The Last Dragon

“The world is a great wasteland that every person who saves themselves is a hero. They are a spark for the world, a light for us all - a mythology.”

Joseph Campbell

The dragon laid low, flat to the ground - listening to the vibrations and rumbles. Patiently lying, waiting, its eyes glazed over, more dangerous in a trance - did you hear the weakness?

"Please, please Daddy, pleeease don't go, the little girl sobbed!” eyes wide, tears streaming down her face. She was scared, so frightened. Compassion in his eyes he pulls her into his arms. He smells good, he is strong and big and his voice soothes her. There is no denying she is his daughter for she is almost the spitting image of him except for her gold hazel eyes, these she inherited from her mother. He holds her, strokes her hair and she feels small, safe and warm. He makes her laugh with another goofy story filled with corny jokes and soon she forgets the terrors.

It is another midnight feeding, a common event for them. Sometimes her brother joins them but not tonight. Tonight it is just the two of them.

He starts to sing "Oh the Hannibal King with the big nose ring," she giggles softly so as not to wake her brother or her mother. She holds onto him tighter wishing with every beat of her heart he would stay.

She cannot not remember when the beatings began. When her mother rages, she beats the little girl and her brother with anything she can find, a wire coat hanger, a brush, a belt or a kitchen utensil. Then her plea is "mommy please don't, pleasse mommy don't."

The beatings are not as bad as being pushed down the stairs; this act is terrifying for her. Slow motion takes over as she watches her mother shove her in another rage and down the stairs she tumbles. Each step seems to well up like a wave before she hits it and again another step and another until she lays crumbled at the bottom of the stairs.

"No mommy please don't hit me again, please mommy don't, please don't leave me in here again. Mommy I am hungry, I am so hungry. Daddy please come home, please feed me Daddy. Daddy calm Mommy down, tell her not to hit me anymore, not to yell at me anymore. I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Sometimes her mother makes her stand in the corner with her hands clasped behind her back, her head tilted up to stare at the ceiling. She stands there in her little body so long that her arms ache and her neck pinches in agony. If she breaks the pose, sometimes minutes are added. Time moves so slowly. The moments burn in her mind of the pain she can not tolerate another moment. She gets tired and drops her head or her hands and if she is caught this time she is beaten and put back in the corner.

Much of the time, she is expected to stay on her bed all day and not move off of it. She is not allowed to eat or make any noise that her mother can hear. During these times she kneels on her bed so she can stare out the window. She wonders why all the kids are playing in the street. She wonders if they are thrown down the stairs or hit or if they eat. She stares for long stretches of time, watching, these thoughts repeating over and over in her mind.

Her dad is her only comfort and he is leaving again, “Please daddy” she whispers. He stands, gently picks her up and squeezes her tightly. She starts sobbing softly, “nooo daddy.” He kisses her and slowly lowers her to sit on the kitchen chair by herself. “I love you baby. You be a good girl and go back to bed,” he offers.

“Ok daddy, I love you,” she murmurs, her eyes pleading. He turns and heads for the door, his shoulders slumped and his eyes water. Resigned, his pace picks up. His thoughts turn toward his future. He is moving toward the pictures in his head as he crosses the threshold of the front door, pulling the keys from his pocket and closing the door behind him in one swift graceful movement.

She is alone now…except for the fear - which seems bigger than her.

And then she hears him. Something sniffing at the back door of the kitchen where she sits. She turns to peer at the small window in the door adorned with a lace curtain top. She gasps when she sees the eyes, those eyes are on fire. They seem to dance within themselves with flames of yellows, oranges and reds. Then the pupils dilate, he is looking at her.

The dragon snorts and she sucks in a breath of no air and flinches. He closes his eyes slowly and opens them with an easy motion. He closes his eyes slowly again and opens them, his eyes seemingly softer than the moment before. She cannot stop gazing at the flames in the dragon’s eyes. She is becoming mesmerized. He continues to open and close his eyes and begins to sway his head back and forth. It lulls her and she begins to sway with the dragon’s head. The dragon slows down, closing and opening its eyes until his eyes are shut more than open. When his eyes do open the dancing flames are now a slow rhythmic movement furthering the little girl's enchantment. The dragon’s breath also echoes the sway of its open and closing eyes and its head moving back and forth. She does not close her eyes. She wants to see every moment.

She begins to know the dragon is not going to hurt her. His eyes become soft, gentle in the brief moments they are open. A kind of wisdom surrounds the dragon. There are no words for these moments to a five year old, there is just knowing. Tenderness grows between the eyes of the dragon and the little girl.

Then came the moment when she wants something more from the dragon, she wants to touch the dragon. She climbs down from the kitchen chair not taking her eyes off the beast more than she has too. Not because she is scared but because she wants to focus only on the dragon. The dragon opens his eyes just a little, they look like slits, slits that project an invitation. The trance pulls the girl closer.

She slowly, quietly walks three feet to the back door. She puts her small right hand on the knob of the door. She unlocks it with her left hand. She is left-handed, just like her father. Then her left-hand joins her right, turning the knob to the right. The door opens inward and soon she can feel the warmth of the dragon's breath. The warmth of a womb. The familiar feeling pulls her towards the dragon. She puts her left hand on the dragon’s snout and then her right hand. Standing there, they both stare at each other with contentment. She has a protector, while he has a treat.

He nuzzles her, slowly moving his snout back and forth across her hands. She did not notice his haunches had begun to rise. He backs up a few feet. She follows him, she wants to keep her hands on his muzzle. He backs up a few more feet and again she follows. He continues this until they are 20 feet away from the two-story house in the backyard. With her hands still on his nose, he begins to circle her and she moves in a circle to his movement. It is a movement so slow they appear to be standing still in her mind and she can hear his heart beating.

He begins to circle faster and she too matches his moves. She smiles and so does the dragon. His eyes begin to dance faster, the flames seem to lick outside of his eyes, almost touching her she thinks. She is circling faster and begins to giggle with the movement and the flames. She is dizzy in delight dancing in the magic that fills every inch of her as only a small child can embrace. She doesn't notice the dragon’s tail begins to shift back and forth. After all she's lost in the fantasy that she has no words to describe. This is a moment of transcendence. This is a movement where she is free.

The dragon begins to rise, lifting his head above her. She is no longer touching the beast with her hands, they are high in the air, she is twirling with her eyes closed, softly she laughs. The dragon looks down at her as he continues to rise, his smile wide now, his tongue flickering out to taste the top of her head. She is delicious and no longer able to hold himself, he swallows her whole. Then the sun begins to rise…

Years later at my father’s death bed, he looks at me, soft at first and then he recognizes me. His eyes grow wide and there are words he is trying to speak but all he can utter are grunts and half formed syllables. He works at it for a few moments, moments that are in slow motion; seconds that seem like eternity because I know these are my last with him on this earth. Time where I am reaching back across some void to touch him, to let him know I understand and I will always love him. My communication is like his, crippled in its human pain and grief, a deep sadness races through me.

My dad turns his head away from me and he starts to weep. Long tired sobs and short anxious inhales, my heart lurches. His face is wet with tears, he doesn’t acknowledge me.

In thoughtful reverence, I say softly, “I love you dad, always. May peace be with you.”

I am alone now…except for the fear - which is bigger than me.

My armor has a reason, a purpose. My heart's yearning is not what I had dreamt, transition is my fog now. Not long ago I saw the core of my existence splitting. I felt as if I was unraveling in that moment, that I would disappear and cease to exist in this world. I didn’t understand it is a rebirth I am experiencing, the fork in the road is no longer. The possibilities and ramifications haunt my thoughts, the can I’s and the will I’s are the hopes and dreams and the fear is the skin I am shedding.

The change is here, the mask is falling and forgiveness is my most common plea. Open and resolved, I am free again.

Freedom is not possessive, not addictive, not competitive - it is the life that dwells within me. It is the dream that commands me; hence the prophecy comes.

The dragon has laid low, very low flat against the ground, listening to the vibrations and rumbles. Patiently lying in wait - did it hear the weakness?

The knight being revealed the true colors of her soul remembers the anguish, sees the evil, and knows the ambush.

Both gather strength knowing the fight will come. It is destiny - no one will escape.

I have been challenged and my sword has been drawn, come, wicked enemy, the fight is peace and the battle is freedom.