Mike is certainly an author and editor I respect and strive to be as creative. He writes primarily as do I for Hubpages. His avatar and pen name is mckbirdbooks. This link will take you there and I promise if you read some of his work, you too will be an instant fan.
This fast fiction just has to get more exposure in my opinion. Enjoy. From a dedicated and inspiring writer.
Toll to the Dragon
It’s the middle of the night. The campfire embers glow enough that there is some visibility in the small clearing where I am sleeping. I hear a loud thump near my head and sit upright startled at the noise. And the closeness of the noise has my heart pounding rapidly. Peering into the darkness I cannot make anything out. Turning this way and that I see what I think is a tree stump just off to the left. A tree fell into the campsite!
No, the stump moves and a neck and face move – eye to eye with me. Curiosity on the part of the dragon, I suppose. First, the only sound I hear is the heart in my chest struggling to get away, wondering why I am still there. Then that sound is drowned out by a snort. A spittle spewing snort that leaves a dripping mess. Being eye to eye with an arrogant dragon is not childs play.
Without thought I am on my feet. In one second I will be out of the clearing away from the spittle and brimstone smelling dragon. Away, where there are places to hide, rocks to throw, away – safe. I pivot then it’s teeth sink into my leg and I am lifted high off the ground screaming – for an audience of one.
An incisor has punctured my leg and I am bleeding badly. Its tooth is jammed between the two bones in my leg. The wound is such that the dragon is having a hard time finishing the job. I am caught in its teeth, like popcorn. I’m there, I’m annoying. Dangling by one leg from the mouth of a dragon is not my chosen destiny.
He flings his head high to dislodge me. As he does, I reach up and grab a whisker with my left hand. The whisker is bristled and cutting into the flesh of my hand. I must hang on. Now I have some leverage, as I am being bucked back and forth. The situation is hopeless.
My trousers are soaked with blood. I remember I carry penknife. It is a small penknife incapable of doing any damage. But it is now my only thought. With my right hand I go into my trouser pocket and get the penknife – open it.
The dragon spies the knife and gives such a snort of mirth that I am almost freed – but the incisor has punctured the leg. My head is spinning I will soon be gone. With the last bit of strength I shove my arm into the nostril of the dragon. Into the membrane of the nostril I push the blade to the hilt. I withdraw the arm oozing mucus.
The clamping of the jaw finally severs the leg and I fall all those feet to the ground. The flames from the mouth of the dragon finish me. A burnt lump, smoldering on the cold ground where a moment ago I lay sleeping.
The dragon gyrates hitting its head against a tree, then on the ground, and paws at its snout. It snorts fire again and again. The penknife holds.
Mike thank you for this piece and sharing it. Where’s the next one BTW?