The Last Dragon

Heroic conservation efforts couldn’t stop the dragons from following in the footsteps of all other megafaunas. Imminent extinction loomed.

I was ten the first time I saw a dragon. She was the last dragon on earth.

A crowd of eager people clustered around the viewing windows and cooed the dragon’s praises.

“So beautiful,” a woman whispered to her children. They all nodded in agreement and chattered with excitement, smudging the window with greasy fingers and poking the informational plaque, interest already waning.

The dragon was beautiful, of course, all shimmering black scales, iridescent sheen, and thick, membranous wings. Her golden eyes held more cunning than every human squashed into the humid room combined.

More than anything, she was tragic.

The longer I looked at her, the harder it was to look at her. She was in pain. Perhaps physical pain from living in a cramped space. But the tragedy I felt from her was the kind that takes a lifetime to heal, the kind no one can see unless it’s a mirror of their own.

I told my parents the dragon didn’t belong in a cage.

They patted my head and uttered soothing words, to placate me and change the subject.

“They know how to take care of dragons here, Remi. And I’m sure she enjoys all the attention,” my dad said as he herded me towards the exit. I didn’t realize at the time what a dismissal it was. Not because I was young; children know when they’re being talked down to. I didn’t notice because I was too busy staring through the grubby window, wondering how to jailbreak the last dragon on earth. I hoped she wouldn’t eat me once I set her free.

I visited the dragon every chance I could. When my parents got tired of my begging, I asked Amberley’s mom to take me.

Amberley was my closest friend. I would say best friend, but I’m not certain I’m the kind of person who has a best friend and Amberley was the kind of person who had many best friends. Even so, she talked her mom into taking us for a while.

I guess Amberley’s mom got tired too. She got us bus passes so we could go ourselves.

Amberley came with me less and less.

I learned some friendships only go so far.

I was eleven when I learned the dragon’s name.

Petra.

A keeper, one I’d seen often due to my compulsion to visit the dragon, broke from his duties and approached me while I read the sparkly new plaque proudly proclaiming the dragon’s name in block letters along the top of the cold metal.

Amberley looked up from her phone briefly to eye the keeper. He didn’t hold her attention for long.

“You really like dragons, don’t you kid.” His smile was tentative but friendly enough. An ornate dragon tattoo crawled up his forearm and twined into the sleeve of his black polo shirt. The white tag on his chest read “Mark” in faded black script.

“I like this dragon,” I said. “I’ve never seen another one, so I can’t say for sure if I like them all.” I frowned. “But I guess she’s the last one to like.”

Mark nodded absently as he watched Petra, like he agreed wholeheartedly but he was busy assessing the same tragedy that kept me awake at night.

Ten-ton creatures don’t belong in the care of anyone but themselves.

“She’s sad in there.” I pressed as close to the glass as the black velvet rope allowed. My breath fogged the view in rhythmic puffs.

“Yes,” Mark said. There wasn’t much else to say.

The dragon shifted a blazing, gold eye to me and we stared at each other for ages.

Mark left after a while. I think he respected the quiet contemplation which happens between kindred spirits, especially those separated by vast chasms of the animal kingdom. I suspect he spent ample time of each shift in a similar staring contest with the dragon. He’d looked at her fondly enough that I believed it to be true.

The cunning I’d seen the first time I met Petra magnified twenty-fold as I stared into her eye. Such wisdom. Such personality.

Such sadness.

That was the last time Amberley came with me to see the dragon. Which was fine. I was old enough to ride the bus by myself, anyway.

Every visit after that day, Petra sought me out of the crowd and we stared. The cloistered room and bustling people faded away. I thought if I stared hard enough, she would sense my pain for her, sense I hated her tragedy as much as she did.

I never hated being a child until the day I realized there was nothing in my power to help Petra. Not immediately, anyway.

I researched schools and degrees I’d need to work with the dragon. Complicated degrees with complicated credits and even more complicated credentials.

Mark gave me a volunteer application when I was thirteen and promised to put a good word in for me. “We’re always short on volunteers in the dragon house,” he said as I left.

I clutched the application to my chest. I wasn’t willing to let this lifeline go.

Petra roared and the bundle of people peering at her scattered.

Mark chuckled and shrugged at me as if to say, “See what I mean?”

I volunteered in the dragon house until I was eighteen. They gave me menial work. But I got to stare at Petra and she stared back. I talked to her as I swept the viewing room or cleaned the glass—a never-ending job due to the never-ending supply of children who pressed their grubby faces to the window and a never-ending supply of parents who didn’t stop them.

I didn’t know if Petra could actually hear me. The glass was unbelievably thick. When I asked Mark, he said he talked to her too, and it didn’t matter if she could hear us, she understood the sentiment.

“Dragons are frightfully intelligent, Remi. They’ve forgotten more knowledge than human history can contain,” he said.

“She doesn’t forget anything,” I murmured and leaned on my broom, dust pile abandoned at my feet. I watched Petra watching me. “You can see it in her eyes.”

The ground vibrated as Petra hummed.

I like to think she agreed with me.

“Feeding time,” Mark said.

But maybe she was just hungry.

I read in a book that dragons like gold. My only treasure was a charm bracelet my parents got me for my eighteenth birthday. It wasn’t expensive, but it sparkled and chimed and it was precious to me. I slipped it under a cold slab of meat when Mark wasn’t looking and resumed my diligent mopping.

The next day, Petra sported a dainty new ring on her fore-talon. She cocked her head at me and hummed. When we stared, she blinked slow and steady, half-lidded eyes never leaving my face.

I read somewhere that cats only blink slowly when they’re in the presence of someone they love and trust.

Maybe it’s the same for dragons.

Charlie was my first boyfriend. We met near the end of my senior year of high school.

It didn’t last long.

He said I spent too much time with the dragon.

I told him I didn’t visit her near enough.

He asked for his necklace back.

“I gave it to Petra,” I said.

The door slammed so hard behind him, a picture of me and my parents fell off the wall and shattered on the dingy wood floor.

I cried as I picked up the pieces.

The next day, Petra paced the glass while I swept the yellowed tiles of the viewing room. She followed me around the room and hummed every time I looked at her.

The necklace sparkled next to her charm bracelet, wrapped twice around her talon. I spent the rest of my day wondering how she got the jewelry on, or if Mark helped her.

I wasn’t sad about Charlie anymore.

Dragons are better than boys anyway.

I got accepted to UC Davis. I applied for every scholarship and grant and ended up with a loan. It didn’t slow me down one bit. The rest of my life in debt was worth it for Petra.

We were apart for a long time.

I drove home every holiday and break.

My parents told me they’d prefer if I spent more of my holiday away from the dragon. They said “dragon” like one says “maggot” or “dead fish” or “mortgage”.

The earrings they gave me for Christmas were lovely.

“They’re real diamonds,” mom said as I admired the studs nestled in the plush, navy gift box.

Petra hummed when she found the earrings under her dinner.

They ended up threaded through the links of the charm bracelet.

Don’t ask me how they got there.

I left my sanity somewhere around finals week my junior year and I never found it again but I graduated top of my class.

Dr. Remi Graves. It was all very official.

Apparently, you don’t need sanity to earn a Ph.D.

I filled out my job application the day I graduated, but it was really just a formality. Mark didn’t even look at it.

“You’re hired,” he said as soon as I walked into his office. The polished brass tag on his door declared him the Director of Dragon Care & Research.

We were both a long way from our broom wielding days.

"Here are your keys,” Mark said, a smile splitting his face. “You know where everything is.”

I twirled the keyring around my finger as I walked down the hall to the viewing room. “Any day now, darling,” I whispered and placed my palm against the window.

Petra hummed and a puff of steam trickled from her nostrils.

I wiped my handprint off the glass and wished the dragon sweet dreams before I shut off the lights and went home.

I broke Petra out a week later.

We left a good chunk of rubble in our wake, but the wind ripped through my hair and Petra roared so joyously as we flew, I really didn’t care.

The only regret I had was that Mark didn’t get to say goodbye to her. Maybe I regret not saying goodbye to him either. But I saw him on the news after I stole Petra, and really, he didn’t look terribly upset. Sure, he promised a full investigation and swift punishment, but I saw it in his eyes. The relief. The happiness.

He didn’t have to look into those cunning, sad eyes any longer.

His friend was free.

I read an article about Dian Fossey when I was a kid. She lived with gorillas in Rwanda while she studied them.

There aren’t any gorillas here, but I’m happily following in my childhood hero’s footsteps.

It turns out, Petra wasn’t the last dragon on earth.

She was the last one we knew about.

Bet you didn’t know there are still places remote enough to hide a troop of ten-ton reptiles.

Well, a troop of ten-ton reptiles and me.

Someday the world will be ready for us to come back.

Maybe we’ll learn better the second time around.