Noose-Necklaced Dragons — Alyssa Cao
A dragon died a few days ago.
It was found in its lair, hanging from a rope fitted firmly around its neck, legs dangling a foot above the ground. It was a pale thing, with too-long limbs covered in thin, parallel scars on an emaciated body, with bloodied, mangled nails and peeling skin.
Around it was a hoard–though not of gold and silver and other precious things. No, it was mundane, dirty, grimy. Old instant noodle cups, stained clothes, broken phones and computers, dirty dishes, ratty blankets, overflowing trash cans, pill bottles both empty and full labeled “Lexapro” or “Prozac” or “Zoloft,” foot towels, huge bags of miscellaneous junk that were never taken out, mail and envelopes that towered to the ceiling… Despite its vastness, it wasn’t enviable.
My mother had been at the scene as a part of the clean-up. She told me about the sad state of the lair and its dragon–that’s how I knew about it at all. She said that the roaches and flies and maggots had festered as part of the hoard. And when I insisted that, surely, even dragons found them to be pests, she shook her head and sighed, leaving without another word.
Dragons, I learned, were not what they seemed. They were great beasts with even greater burdens–and yet, it went unnoticed. Unnoticed until they swallowed a bullet or had their stomach cut open post-mortem to be found full of pills or hung from rope. Like the one my mother had seen. I wondered if the dragon ever showed anyone its hoard. Would anyone have helped? Would I have helped? Would I have even noticed? The dragon was only found because its upstairs neighbor reported a foul stench to the police. They did not dare step within the bounds of the lair.
I asked my mother why the dragon did it. If all dragons did it. She said she didn’t know–she doesn’t know a lot, but she has more answers than me–and that it wasn’t any of our business, worrying about dragons. Dragons were all cowards, she said. Took the easy way out. That everyone suffers but they put this upon themselves, that they should have done better, that they should have pulled themselves up by their bootstraps. Her words left a sick feeling in my stomach.
The dragon’s body was moved to the mortuary. I never got to see it. It didn’t feel real. I tried to envision it, with long, greasy hair and transparent stripes that traced down its cheeks from red, rheum-filled eyes. My mother never told me what clothes it wore–I pictured it in an oversized T-shirt and shorts. That’s what I wore to bed. The thought unsettled me more than anything else.
When I told my mother, she sighed and patted my shoulder, telling me not to worry. Dragons were few and far in between. You could meet one and never know they were only pretending to be human. That was for the best. And I sniffed and nodded like a good child.
The lair was cleaned out with time. In just a few weeks, it was an apartment room again, cheap in price, in a great area of town, or so the landlords liked to say. A clean-cut couple bought it out, with big eyes and even bigger dreams. I wondered if they’d ever know about the dragon.
Alyssa "Dexter" Cao is a high school student who has had a love of storytelling since her earliest days, so prominent that she someday dreams of being a published author. When she isn't frantically scribbling her thoughts into one of her many journals, she enjoys playing piano or drawing. A senior in high school, she looks forward to spending her time relaxing in Southern California with her family and pursuing even more writing endeavors.