The Mother
3rd February, Story #34/366. This is the 4th in a series of super-short stories. You can enjoy it as a stand-alone micro, or if you'd prefer to read them in order (they're all very quick!) then *skip to the end* and I'll link them there.
Why doesn't she flame? Why doesn't she take back her baby and burn me to a crisp, and the whole forest with me?
Her enormous black snout inched through the circle, from her world to ours. Her long neck snaked behind it. The obsidian bulk of her beyond that blocked any view I might have had of the world where dragons live.
It took every bit of strength in my body to hold my injured hands out steady, cradling her dying baby. Her scalding breath blistered the skin anew. It hurt so much I whimpered, scrunching up my face, tears sliding down my cheeks.
"Take him!" I sobbed, almost screaming, near-hysterical with pain and fright. "Please take him, he's dying!"
She blinked her golden eyes. It looked like a shrug.
Other eggs.
"Then why? Why are you here?"
Her lip curled and her eyes narrowed.
For you. Thief.
It wasn't motherly love, then, that had her lash the skies with lightning. It was cold pride, that a puny human pup had taken something of hers. I brought him back to my chest, despairing at how cold he felt, and certain of my own death. Sorry, Mum.
"Please just save him, please!"
But why?
Anger billowed in me. I seized it, and stoked it, because being angry is better than being afraid.
"You're a... a... a shitty mother!"
I thrust him forward again, ready to beg. She opened her jaws, and for a moment I was put in mind of a crocodile mother, tenderly holding her young in her mouth full of knives.
If I wasn't too scared to think straight, I might've thought it was care for her baby that stopped her toasting me alive straight away. Then I might have guessed pride; she wouldn't incinerate her own. Then curiosity for the peculair behaviour of warmblooded creatures.
But I know now: it was revenge. She was considering how best to hurt me, and make it last.
The crunch of her jaws on my wrist, and the searing agony shooting through my body brought me screaming to my knees. Her roar passed over my head, singeing my hair. I passed out with the forest blazing around me.
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Word count (excluding note): 366
Submitted on 3rd February at 11.52AM
Minor edit: correcting some mistakes.
*Quick Author's Note*
Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment so I can reciprocate. Your thoughtful engagement is appreciated. If you enjoyed this, the best compliment you can give is to share it, or read another.
The story behind the story: This is #4 in a series of microfiction stories about this baby dragon. Here they are in order.
My "story every day" project: I'm writing a story every day this year. This one makes a 34 day streak. You can find all of them in my Index post. It's also pinned to the top of my profile.
If you're joining me on this "story every day" madne adventure, please leave a link to yours in the comments. Whether you're on a creative bent, like me, and writing mostly microfiction/stories, or whether you have your own, self-imposed criteria, I'd love to see what you come up with for today. I'll try to come back and edit this to link to your piece at the bottom.
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L.C. Schäfer
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