November 9th
Something new happened the other day. Nothing good.
It started with the rumbling. Rumbling again. I thought the volcano was at it once more, that this was the day it finally got us, that it had missed us the first time, that this time, we would definitely suffocate. I know I wasn't the only one. I heard my neighbors scream and wail the same thoughts I kept silent. They just didn't want to come out. They got stuck in my throat, like the air now, thick and dusty.
As I listened I realized the rumbling was not the same. That's when the screeching and roaring came. I ran out on my balcony, the need to know taking precedence over the need to be safe. There was nothing to see at first but the dark, suffocating sky. A few of my neighbors had also run out, and there we were, craning our necks, eagerly searching the horizon, but also looking terrified of actually finding something. I exchanged a quick look with Cait, whom I share my left wall with. Neither of us said anything. I was shaking, and there was a painful tightness in my stomach. I stayed put. I was afraid of seeing but felt I had to.
We waited. For hours, maybe? I can't tell. Time seemed to stretch and distend, and reality had this sickly taste of anguish.
I know that by the time I went back in, everyone else had gone inside. And that my face was wet and grimy with soot. I didn't remember crying.
They made their appearance the following morning. For hours the screeching had gotten louder, and closer. I barely slept. Without the clear separation of night and day, without seeing the sky go from light to dark, I barely sleep anyway. I'm getting used to feeling dazed and absent.
I dragged myself out of bed and went back to the balcony. Cait soon joined me, as did many others.
I don't really remember how I reacted when I saw the things, up in the sky. I do remember some screams. Not mine. I don't think so.
We're calling them dragons. Because that is what they look like, what they are. Of course dragons are not supposed to exist, but they exist, and they look like dragons. Wings. Claws. Scales. The whole shebang. They're easy to see against the darkened sky. Most of them are black or brownish, but it's like there's a light shining under their scales. It seems to come from the inside, and makes them stand out against the thick clouds. There's gigantic ones, little ones, elephant-sized ones. But more importantly, there's a lot of them. They're circling overhead. Some people are afraid they're going to kill us. I think they're more like vultures.
They're waiting for us to die.
November 11th
I never thought I'd miss the sun this much. I don't mean just what it does for us. I mean as a presence, as this entity we notice without noticing. The sky feels empty. Empty, oppressive, and hostile. I feel as if those heavy clouds are glaring at us. I feel hated. The sun made me feel safe. Welcome. Proof that the world wanted us to live. Now that it's gone I know what is missing.
The truth is, at this point, I don't care if I die. We've had our run, all of us. I feel I've played my part. I'm okay with it. Just make it quick. I don't want to linger. Please don't make me watch it all fall apart. I'm not strong enough for that. I can't watch them die. I can't watch them suffer.
I just want it to be over.
November 12th
I've noticed my breathing getting more labored. All our breathings. The old and the young will probably be the first to go. My body is tenaciously hanging to life. I wish I could ask it why. What's the point if we all end up the same, in the end? Why take the long, painful road?
Everyone is joining up, huddling together. I prefer to be alone. I can't look at them, knowing what's going to happen to them, what is already happening. I am selfish, in a way. Even if I am not here to see it, it is happening still.
The dragons are still circling, up there. Their mournful cries are driving me crazy. Or maybe it's the absence of the sun. Night and day have blended together in a sort of thick, dark, bland eternity.
I wonder if they're crying for us. I wish I could screech, too. But I don't want to upset anyone.
November 14th
Not much is new. We have noticed our solar panels picking up a bit of energy. A tiny amount, but for some, that's all that's needed to reignite hope. I think it's just going to prolong our agony. It feels terrible writing that down, yet this is how I feel, and I can't help it. If only I had the same force in me that others do.
Cait, the neighbor, brought me some soup today. She apologized because it was cold and she said it was not as good as she usually makes. It tasted great. Way better than what I cook now, and way better than what I cook usually, with all my abilities. I did feel a bit better after eating it. I've barely had the energy to feed myself since this happened. It's a little jarring to see someone else expend more energy on me than I do. It kinda twists my heart. I know I can't do anything in return.
I had the impression there was something else Cait wanted to say. She stood in my doorway a long time, but finally left without a word. There was something painful in her eyes.
I should have asked her to stay. Maybe if I was stronger, I would have.
The heaviness of the air is still unbearable. I can hear everyone coughing through the walls.
November 17th
I think I tried to kill myself yesterday. I'm not sure if that was my intention, but it looked like it. I'm … glad I didn't succeed. I wouldn't want to go that way. Hopeless, disillusioned. If I have to die at least let me die with something beautiful still in my heart.
Or maybe I don't want to die at all. Maybe I want to hold on. For the first time in the last weeks, I have this tiny hope in the back of my mind. A little sliver of faith that maybe, just maybe, we will get through this. I'm a little bit readier to at least try.
I didn't feel this way earlier. I felt like I was in a waiting room for death, and the doctor was running infinitely late for my appointment. Maybe I tried to take matters into my own hands. To be honest, I was on autopilot. My intentions were unclear, even to me, even now.
The dragons have started to land in the middle of the streets, on buildings, everywhere. They sniff around a bit, and then they take off again. People are hiding, even more terrified of going outside lest one of them decides they're hungry.
I'm like everyone. I find them intimidating, unnerving. And when an enormous one, the size of an old-time house landed in front of my apartment building, I definitely held my breath. For what felt like several minutes, it did nothing. Just sniffed lazily around. Then it let out a few cries, maw to the sky. Or maybe it was aiming them at us, up high in our homes. I stood there, frozen in my window, knowing I should probably hide, but unable to take my eyes off it.
And then I needed to get closer. I needed to know what it wanted. This waiting around in terror, it never suited me. It makes my imagination go wild with cruel inventions. So I went outside. I ignored Cait's door opening, her strangled whispers asking me where I was going. I couldn't answer her. To the others who asked me on my way, I just said one word. Outside.
The farther down the stairs I went, the less I could sense my legs shaking. My body felt dull and distant. It was still painful, but in a weird way, like it belonged to someone else.
By the time I reached the front door, people were calling to me, exhorting me to get back. “Rosemary, don't do this! Come back! It'll kill you!” I walked straight ahead, trying to silence my guilt. I didn't want anyone to worry for me like I worried for them. It gnaws at you, to be so powerless. I guess I could have turned back, ran to the imagined safety of our homes. I looked at the dragon instead. It was looking at me too, its reptilian eyes passing over me.
It looked even more terrifying from up close. And much, much more real.
I froze. I had made a mistake. I almost turned back, ran away. It probably would have caught me, if it had wanted to. I wanted to run, but I realized that I felt … good? I felt comfortable. My body was still wracked with pain, my lungs were still burning. But there was this pleasant warmth in the air, a warmth unlike anything I'd experienced, not since
the eruption covered the sky. After I don't know how long, I located its source. It was radiating from the dragon.
I closed the distance between us. Ignoring all my instincts, I lifted my arm, as high as I could raise it. Slowly, the dragon bent his neck down and sniffed at it, as a dog would. This reassured me, and I dared my next move. I laid my palm on its snout. It took me barely a second to place the sensation this caused. The sweet heat of sun on skin on a bright afternoon. Intense, but not unpleasant warmth. A myriad of other sensations seemed to come to me then. The pleasant slickness of scales. The soft breeze of its breath on my hand. Contentment. A deep contentment. The knowledge that no matter how bad you feel, the sun will rise tomorrow, and that someday, somehow, things will get better, you will feel better. A certainty that you take for granted when it's there, and that you forget when it disappears.
After a while, I got bold. I caressed the scales, hesitantly at first, and with more confidence when they warmed under my touch, like the dragon was inviting me to go on. I looked into its eyes, ready to stop and maybe scurry away at the first sign that my attention was unwanted, but it only blinked almost sleepily. Something about this expression chased away most of my fears. Its presence was comforting. I didn't need to say anything to it. Unlike with the others, there wasn't the weight of things unsaid between us.
The sound of gravel crunching drew me out of the moment. The dragon lifted its head, and I turned, both of us instantly locating the source of the noise. Cait's slight form stood at the entrance to the building, her face reticent. She was holding one of her arms with the other, hugging herself. I wanted to tell her it was safe, that at least I thought it was, but a determined expression crossed her brow, and she came towards us in rapid, rigid strides. She slowed down when she got closer, probably a little bit taken aback by the sheer size of the dragon, but after one look at me she finally took the last steps.
“It's … really warm. It's like feeling the sun again.” My voice came out thin and hoarse, and I almost jumped, surprised to hear it myself. Cait didn't comment, but her eyes opened with curiosity, and she extended a slightly trembling hand to the dragon, looking at me like she was awaiting approval.
“Go ahead. I think … they like it.”
She did, and her face lit up when her skin made contact with the scales. She turned to me, her excitement equal to a child's.
“It does! It does feel like the sun. Oh, Romy, it does!” She grabbed my wrist and pulled me closer. Bewildered for a moment, I joined in stroking the dragon while Cait squeezed my hand.
I don't know how long we stood like this, holding hands, rediscovering the sun on the surface of the dragon's skin, but when I looked up, others had joined us on the ground. A few of them were tentatively imitating Cait and I. Shaking at first, and then with eyes filled with delight. People barely exchanged words, groups of them huddling around dragons, communicating mainly by touch and exchanged looks. Sometimes, a series of coughs broke the silence, a grim reminder of our current predicament, but already, it didn't tear at my heart like it used to.
After a while, our dragon sniffed Cait and I, stretched its neck towards the sky, looked at us, and then took off, almost knocking us over with a warm gust of wind. Soon, the others followed suit, with one last nudge or sniff at the humans marveling at them. I tracked the one we had been caressing as it soared to the sky, higher than they usually seemed to circle. It went on, then broke through the layer of black clouds and disappeared. The other dragons, big and small, went the same way. All around me I heard sighs. My heart sank as low as it had been before.
But then, as quickly as it had vanished, our dragon came out of the clouds, dark smoke clinging to its wings. Then the dragon flipped on its side and started describing circles, half hidden in the layer of soot and gas. The others joined in, flapping their wings in short, methodical bursts, understanding its intent without the need of communication. Or maybe they have ways to communicate that are not apparent to us. I, too, understood its intent, not through some kind of wordless message. My imagination often takes me down some dark paths, but this time it was leading me to the path of hope. I prayed I was right in my hypothesis, and watched, nervous. There was a painful twist in my belly. I was afraid to be disappointed one final time. Cait squeezed my hand again, seemingly picking up on my fear.
The effects of their swirling and flapping started to appear to us all, and I was comforted in my painful hopes. The clouds … they were dissipating! They were still there, thick and heavy, but light dimly pierced through them, as if too shy to show its face so quick.
Joyful shouts burst from around us. Cait held my hand tighter. She was crying when I turned to look at her. The lower half of her face was all smile. Everyone still inside flooded the streets and courtyards. We stood in silent, awe-stricken groups, heads turned to the sky as the dragons slowly cleared away the oppressive volcanic clouds.
I stayed on my balcony all night, Cait sitting with me on the floor. She laid her head on my shoulder and held my hand. I'm writing this now while she sleeps. I can see the sun far on the horizon, about to rise. It's still dim, the dark curtain not completely eradicated, but already the air feels clearer, and I can hear the hum of our panels waking up. Things might not be easy, not for a long while. But I can feel something coming back to me. The ability to hope, the desire to look ahead. It can't quell all my fears, but it can keep the balance.
I can be like the sun. A little brighter, one day at a time, for as long as it takes me.
About Marianne L. D. Drolet
Marianne is a writer from Québec, Canada. She has always enjoyed fiction, and learned a lot from the comic books her dad would read her. She also drew a lot of dragons, and, according to family, they were masterpieces.
She owns a cat, named Mjölnir, or Mia Mia, but no dragon, for some reason. That cat is a cutie, though. In her spare time Marianne cuddles that cat, plays video games, makes terrible jokes, reads books and too many horror shorts.
Petrichor
by Megan Reynolds
Elena shut her eyes. The flower was just out of reach from this side of the wooden fence. There was no getting around it. She'd have to climb.
As she squeezed her feet between the slats and hauled herself up, she cursed her friends. Cal and Lara had done this on purpose, saying they didn't think she was brave enough.
“Yeah, right. Even you aren't reckless enough to go into the witch's garden and steal one of her flowers. Nobody's been in there since she came to town, for good reason.”
Well, she'd show them. Her grip began to slip, her right hand sliding down the dry wood and almost certainly embedding a half dozen splinters in her palm. No matter. She was so very close. Three, two, one—she heaved her torso over the top and swung her legs around, landing with a thump in the patchy grass.
Her hand stinging, Elena crouched close to the ground. Out at the edge of the farm, she couldn't imagine the witch would even notice her from the window of the house, but there was no harm in staying hidden.
Pale green and brown stalks surrounded her, and the ground was dotted with tiny spherical cacti. Taking care not to step on them, Elena crept towards the flower bush. Senna flowers were hard to grow, especially in a drought as endless as this one. She wondered if the magic that kept the flowers growing was the same that kept the rest of the town out of water.
No one else in town had a desert senna plant. No one but the witch. A single flower would be perfect proof of her nerve.
She stuck her hand into the mass of yellow petals, carefully grasped the base of a stem, and twisted. The witch would never notice one missing, and even if she did, who could say Elena had taken it? She tucked the flower into her shirt pocket.
As she started back up the fence, wincing at the pressure on her right palm, the wind picked up suddenly, hot and dry. Elena swung over the top. Once she'd landed, she shoved her hair out of her face and glanced behind her. Out over the dry hills, a large red form swooped and soared. The dragon.
>
Elena ducked instinctively. Maybe it hadn't seen her. There were rumors that the dragon could communicate with the witch. That's what a familiar did, right? Kept an eye on things for its witch. Well, if the dragon had seen her, she was colossally screwed. She whispered a quick prayer and jogged back towards the town center, the tips of the yellow petals peeking out of her pocket.
* * *
The senna flower had only lain on the windowsill in Elena's room for half an hour when her aunt Gabriela knocked on the door.
“Come in!” Even though her room was connected to the rest of the house, her aunt always made a point to treat it as Elena's own space. People didn't live alone anymore because it was so much more efficient to share housing, but it was nice to have some privacy.
Gabriela stepped into the room and sat down beside Elena on her bed. “What did you do with your evening?”
“Oh, nothing much,” she hedged. “I talked to Lara and Cal a bit. We went walking around the edge of town. The desert's so lovely at sunset.”
“That it is. What did you—” She broke off, having caught sight of the flower on the windowsill. “Elena,” she said warningly.
“Yes?” Elena felt her stomach drop the way it always did when someone was disappointed in her. It was especially hard to hear disappointment in Gabriela's voice, after all she'd done to make her aunt proud.
Wings of Renewal: A Solarpunk Dragon Anthology Page 5
