Written By: Josefine Petersen
All he felt was disbelief. That tree didn’t look anything like he remembered. Not too long ago it had been magnificent, majestic, ruthless in its blatant beauty. Mysterious in its lonesome climb towards the sky. Now it merely seemed like any other tree to him. Still beautiful, sure. But seriously lacking those awe-inspiring qualities it had confided in him that time. Not too long ago that tree had stunned him breathless. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out what was different, what had changed.
The young man in the glasses was sitting on the same old bench, sipping hot coffee. Just like he had that time, not too long ago. That tree had once altered his perceptions of life. Now his mind boggled at its plainness. He kept gazing at it, perplexed, searching for an answer.
Suddenly, a thought occurred to him. Rather, it almost occurred to him, for it was in and out of his consciousness faster than he could seize it. Something big, he was certain of that, he felt that to his core. Something grand, an epiphany of some sort. If he could only remember what it was. He could almost taste it at the tip of his tongue. His mouth started watering. All he wanted was to devour that thought, blend it with his essence. Surely a recipe for greatness. Yet, he couldn’t quite get there. It kept teasing him, hinting little glimpses of vast sights. He kept teetering right on the edge of something spectacular. He could almost smell the shiny aroma. But at the last second he unwillingly regained his balance. The thought had vanished. Out of sight, out of mind. Or in his case, out of mind, out of sight. No origin of creation. No destination other than lost.
He kept staring at that tree. His disappointment in the seeming demise of that tree overwhelming him.
That’s when he saw it. There was something in the tree. On one of the branches, something was moving. He tried to focus his eyes on it, but it was hard. So tiny was this object, this thing. Small, yet somehow immense at the same time. Whatever it was, he had never seen anything like it, he knew that. He could sense that, before he could even truly see it. In trying to identify this thing, he concluded it was neither a bird, nor a squirrel. This thing was cockier in its demeanor, much more in your face.
“It can’t be…” he said to himself as he blinked a few times.
Still unsure of what he was looking at, he removed his glasses and rubbed the lingering sleep out of his tired, bloodshot eyes. After putting them back on, he focused all his energy on this one thing.
“No way…“, he murmured as the realization came full force upon him. The ax had fallen.
“I’ll be damned… If it isn’t… A tiny little dragon!”
Not sure as to how to react, he gave off a confused chuckle.
“Wait a minute. Looks like it’s trying to mouth something… What is it? I can’t quite make it out…”
Squinting hard to see what the little dragon was mouthing, he unknowingly moved his lips along with it, mimicking it.
Electricity crept up his neck as the recognition surged through him.
“Fuck me… It’s mouthing ‘Fuck you’”, he whispered to himself, giggling incredulously.
As he kept looking at the little dragon, he got more and more hypnotized by the tiny little monster. He felt himself unable to move, unable to breathe. His eyes were fixed on it.
The deepest emerald green, its coarse dragon skin was. Eyes burning red like the shiniest of rubies. Microscopic specks of yellowish gold outlining its pupils. Like a thousand tiny suns circling a moon, the blackest of moons. Its face all squashed together as if it had just caught a whiff of a foul odor. Its mean mouth told a thousand stories, yet left all to the imagination. Carvings of blue sapphire oceans on its tale and wings. Wicked dragon features, strikingly beautiful in all its ugliness. Splendidly grotesque, really.
The young man in the glasses on the old bench was now covered in goose bumps, trembling with excitement. Never had he witnessed such a creature before. This tiny little dragon now consuming all his attention, all his power, all his being.
The little dragon started bobbing its head. Lifting its dragon paws up in the air, waving them from side to side, oozing with fierce attitude, it started rapping.
“Now throw your hands in the air, and wave ‘em like you just don’t care… I said, throw your hands in the air, and wave ‘em like you just don’t care…”
Over and over. There was a rhythm to it. Soothing, intoxicating. The little dragon’s movements were enthralling, mesmerizing. The spectacle left the young man in a trance-like state.
“Is anyone else seeing this?” he wondered dizzily. But he couldn’t move his head to look around. Not even for a millisecond could he tear his eyes away from this little beast.
The little dragon segued from rap to opera. Singing Moon River, rolling the R’s to perfection. Its stunning voice bounced from hill to hill, echoing through the mountains of days past. The young man was consumed, held hostage by a song so raw.
All of a sudden, the singing stopped. Such a silence was unrivaled throughout history. The little dragon brought its paws down to its side, as it twisted its gruesome face into a horrendous smile. Simply adorable. Fear was all around.
The tiny beast opened its jaws wide, rendering the young man utterly helpless. An unearthly sound came from within. Stars came shooting out of its dragon ears like fireworks, lightning struck from its eyes. Day turned into night, an eternal night. The young man was now falling through an endless sky.
A small army of skeletons, dressed in 60’s suits, marched out of the little dragon’s nostrils, grabbing its mouth and in a joint effort parting its jaws even further.
From this gaping hole poured a waterfall of obscenities. The incredible power of one drop gave the next strength to follow. The young man was almost drowning in this absurd waterfall. This was chased by a forceful stream of truths and untruths, revelations, secrets, shadows, light, colors, shapes. The meaning of life flashed by, but was quickly obscured by the next downpour of facts, thoughts, dreams, reality, feelings, clouds, sunlight, hurricanes, thunder, lightning, smiles, laughter, myths, tears, voices from millions of people, deafening silences, hummingbirds, rainbows, war, peace, cookies, heat, snow, friends, ghosts, enemies, kitties, naked bodies, blood, Bob Marley, lives, death, to be or not to be, eyelashes, deserts, mountains, planets. An avalanche of darkness, insecurities and love. A glistening, glittering, sparkling flood of letters, words, sentences, worlds. Universe upon universe. Infinity upon infinity.
“Trickle, trickle, little dragon…” he hissed.
The young man didn’t realize it, but he was now on top of the bench, dancing. He had witnessed a volcano explode, leaving him to dance around in the softly falling remnants of that explosion, showering him with dirt, debris, flowers, angel dust, mud and meteors. He was screaming at the little dragon.
“Show me your guts, tiny little dragon! What’s it like to dress your outside with your inside? Show me what it’s made of, the inside of your being! Show me more!”
He couldn’t get enough, he was insatiable. Euphoric at the brink of hysteria. People walking by got frightened and hurried their step. To them he was oblivious. He was jumping, pointing, laughing, dancing, shaking, crying, barking, twisting, screaming.
“There’s a tiny little dragon in the tree! The tiny little dragon wants to eat me!”
Sweating and panting from all the excitement, his face red, his voice hoarse, he kept yelling.
“Show me more, you tiny little monster! Show me all you’ve got! I dare you!”
“That’s all you’ve got, you fucking coward?” he taunted. “Come on! Impress me you mighty little beast, I beg you!”
He wanted to dress himself in the little dragon. He wanted to drink it. He wanted to rub it all over himself. He wanted to smoke it, kill it, kiss it. Hug it and console it. He wanted to throw it to the dogs, wipe his ass with it, wrap it in a bow.
“I fucking love you! I love the shit out of you, you delicious fucker!”
Howling hysterically, he took a wrong step on the old bench and came tumbling down to earth. The fall hit him hard. For minutes he couldn’t move, desperately gasping for air. Once he caught his breath, he stirred around on the ground for a while, until he could get his bearings and haul himself up on his elbow. Winded and hurting, he managed to get himself back up on the old bench. He brushed dirt off his shirt and pants. His hand was bleeding.
“Trickle, trickle, little drops of blood…” he mumbled.
Somehow his glasses had managed to stay put. He was sitting bent over for a long time, elbows on knees. Unsure of what had just happened, he stared at his throbbing hand, felt the pain throughout his body.
Finally, he straightened up and leaned back against the old bench. He looked up at that tree. The tiny little dragon was gone. All that was left was that uninspired excuse of a tree. He was overwhelmed by a sadness so great. The absence of the little dragon was the heaviest of burdens to bear. He wanted to crawl out of his skin. Everything itched, he felt nauseous. He felt awkward, naked, lonely. He felt abandoned. Tears started streaming down his cheeks. He didn’t care.
“Trickle, trickle, little teardrops…” was all he said.
He closed his eyes for a second and focused on his heartbeat. The tears had dried when he opened his eyes again. He noticed the coffee cup next to him on the old bench. He grabbed it and took a sip. The coffee was cold. He shrugged and took another sip.