Fate Of The Dragon

by Richard Lovegood

  “In the desert you can remember your name

  ‘Cause there aint no one for to give you no pain.”

  The pitter patter of light rain dances across my back, and I awake with a silent scream. After that brutal nightmare with the blood rain, it’s hard to think of any kind of rain as being peaceful. The dirt around me has already begun to receive the rain with joy, as the two become mud in holy matrimony. For a brief moment, I consider imitating a pig and covering myself from head to toe in mud. Then I dismiss that thought, because I just don’t want to move any more. Besides, this mud isn’t from a spa. Therefore, it won’t help me relax.

  The sun hasn't come up yet. So, it’s either right before dawn, or my nap was very short. I curl up into a ball, and I try to force myself to go back to sleep. My broken hip is the one facing the sky. It would be incredibly stupid if I were to lay on it. On account of the pain, however, I cannot curl up into a full ball. The leg that the injury is attached to just lays limp and outstretched. All I can do now is lie here in a muddy mess. If I ever survive, this would make such the perfect “woe is me” story. I shut my eyes and wait for death.

  “Why did you have me come out here? There’s nothing out here. I know that You called me here to figure out this last phase, but in the middle of nowhere?”

  Who is that? Am I dreaming? If I am, I’m prepared to get yelled at again for something I didn’t do. However, I have no idea whose voice that is.

  “Yes, I know. But why here? I see no one! If I’m to look for this person that you want me to pray over, it should be blatantly obvious to tell the difference between a human body, and a bunch of freaking dirty rocks! Are you blind? Are we not seeing the same things here?”

  So far so good. I’m not in trouble. This may turn out to be a pleasant dream after all.

  “You're right. I’m sorry. I’ve been standing here for way too long, and nobody has shown up yet. I’ve already counted the stripes on this roadblock ten times. I’ve even counted the light sequence of the flashing yellow caution light. By the way, if the department of transportation cares enough, they’ll get it fixed. But I doubt that, because this little town is a garbage dump.”

  Ok. This is starting to sound more real than dream. I open my eyes a bit, and I see a man slumped over the roadblock. But who is he talking to? I don’t see anyone around him, and I don’t see a cell phone of any kind. What is this? Who is he? He must not be from around here, especially if he’s calling my town a garbage dump. I listen for more information.

  “I’m sorry. You’re right again, as usual. I just don’t see the point of waiting for something that isn’t here.”

  There’s silence for a bit.

  “I don’t follow. What do You mean “he who has ears to hear”? The man says.

  More silence.

  “Yes sir.” He says as he hangs his head. It's the same look that a young child would get after their parents tell them to stop arguing. But this guy must be at least in his mid-thirties. I’m going to try to get his attention. I can tell he walked all the way out here, because there isn’t a car nearby. Well, car or no, I hope this strapping young lad is up for a challenge. Could he carry me though? All the way to the hospital? I lift my hand in the air and slowly wave my hand at him.

  “Sweet Jesus! What is that? That rock just moved!” The man is stunned. He runs around the blockade, in my direction, and swoops down by my side to shake me.

  “Ow!” I manage to shout in a hoarse whisper.

  It may not have sounded painful, but my face must have surely shown how much pain I’m in because the man recoiled back instantly. “Oh, my goodness! I am so sorry sir. Did I hurt you?” he asks.

  I shake my head slowly.

  “Well that’s good. Where are you hurt?” he asks. He sounds genuinely concerned, kind of like Steve from the thrift store used to sound before Rebecca left.

  I point to my bad hip.

  “Did you fall and break it?”

  I shrug my shoulders.

  “Sir, are you mute?”

  I shake my head, and I try my best at charades to show him I need water. He instantly gets the message and pulls a 1.5-liter bottle of water from his backpack.

  “Dude, your lips are cracked and bleeding. Please drink this. Finish the whole bottle if you need to.” He says reassuringly.

  I happily take the bottle from him as he cracks the seal right before letting go. I start with a sip, and I feel every drop caress my mouth and the back of my throat. I’m not sure if any of it makes it to my tummy. I take another sip, and the water makes it all the way down this time. It’s stunning how refreshing and revitalizing a few sips of fresh water can be! With this renewed sense of strength, I turn the bottle upside down and begin to guzzle. Water courses down my throat, and I close my eyes with how good this feels. I suddenly appreciate and understand how athletes feel after they do a great deal of running. With that same understanding I believe it’s ok to be a sloppy drinker, because I feel some of the water make its way out the sides of my mouth and run down my beard. That feels really weird.

  “How do you feel now?” the man asks me.

  “B-b-better.” I say as I look away in horror after I stutter.

  “Great! I’m glad the water helped. What’s wrong? Did I scare you somehow?” he seems very puzzled.

  “No.” I quickly spurt out.

  “Are you cold?”

  “N-n-no. I’m j-j-just not used to p-p-people being k-k-k…” I stop myself short because my stutter is becoming more pronounced, and I don’t want this young man to think I’m some stammering idiot.

  “…kind to you regardless of your stutter?” he asks in a compassionate tone. “My mom was born with a stutter. I’m used to it, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He stretches out his hand for a greeting. “I’m Duncan. Charley Ray Duncan. You can call me Chuck if you want.”

  “You are a v-v-very kind y-y-young man. Thank you.” I say as I extend my hand to shake his.

  “So, I have to ask. How did a crusty old hermit like you end up on the edge of this poor town?” Chuck asks me.

  I honestly have no idea where I should start, or how much detail to give him. Would he believe me? Or would I just come across as a hopeless stuttering fool? Based on how friendly he has been so far, I feel like it’s probably safe to confide in him. However, I’ve been hurt so many times over the years that I don’t have any more room in my heart for more. If it were a hotel, there would be a “no vacancy” sign hanging by a single nail.

  A hissing sound arises and says, “Did you hear the judgement and condemnation? Do you really think that there’s a kind person left who can even tolerate you?”

  I answer in a bitter tone, “Is that h-h-how you s-s-see me? D-d-do I look crusty?” I can feel my blood pressure rising. “Y-y-yes I am old, but not th…th…th…that old. I’m o…o…o…only 51. B-b-b-but I resent the c-c-c-crusty comment! D-d-d-do I look like a leper with s-s-skin cracking everywhere?” Chuck shakes his head no. Tears begin to well up in my eyes once more, thanks to the water intake. I begin shouting at him. “WHY M-M-MUST YOU T-T-TORMENT ME?” I don’t see him anymore, but a vague image of my mother that has suddenly fixated itself in Chuck's place. “I H-H-HATE YOU M-M-MOTHER! L-L-LEAVE ME ALONE!” I collapse back into the mud and begin to sob heavily.

  Chuck remains silent for a while. He finally says, “Dude. I’m not your mom.”

  My sobbing stops. The last tear falls and stops halfway down my cheek. I pick up my face to look at him again, and I find relief that my mother does not stand before me. It’s still Chuck, and nobody else. I blink my eyes and turn my head away in embarrassment. Chuck squats down and places his hand on my shoulder. He doesn’t say anything, but I can tell that he is sincere. His touch is warm and gentle. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that before. I look towards Chuck and say, “Thank you. P-p-please forgive m-m-me. I am j-j-j-just an old, f-f-fat man with nothing left to o-o-offer.”

  Another hiss comes forth, “Don’t think I
’ve forgotten about you, fat boy. You will die out here. Don’t think he’s here to save you. You are pathetic. You are worthless. Nobody wants you. Nobody cares for you. He’ll turn his back on you just like all the rest.”

  I cringe and shrink away from Chuck again.

  “What's wrong dude?” he asks me.

  “N-n-nothing.”

  “That was weird. It was like for a small moment, the air got really cold around you. But I need to ask you a question.” Chuck says. He waits for any kind of acknowledgement, but I don’t offer any. I just sit here in silence. So, he continues. “Why do you call yourself fat? The old part I get, but you must be out of your mind if you think you are fat. Dude, you look like some kind of wizard in tattered green sweats.”

  I look down at my body, and Chuck is right. I have no earthly idea as to how it happened; but it has. I guess it never really occurred to me back when I first woke up. Although, I obviously noticed that my pants refused to stay up no matter what I did. The obvious and unavoidable truth is this…I’ve lost a lot of weight

  I slowly move myself up and over to where I can sit on my bottom. That way I can stop supporting my weight with my arms; well at least what is left of it. It also gives me a better ability to see this Chuck fellow a lot better. As I sit down, I have to stretch out my legs, and I have to lean on one side because of my hip. It still really hurts a lot. Despite the pain, I begin to examine myself. I move my sleeves back one by one to reveal skinny and frail arms. My sweat pants reveal legs that seem to resemble mine but are a lot thinner than I remember. I look down at my feet and…MY FEET! I can actually see them this time! I smile with a sudden shock of joy, and instantly I grab my tummy. It’s smaller too! Oh, happy day! Chuck sits there still waiting on his answer. Right. I turn to look at him and just shrug my shoulders.

  “Hmm. The only thing I can think of is that you’re a lunatic, or you're anorexic. Am I right?”

  I shake my head at both. “Y-y-You wouldn't b-b-believe me if I told you.” I say.

  “Buddy, based on the kind of week I’ve had, I’m willing to believe anything.” Chuck says.

  I laugh. There is no possible way that his week trumps the experience I had out in the desert. However, my curiosity is peaked. “Oh? D-d-do tell.”

  Chuck sits down. “I will,” he says. “But first I really think I need to let you go first.”

  “Where would you like m-m-me to s-s-start?”

  “To quote a certain fictional hare from a children's book, ‘Start at the beginning, and when you get to the end; stop.’” Chuck says with a grin.

  I grin as well. I remember that scene from Alice in Wonderland all too well. Such a fabulous little tale that one was. I go all the way back to when Jeffers became the new priest at the church. I complained about my radio a bit, and then quickly gushed over the amazing food at the Dragon's Garden. I mentioned my experience with Mei Ling…on both occasions. I expressed the concern I have with Jeffers…not only of how he treats me, but because of how I don’t agree with his methods of theology. I then described in full detail of what I remember hearing that day I made a fool of myself and fell on the altar. I told him about Steve and the incident with the reporter, after the thrift store burnt down. Then, I told him how I ended up here a few days ago, after the fire, and how some hired goons dropped me off out here. I mentioned how they had to have been Jeffers' henchmen, because they were waiting for me when I drove to the church the last time. Then lastly, I told him about the dreams I had been having; including the last one where I almost drowned in blood.

  Chuck just sits there. His grin becomes wider.

  “What?” I ask. “D-d-did I say something wr-wr-wrong?”

  “Nope! In fact, all of that makes perfect sense. Well, except for the last little bit about the shock rocks. I’ve never seen those before. What I do know is that all dreams have some sort of meaning. Sometimes, they are direct messages from the Father. Other times, they are just mere short films to entertain us while we sleep. Then, there are the times when the enemy tries to infiltrate and scare you while you while you sleep. I say that to say this, what do you think this particular dream was about?”

  I need to know what happened while I was gone. Why is my city on fire? Why does it look ruined and practically demolished? I know that those questions, though heartbreaking, will take at least another 10 minutes to ask. Instead I think I should just ask him how he came to be here.

  “I want to know w-w-why you are out h-h-here. H-h-how did you g-g-get here, and p-p-p-please d-d-don’t s-s-skip the details.” I say.

  “Well, let me see.” Chuck begins. “I guess it’s kind of a long story as well. Is that okay?” I simply nod my head. “Cool. Well, my wife and I had been living in a really big city one state over for about two years. I was working as an entry level sales rep, until one day my boss offered me a promotion in another city. I gladly accepted the offer and immediately went home to go tell my wife. She wasn’t too excited at first, but she warmed up to it after she had some time to process her emotions. Women are weird like that.

  “Anyway, we packed everything into the back of a rental trailer and moved to our new home in Los Ricos. It was amazing! Bright lights everywhere, loads of people, and great potential for someone like me in the world of sales. I could easily see myself walking up and down the main strip just talking to one person after another. It was going to be so easy!

  “We started off by renting an apartment for the first 6 months, until we had saved up enough to buy a house. To our good fortune, it only took 3 months. We chose to buy a house that was just outside of the city. It was perfectly located…just close enough to still see everything, but far enough away so that you couldn’t hear everything. Does that make sense? It was so great! I had enough space in the back yard for a new grill, and room to host bar-b-ques and such. Out in the front yard, my wife had plans to decorate from corner to corner with all types of flowers. If it were up to me, I would have them in a set order: mums, tulips, roses, chrysanthemums, and whatever other kinds are out there. My wife? No. She would lay out a planogram on the kitchen table before even going to the store to buy any flower. Everything would be mapped out, picked out, and laid out to a certain pattern. Which pattern? Why the female pattern, of course! Not to say that in a bad way or anything. It just doesn’t make sense to me, so I stay out of the garden. I’m the kind of guy that likes things in a symmetrical, systematic, and chronological order. If planting flowers were up to me, my wife would dig everything up and redo it simply because it wasn’t pretty.”

  “Yes, I have tried it once in case you were wondering.” Chuck laughs and smacks his leg. “Man, I crack myself up sometimes. Where was I? Right, the house. As much as my amazing wife loves the garden, the inside of the house is all hers. I don’t know how she does it all! She has such an incredible ability to keep everything clean and organized, and make sure all meals are squared away. Sometimes I think she has the harder job out of the two of us, ha ha!”

  “Anyways, I came home one day, and the house just seemed to invite me inside. I stepped out of my car, closed the door, and walked up to the front door. I was right about the inviting part. As soon as I opened the door, all of the lights were off. Candles were lit all over the place. I stood there with the door open and my mouth equally so, until I looked closer and noticed the pattern. Hundreds of tiny tea candles had been placed everywhere except for the path I was clearly meant to follow. I gently closed the door behind me. ‘Honey, I’m home!’ I said in a TV cliché tone. I heard a giggle and a splash. Oh, happy day! I left everything work related by the door and walked without delay back to our bathroom. Lo and behold, there my amazing wife sat. She was encased in a cloud of bubbles, and the only part visible was her beautiful face. There were more candles displayed around the bath tub, and next to the faucet was a bottle of red wine with two glasses. She winks at me and says, ‘Happy Anniversary honey. I figured you and I can try for a baby tonight.’”

  Chuck pauses. His eyes b
egin to tear up. “I guess I should step back for a minute. By this point in our marriage, we had been trying for five years to have a child. I had always wanted to have a big family. My wife only wanted two. That’s fine, though! I really am ok with however many kids we end up with. But, after five years of trying time and time again, you tend to get a little hopeless. After our first year, I thought my wife had given up trying to have kids. We tried every single night, within reason, to procreate. After that, it just kind of died down. It became once a week. Then it was once a month. I thought I had done something wrong. So, I tried a new tactic that was uncomfortable for me at first, but I kind of got used to it. I would be the one to…start things off each night. My plan was to get back into that same rhythm we had early on in our marriage. This went on for about two more weeks, until my wife stopped me one night by gently placing one hand on my chest. ‘No’ she said. ‘I need to tell you what the doctor told me. I’m infertile.’ Those were the last words we spoke to each other that night.

  “Weeks went by, and we were not active together at all. ‘How could this thing have happened?’ I thought to myself. My wife was crushed. A part of her body was broken, and she was blaming herself for it. I never blamed her and I can’t understand why she would blame herself either. So, I tried the sensible things. I brought her gifts like flowers and chocolate. I even brought her a huge five-foot-tall teddy bear. Yeah, it was a little over the top, but I got a big cheesy smile out of that gift. To this day, she still snuggles with it whenever I’m out of town. She likes it when I put a little cologne on it, too.

  “One morning, we were sitting at the table in the kitchen. We had just finished another silent breakfast and started on our coffee. ‘What are we doing?’ she asked me. I told her that I was hoping she had the answer, because I sure didn’t.