James, unable to make out what he had seen, tried to sound confident. ‘Show yourself. Who are you? What are you?’
The dark figure felt something strange. His eyes moved down his arm to his hand. He saw the tips of his fingers exposed in front of a white scale.
Majestically, the dark figure sprang forth from his camouflage to reveal his identity. James’ shadow couldn’t risk being caught, being trapped by the boy; he’d have to go to plan “B”. With the ruthless agility of a black leopard he descended on his victim in a fury, snaring the dormant light in his clutches.
‘You!’
James reacted instinctively; he picked up a stone and hurled it at his treacherous shadow. The missile passed straight through, ricocheting off the wall of the cell.
The shadow stopped. With a self-assured air, he turned to the boy.
‘James, be a good boy dear, and play nicely’. The Shadow mimicked James’ mum’s voice to perfection, accentuating the nauseatingly condescending tone she lavished on him. His mum took great pride in being nice. He knew that she placed great value on niceness. James also knew that she needed her son to be seen as nice too; she wanted him to be a “nice boy” regardless of how weird he appeared. James was sick of niceness. Being “nice” meant sucking up all the crap others dealt out. Boy, did Perfect Pete and his cronies know that. There was no way in the world his mum was going to storm into the school to sort them out on his behalf.
During his inspection of the cell James had somehow missed the exit hidden between two overlapping scales; perhaps he’d been distracted by the stalker. But now the Shadow slipped out between them to reveal the secret. Brushing his sweaty hair from his face, James followed the thief without hesitation. The space between the two overlapping scales was made for a shadow, allowing James barely enough room to squeeze between. But despite being somewhat crushed, he managed to edge his way through.
Eventually James was able to stick his head out into the open. He withdrew sharply, his mind grappling with the enormity of what had confronted him. Outside the cell two of the most fascinating creatures imaginable towered inside a massive cavern. James had painted them many, many times. He took another peek, which turned into a lingering stare. They were real. Two dragons, one black and one white, greeted him with a roar which reverberated off the rocky walls.
‘Holy shit!’
Resembling two gigantic gothic sculptures the magnificent beasts reared their heads, spread their wings and stomped their feet. Standing between them, dwarfed by their enormity, James’ wicked shadow laughed, mocking him. The Shadow thrust out his hand, pointing the guiding light towards James. He squinted against its brightness after the dimness of the cave. Half of James’ body was protruding out from behind the panels. The white beast gave an almighty roar and bellowed a massive gust of flames at him. Unable to see properly through the glare of the light, James was warned of the attack just moments before it hit him. He ducked to safety behind the panel, but he could still feel the intense heat generated by the flames. He retreated into the relative safety of the cell. Falling to the floor he gasped for cooler air, his lungs burnt from the searing heat.
‘Stop being a wimp, boy.’ James’ shadow poked his head back into the cell. James turned his head to the sound of his dad’s voice. The shadow had copied his father’s authoritative tone perfectly. ‘No one likes a cry baby. Get up and fight.’ The shadow disappeared back out the cell’s exit.
James remembered that his dad’s answer to every problem was to attack: to kick first and to keep on kicking. There’s a solution, thought James. He needed to learn how to attack—nicely! Then he’d be able to keep both his parents happy. Brilliant! Be nice, but don’t take any shit. He considered Pete, the smiling assassin, to have perfected this skill to an art form.
With the Shadow gone, James made his way out between the panes. He peeked outside the cell. The light hit him again. He heard a roar and, knowing what it meant, rushed back to the inner sanctuary. But the heat continued to build in the cell until it was at an intolerable level.
