Dragon's breath

... this being the story of a wizard, the fourth part, continued from Wizarding 101 ... it began in Return of the wizard.

Unbearable, he thinks, unbearable!

A roaring flame of cascading fire, consuming him whole, the sound almost as loud as eternity itself screaming from the dragon's mouth.

Lightning!  Hitting him and the beast, a silver-sharded weapon of the gods.  Tongue of flame enticing and arousing, the Goddess devouring him.

I WILL NOT GO LIKE THIS!

His voice its own creation, thundering its echoes, the Goddess' flames, the dragon's life and breath hanging on this force of his will, this desperation, this last gasp from unfathomable depths of learning and knowledge gained from the first light of time itself.

He has seconds, he has eternity, he has a recollection of youth in precious moments.

What I liked so much about my mother was her ability to just be with what came her way, like in the cumbersome way papa tried to chase her around our dirt floors, especially in the kitchen when she was baking or cooking, them both laughing, her seeming vexed, but never in a way anyone but a sensitive child would notice.

I remember her skirts to hang onto, to hide in, to command to be held by grabbing onto, her lifting me up into her smiling face and love, kisses, with more kisses, giggling from a shyness borne of her attention.

And meadows, seemingly endless meadows, of sunlight, and running, and falling, getting dirty with grassy things all over.

I remember mama as having the qualities of heaven, drifting along so easily in light and air.

The Goddess.  Stops.

The dragon.  Topples.

A great height.

On his tower, the wizard sideways falls, a great looping arc, rushing through his tower window as the land itself shifts in sync with his vision and movement.

Copyright © 2022, Mark Newlon