(no subject)
We were in a house in the hills when the dragons came. I saw a baby one out the door and ran out, as did everyone else, some armed with makeshift spears of kitchen knives strapped on what looked like one inch PVC pipe. One of the men thrust as hard as he could, a grimace twisting his face. As he withdrew his bloodied spear the baby dragon changed. It turned, matured, grew. Other men started fighting, but with each wound the dragon only grew stronger. One man screamed as the now-powerful dragon engulfed him first with flame, then whipped his mighty tail to knock the man, still howling, to the ground. We didn't know how to fight them. We knew we had to leave.
Plans were made: the survivors would move to a small island in the Pacific, where supposedly the beasts hadn't ravaged for some reason. We couldn't carry much, a bag each. In mine, I put what could be useful, or we'd never have again. Coffee. A pair of Fiskars scissors, needles, thread. Sunglasses. Watercolor paints and many brushes for the children. Oil pastels, hard pastels. I knew no one else would think of such things. Maybe they seemed foolish, but I knew boredom was a killer, and the kids going from a comfortable life into a poor, strictly disciplined, rationed communal life would take it the worse. Maybe I could teach them to appreciate beauty and how to create it. Maybe my lessons would pass down through the generations. But there was no time for arrogance. I was one of the last on the bus.
It wasn't too long a trip to our boat headed for the Canary Islands as a waypoint on our way out. The blanket on my lap had a beautiful calico cat laying out, Sarah. Her husband, Jason, a proud dark gray and black tabby, was by my legs. He jumped off to sulk after accusing Sarah of having kittens by another cat. She jumped down to follow him, leaving their glasses behind. I took the time to reorganize my bag while Naveen Andrews watched, commenting on how much coffee I had managed to fit and evincing interest in the pastels, and a couple blondes goggled at him. The bus stopped, and the cats were still off working out their problems. I placed their glasses in the top of my bag and stepped off the bus.
I was near the head of the straggling group. As the boat came into view I thought of my mother. It had been so hard to say goodbye, to say I love her, knowing it was probably the last time. She wasn't going with us to the island. It hurt to breathe, but I had to find a seat. Most of the benches were underwater, there was so much water in the boat. There was a girl in a wheelchair at the very back, and Andrew Gust, a school friend, was on the bench in front of her. The bench in front of Andrew had less water than the front ones, so I picked a place there and set my bag down while Andrew greeted me. I was worried that Sarah and Jason had reverted to natural human form and were searching for their glasses, so I left my bag, took the glasses, and headed back to the bus to show them I had them.
Others were arriving, and there was a continuous line of people shuffling up to the boat. I didn't recognize most of them, but I saw Cara and Sara, and a wave of relief washed over me. Then I noticed Cara's mother next to her. I went up with tears in my eyes and laid my hand on her cheek. I was so happy she made it. I might not ever see my own mother again, but Bev could become my surrogate. She already half was. Behind them I saw Jill Gerl and her mother. Upon closer glance, it wasn't her mother, but her sister. It was quite strange to behold two Jill Gerls. I neared the bus and indeed, Sarah and Jason were searching for what I already had in my hand. They looked up, I raised the glasses up, and they came off the bus and took them from me gladly. We all headed back to the boat. It was going to be the start of a new, difficult life, but I was fortunate. I had friends.
Plans were made: the survivors would move to a small island in the Pacific, where supposedly the beasts hadn't ravaged for some reason. We couldn't carry much, a bag each. In mine, I put what could be useful, or we'd never have again. Coffee. A pair of Fiskars scissors, needles, thread. Sunglasses. Watercolor paints and many brushes for the children. Oil pastels, hard pastels. I knew no one else would think of such things. Maybe they seemed foolish, but I knew boredom was a killer, and the kids going from a comfortable life into a poor, strictly disciplined, rationed communal life would take it the worse. Maybe I could teach them to appreciate beauty and how to create it. Maybe my lessons would pass down through the generations. But there was no time for arrogance. I was one of the last on the bus.
It wasn't too long a trip to our boat headed for the Canary Islands as a waypoint on our way out. The blanket on my lap had a beautiful calico cat laying out, Sarah. Her husband, Jason, a proud dark gray and black tabby, was by my legs. He jumped off to sulk after accusing Sarah of having kittens by another cat. She jumped down to follow him, leaving their glasses behind. I took the time to reorganize my bag while Naveen Andrews watched, commenting on how much coffee I had managed to fit and evincing interest in the pastels, and a couple blondes goggled at him. The bus stopped, and the cats were still off working out their problems. I placed their glasses in the top of my bag and stepped off the bus.
I was near the head of the straggling group. As the boat came into view I thought of my mother. It had been so hard to say goodbye, to say I love her, knowing it was probably the last time. She wasn't going with us to the island. It hurt to breathe, but I had to find a seat. Most of the benches were underwater, there was so much water in the boat. There was a girl in a wheelchair at the very back, and Andrew Gust, a school friend, was on the bench in front of her. The bench in front of Andrew had less water than the front ones, so I picked a place there and set my bag down while Andrew greeted me. I was worried that Sarah and Jason had reverted to natural human form and were searching for their glasses, so I left my bag, took the glasses, and headed back to the bus to show them I had them.
Others were arriving, and there was a continuous line of people shuffling up to the boat. I didn't recognize most of them, but I saw Cara and Sara, and a wave of relief washed over me. Then I noticed Cara's mother next to her. I went up with tears in my eyes and laid my hand on her cheek. I was so happy she made it. I might not ever see my own mother again, but Bev could become my surrogate. She already half was. Behind them I saw Jill Gerl and her mother. Upon closer glance, it wasn't her mother, but her sister. It was quite strange to behold two Jill Gerls. I neared the bus and indeed, Sarah and Jason were searching for what I already had in my hand. They looked up, I raised the glasses up, and they came off the bus and took them from me gladly. We all headed back to the boat. It was going to be the start of a new, difficult life, but I was fortunate. I had friends.