Dreaming of Fireflies *rewrites*

14 | Where Dreams Begin

   Next day...

   I hold the drawing paper in my hand, like I'm clutching all the secrets to the world. An adult hellhound hand drawn onto the paper. The picture copied from the local library, Magical Creatures of the Old Kingdom.

   The hellhounds are going to grow up to be huge. I don't mean a little huge like a really big dog. Draft horse size huge. My notes on various topics of Old Kingdom flora and fauna burn a hole in my backpack. I copied from the books as much as a could. Some things I already knew other things I had no idea about. One thing for sure I'm not feeding them enough meat. Meat that has magic in it.

   When an animal eats grass that has pollution it concentrates the pollution into them. That pollution gets concentrated at higher and higher levels. When you go up the food chain, more magic gets charged into the creature and the food. It's why military bases and pockets of deep magic go hand and hand.

   The government wanted that magic in their soldiers, even if the soldiers weren't going to use it. A human with magic pollution can move slightly faster. It's like taking a vitamin combined low dose of coke. The result is almost always the same bigger, stronger, faster, beast and people.

   An arrow points at the direction of the defunct Air Force base from the sign. I take the opposite direction. I walk behind the Air Force base back towards the dragons vast property. My house is like a zit next to the dragons holding in deep magic.

   I walk past the half burnt mailbox at the end of the street. The mailman doesn't drive down the dragon's road. They keep putting in a new mailbox every time the dragon takes it down to char. The mailbox gets further and further back from the actual road. If the mailbox moves back anymore it's going to be on a whole other street. I don't blame the mail people. That's a lot to ask from a postal worker, and no amount of good pension can fix eaten.

   A blonde man with a cowboy hat on walks on the other side of the street. A chill burns deep into my skin. The wave of fiery power coming off the man is unmistakeable. It's like trying to hit a fly with a baseball bat complete overkill. He doesn't bother to hide is very destructive magical potential. Unmistakeable dragon.

   He wears cut off shorts with ragged edges. His with loose blonde hair under a cowboy hat was those surfer salt waves to it. He has no shoes on the tough asphalt without a second thought. He gets to the mailbox blowing a casual wave of flames at it from his mouth. Like a child who is given the worst chore in the world. His hand opens the mailbox and then he flips through his mail. His bare feet walk him back to his property. The magical dragon shadow spreads in his wake. It hints at his true nature.

   The dragon drops his junk mail to the ground piece by piece. The junk mail lights itself on fire on the way down turning to ash disappearing into the wind. His hair under the cowboy hat waves as if the next surf wave is incoming.

   It's one those moments, that's so normal but it's not normal. It's almost like he's any other neighbor example he's The Dragon. I freeze mid-step to watch him with my eyes like a mouse caught by a cat who really doesn't seem to care about it.

   The Dragon has a surfer cowboy look and I'm not sure what to make of it. I go out of my way to not make eye contact with him. My fucked up sense of humor has even come up with a don't eat me jingle complete with dance moves.

   One of the pieces of mail fall to the ground unburned. He blows a stream of fire from one nostril at the piece of junk mail. It turns to ash. I jump sky high. He keeps flipping through his mail.

I've gone years and have never seen the dragon. I've got this kind of good bad luck.

   The dragon goes back to his property. You can barely see it. A field of pasture and some woodland in wild disarray. I wonder if this is what Alice thought looking into the looking glass. His land is like an unfinished world waiting for you to step through. With a section of Dry Creek river winding through it drizzling the rare bit of water we get in Sacramento. The longer and deeper you look into his land. The more you see from his land warped distortion of thick deep magic.