Walkers: Chasing Smoke

“There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. We used to live down thereafter all.” An elderly male stated as he peered at his fully captivated audience of about twelve youngins aged from four to seven years old. A little down the main pathway though, stood a young boy. He was definitely older then the oldest in the old mans’ story telling circle, but not an adult yet… He was only thirteen, next year though he would be considered a full fledged adult. Ether way, the young soon-to-be man stood within earshot of the story that was being told. He knew the story very well, but didn’t believe it himself. Dragons weren’t real. It was as simple as that really, but still he listened in from a distance.

“The Valley held many riches and food sources which we used to hold. That was until one unfortunate night, about thirteen years ago, the dragons invaded.” The shaggy old man said with a pause to allow the suspense of the kid to grow. Just before one of the younger kids had a chance to speak up, the old man lurched forward in his seat with both hands up in the shape of claws facing the kids. The kids jumped and screeched in startled surprise with the lurch before going back to listening to the continuation of the story. “In the starless night, they struck faster then the flash of lightning striking the ground. With claws like the finest crafted blades, and scales as red as the blood they spilled…”The tone of the old man was; slow, hushed, methodical, and even deeper then his normally high pitched and nasally voice. He was purposefully trying to scare them. It was working for everyone except the boy listening from a distance.

The boy in the distance shafted his stance as he leaned against a brick wall, taking the majority of his weight from his left foot to his right. He silently scoffed at the description of the so-called dragon, almost as if the descriptions themselves upset him. The old man started to talk again, but the boy cut him off before he could get going.

“Why do you lie to the small ones Greg!” He shouted across the way. Everyone in the circle listening to the story looked in the boys direction, including the old man; Greg. “Everyone knows there is no such things as ‘Dragons’, it’s all just made up to keep small children in line!” There was no anger or malice on the boys face, just his serious brown eyed graze and the look of confusion there instead while he wondered how anyone could believe Greg’s crap. The smaller kids looked back towards the old man and looked as if they were about to ask him something, however the brown eyed boy continued his rant. “All the older folks just tell us lies to control…”

“Christopher!” A stern yet soft female voice shouted from behind everyone, even the now confused boy who was doing the shouting before hand. He turned back to see who was yelling at him, even though he was already very familiar with the voice, and saw a middle-aged woman with long black hair that would normally flow just past the shoulder if it wasn’t pulled into a ponytail then curled into a bun on the back of her head as it currently was. The woman glowered at the boy she called ‘Christopher’ as she wiped dirt off her hands and onto the waist of her very well worn in tan dress. The dress was ragged, but it matched the weathered face and calloused hands she had. Still glowering at he brown eyed boy, the woman walked up to him from the dirt road corner she had just come from and grabbed him by the back portion of the ragged home spun beige shirt he had on. With a firm grip, she pulled and he followed or otherwise be dragged by the shirt. As the woman pulled Christopher away from the group, she continued the yelling. “How many times do I have to drag you out of town before you learn to not be such a pain in the ass?” The middle aged woman stated in a strong and firm, yet feminine and motherly tone. She was no longer looking at the boy, but rather forward in the direction she had recently come from herself. The boy just walked in silence beside the woman, looking at the main dirt road instead of towards where he was going. “Keep this up young man, you’ll see yourself with no respect in this town. You’ll see yourself all alone and maybe even exiled if you keep this up.” The woman continued. The words stung at Christopher like hot fire pokers, but still his eyes stayed on the dirt. “You are a bright boy, why are you bothering someone like Greg?” The woman’s voice had changed slightly, it wasn’t as stern as before but rather it had a hint of worry to it.

“Someone like Greg?” Christopher asked rhetorically as he looked up to the woman whom was leading him down the path. “Al he does is spout lies and bullshit stories…” He started as his expression became more firm. “… He lies about everything and has completely gone off the deep end with his garbage and you know it.” The boy continued as his voice gradually became louder and louder.

“You don’t know what he has gone through…” The woman started before the brown eyed boy cut her off.

“What he’s gone through?” Christopher started again as he stopped in his tracks, which caused the woman to halt as well to not strangle the child. “You’ve always told me to never lie, you preach to me about being a good man and yet you protect Greg. Someone who couldn’t tell the truth even if he had a blade to his neck…” He continued as he reached up and yanked his tattered shirt from the older woman’s grip. “…And you protect my adopted brother just the same mom. He beats me and everyone else who even tries to be nice to that dick.”

“Christopher Robinson!” The woman exclaimed as she moved in front of the young boy. “You will smarten up this instant before your father hears about this.” She stated as she stood firmly with one hand on her hip and the other hand pointing at Christopher. Her finger poking the young boy in the chest. Christopher glared up at his mother and narrowed his eyes before pushing the finger away from his chest.

“Great! He can beat me into more physical labor…” Christopher started as he continued to glare at his mother. “Hell, you can start beating me too for all I care. It seems like it is everyone’s favorite pass-time. I tried to be the best person I could be, but I get punished. I have an opinion and I get punished.” The statements were continuously turning into a shouting match between the two, and Christopher was the loudest. The young boy was about to continue his tirade, however his thoughts were interrupted when his mother reached over and slapped him across the face as what looked like tears started to well up in her chocolate brown eyes.

“We don’t ‘Punish’ you Christopher…” She tried to start as her voice cracked slightly. “Your father and I have tried everything to get you to see everyone else’s point of view and…”

“And what!” Christopher interrupted in an explosive shout right at his mother. “Force me to accept their views as my own? Not a chance!” With that, the young brown eyed boy turned on his heels and ran off down a side path while cutting corners as sharply as he could. His intention was simple, he needed to get away from his mother. Christopher wasn’t thinking of what path he was taking, he just wanted to get away as fast as he possibly could. Random people in neutral colored ragged clothes, and faces he would normally recognize turned into a blur as Christopher ran at full speed. The only thing he could see in any true clarity was a group of tall people who were covered fully in dark cloaks and hoods over their heads. They could have possibly been another group of pilgrims, but he couldn’t tell for sure and frankly he didn’t care at the moment. Ignoring those people and the rest of the blurs, Christopher rand for several minutes before slowing down to a gentle walk to look around to see if anyone was still following him. Once satisfied that his mother was no-longer following him, the young boy continued to walk around to get his bearings as he couldn’t remember what paths he took to get where he was. The path he was currently on where all dirt with small stones, and the structures around him were very basic in construction. The mud bricks and old wood panels in the construction, along with how spaced out the buildings were, told Christopher that he was on the far outskirts of the village just before the farmlands. He was quiet ways from the village center, that was for sure. With a heavy sigh, the young boy tried to push thoughts of punishment from his family down and tried to instead think about what his plans were for the year he became a man. He was thinking of maybe taking work with the local hunters, or maybe the local smith instead. Just anything besides working on that stupid farm. His thoughts were wrenched from his mind partway through his work planning as the sounds of screams echoed in the air. They sounded like they were behind him, so Christopher turned to look in that direction. His heart sank as he looked towards the center of the village and his face turned white. Smoke. All he could focus on was the thick black smoke that was pouring from the most densely populated area of the central village. Without a second though, Christopher took off in a full sprint towards the origin of the smoke. As Christopther sprinted, the screams became louder and more distinct. Both female and male voices could be heard, but no words… just screams. He pushed by a few people who were fleeing from the village, that was until a voice broke through the screams.

“The dragons are here!” A familiar voice called out. It was Greg’s voice mixed between the screams of terror or pain of the other village members. Christopher stopped in his tracks, and just stared. His vision was filled with crimson red scales, and razor sharp blades flying through the air. He was stunned in fear as he watched one of the dragons rush him. All he could feel was heat, heat and energy as he stood stunned still in fear as his eyes started to water… and change color.

*****

With a sudden jolt, the amber eyed man sat up straight in the simple straw bed he was laying in. Reaching up, he placed his hands on his face, The man was sweating extensively as he pulled his hands over his eyes and jawline, feeling the bristles of his very short beard growing in again. Taking a moment to gather his thoughts and breath, the only thing he could do was mutter one phrase to himself again.

“Damned dreams…”