I'm currently working on another book of quotes, poetry, and short stories to be released this coming April, just in time for my second son's graduation. It will be his graduation gift. The book is titled, Slaying Dragons: Quotes, Poetry, & a Few Short Stories for Every Day of the Year.
I thought I would share a recently-written excerpt:
I used to play in the hot July wind and imagine it was
dragon’s breath singeing my skin. I
would clamber up the hill behind our home as if I were a knight intent on
hunting down and slaying the beast. For
I would try to rouse it by making a ruckus as loud and annoying as a lonely
pup. But no dragon responded to my
verbal challenges, and I was never lucky enough to stumble upon any large,
fire-breathing animal. Not until the day
I turned ten.
That day was not unlike other hot and windy July afternoons
when I scrambled up the green hill that blocked faraway scenery from the
windows of our house. And like every
other time, I brandished my invisible sword, imagining it glistening in the
sunlight, bejeweled at the hilt with priceless sapphires and rubies. I swore aloud to slay the dragon whose hot
breath was the source of the July winds—or so it seemed in a boy’s creative
mind—and hustled with great energy and determination up the rocky terrain.
I had climbed only partway when the toe of my shoe managed to
lodge itself beneath the edge of a smooth, pearly rock. I nearly fell over and would surely have
dropped my treasured sword had it actually been made from physical
substance. But it remained in my hand
and, finding my shoe unable to slide out from beneath the pale stone, I
pretended to jab at it with the tip of my sword as if this poking attack would
surely persuade whatever had taken such a fast hold to release me. For a short period of time I entertained
myself with fantasy heroics that pitted me against creatures of enormous girth,
extraordinary strength, and fierce cunning.
However, this did nothing to free me.
As one might guess, a make-believe sword has little effect on genuine
problems. I soon grew anxious enough to
reach for a real, solid stick in hopes of prying my foot loose.
To my great relief, the stick worked like magic and forced up
the pearly rock. To my great astonishment,
I discovered that what had snagged my foot was no rock. It had a peculiar shape; the unburied end
tapered off to a sharp point. But the
fact that it rose in the air of its own accord proved most convincing.
I staggered backwards, succumbing to greater degrees of
shock with every inch this mysterious item rose off the ground. I gasped aloud as it was joined by four
near-identical ivory hooks. It wasn’t
until the sharp tips came together that it dawned on me what I was seeing. The pale, pointed rocks were claws! Five claws attached to crusty fingers that
formed a fist larger than my pitiful, scrawny mass!
I could feel my face drain of color standing there, wanting
to flee, yet powerless to command my muscles to move. White as a ghost, I watched the green, muddy
hillside grow taller and taller while taking on a beastly form. I cannot recall if I breathed at all during
the time this thrilling phenomenon took place, but the creature extended its
neck and breathed a waft of hot air down upon me as if conveying irritation at
having had its nap disturbed.
There I stood staring up at two glowing golden eyes, facing
a magnificent dragon as real and alive as the hopeful, young knight at its feet.
My heart started with fright at what
sounded like a boom of thunder, and I fell to the ground like a rag doll. Under a sudden shadow, I realized the dragon’s
wings had snapped open, mimicking a clap of thunder. The air seemed to swoop up the beast in
defiance of gravity, and it took my dragon far, far away while I watched, mouth
agape. I stared at the sky until no
visible proof remained of what I had witnessed.
And though I told many a soul the truth of the matter, none believed me.
I have yet to cross paths again with that golden-eyed
dragon, but you will find me still climbing hills where the winds blow
hot. With watchful eyes and a solid
Terillian sword in my grip, I search for unusual rocks as white and smooth as
pearls.
Copyright 2017 Richelle E. Goodrich
Copyright 2017 Richelle E. Goodrich
