dragon fall

I used to be a dragon.

On the last day of my existence, before the peopled masses crushed me underfoot, I was black-winged, graceful, with a flowing mane that rippled in the tearing winds beyond the rock face. I stood there, grey eyes closed to the dying sun, thirty meters of wingspan open, and fluttering like the jagged sails of ocean craft. There was a chill, a thin, biting wind upon my back, and I should have recognised its call. But I was inflamed and full, an alpha dragon amidst the soaring rage above.

I was a male, like none other, or so

I thought.

We were hot-blooded beasts, we dragonkind. The Others believed us to be outsized lizards, but it was never so. We burned with passion that frightened them, but our flames were never for violence, even though our cries were stark. Alone was our fire for love, for love, for love, and sex and love

and love, once more.

We were never what you painted us to be. And when the skies would open, and our Mother’s breath took us heavenward, we would soar, all rage and thunderclaps, all fire and love. And dance, we would, above them all.

And dance we would,

and dance.

But on the last night, before I ceased to be my dragon self, she came beside me, bid me take the leap, and whispered, “Go the way that you go, and I will meet you there.”

I leapt, I did, for faith abounded. The soft fur that covered me rippled in the frigid night. The air, you see, was far too cold, and so, I did not rise, but plummet ‘neath the scissored cliffs. And above, she stood there watching, but did not catch me,

falling.

So crash, I did, and crash and fall and burned the night air in my impotence. For in folly did I believe that should she see the brightness of my flames, she would fall there, with me, and together would we burn the night with such intensity that we would join the circling rage above.

But she did not. Another caught her eye, and so she left me to despair. And crash, did I, but crash. And to the bottom fallen, I saw the others’ bodies there, so did I join them,

dying.

And now, I’m here, no webeast, I, but empty man, despairing. For falling is a wondrous thing, but never is the

pairing.

15 Comments

  1. amysomday says:

    ❤ i love this Bill !!!

  2. Hanno Phenn says:

    Lovely ,thank you Bill.

  3. ericaatje says:

    Wow, all that passion!!! Love it!

    1. Thanks, Erica. Not sure it’s positive passion, though.

      1. ericaatje says:

        Well, I feel the passion and that’s a great feeling by reading a story…

  4. Dyane says:

    This is fantastic. Gorgeous and do very sad.

  5. Dyane says:

    One of my favorites.

    1. Thanks, Dyane. One day I’m going to write a story from the dragon’s perspective.

      1. Dyane says:

        Awesome! I’m writing one now (dragon story) but I need to finish the thing! Lol

        1. There are two fun parts of writing – starting and finishing. Good luck!

          1. Dyane says:

            Lol Exactly! Let me know when yours gets done. I’d love to read your take on it.

  6. Dyane says:

    Reblogged this on Dropped Pebbles and commented:
    I absolutely love this. Moving and brutally honest, I just had to reblog it. Bill Jones, Jr. does it again. 🙂

  7. Amazing piece of work … I love the analogy. Understand the pain. A mixture of prose and poetry. Love it.

    1. Yolanda, thank you, and thanks for stopping by.

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