For those who lived in Casabonir, the tragic story of Princess Laegath was as ingrained as a nightly prayer. While not taught in schools or embedded in the pages of storybooks, the princess's story was a classic, grievous legend: kidnapped as a baby, left as a sacrifice in The Field of Dragons, never to be seen again.
Stay With Me, Baby
My father told me a story once about his first out of body experience. He had been young, 6 or so, the age when it seems like you shouldn't remember most things. This memory, though, remained clear as ice. It was freezing in Texas, with frost dusting the packed dirt around his family's farmhouse.
Don't Date Your Coworkers
The bathroom is where I find comfort lately. I realized it when I tucked myself into a stall at work, folded myself on top of the seat with no plans to use it, and buried my head in my hands to think. Some might find it odd, I thought, that I like it in here so much. It's the only place where no one will bother me. It's the only place where, if I need to think for a while, no one will ask what I'm doing.
I Should Have Known
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Sometimes, in the recurring daydream that I'd have— some may have called them episodes— there were big cats. Their giant paws would pad around me as I lay motionless in the forest, and their rough sandpaper growls would lull me back to sleep. Other times, there would be stags. Their magnificent antlers would glow and pulse with different colors every time I saw them, bathing me in blue, pink, orange, red...
The Pink Couch
I remember the first time I saw that pink couch. I was in Goodwill with Ellen. She was wandering around the men’s section, looking for a black leather jacket in the middle of summer, as she did. I saw her black hair bobbing up and down through the aisles across the store, and every now and then, she’d lift a piece of clothing up high in the air in the hopes it would reach my sightline for approval. Most of the time, I shook my head no. It was hard to get lucky in the Goodwill.
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Every now and then, the near-empty place in Imogen's hazy dreams featured aquamarine stags wandering through the overgrowth, or slow-moving yaks covered in rose petals, which they shook off like shedding fur. She never stopped to ask herself, 'what did it mean?' because it didn't matter. Nothing mattered in that place.