Roaring

For the dverse quadrille prompt word ‘dragon’.

 

Nights

we peer into the molten heart of things

the fiery crucible of desires

where salamanders dive for glowing pearls

and firedrakes hatch from amber eggs.

Dragon-fierce

with fire-breath

to melt the railings around any heart

we spread flame-fringed

owl-soft wings

and roaring

plunge.

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#Three Line Tales microfiction: Siege

This is for Sonya’s Three Line Tales photo prompt. I can’t pretend I have a clue what this photo shows, so I just winged it.

photo by Jerry Kiesewetter via Unsplash

tltweek110

The invader was at the gates and the city had been evacuated of the population that had remained to the end despite the attacks that had left their homes in ruins.

The last defenders watched, grim-faced, as the invaders swarmed over the city walls, primed their ultimate weapon and prepared to leave with the rest.

When the last of the civil population had left by the underground tunnel that surfaced in the safety of the mountains, the defenders, shielded against the fiery blast, opened the dragon traps.

 

Microfiction: The philosophers

I had intended to write a serious story inspired by this picture, but they are such a daft-looking pair, I failed miserably.

 

varnadragons

“Not long now,” she said holding out the egg. “Listen.”

He held it close to his ear, and his face split into a monstrous grin. “Yeah! I hear the little devil. You’d think he was going at it with a hammer and chisel!”

“Him? It might be a her. Come to think of it, it’s almost certainly a her.”

He frowned, his mighty brows meeting in a deep trench between his eyes, proof that deep thought was taking place. “Yeah. Right.”

She smiled indulgently. He hadn’t got a clue, but that was what she found so endearing about him. All brawn and no brains. But what brawn! Gently she took back the egg, the mythological egg, the answer to the conundrum, before he broke it.

“It’s funny when you think about it,” she mused when the egg was safely back in its incubator, “that of all the questions mankind are going to worry about for centuries to come, it will be this completely futile one.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Chicken, egg—egg, chicken. Who cares?”

“When it’s born and learns to walk,” she said, “we’ll take it into town, set it down next to the dual carriageway…”

“And find out the answer to the second question!”

And with a belch of fiery laughter they flew off to the primal swamp to see if any more ridiculous questions were lying in its murky depths.

Microfiction challenge #23: Dragons’ egg

I know, it isn’t a painting, but it’s a sculpture so we’re still in the realm of the plastic arts. I couldn’t resist it. The expression on the proud parents’ faces! However, these are dragons, let’s not get too carried away with anthropomorphism. Perhaps there’s a sinister motive behind the gesture. What if it isn’t their egg at all? What is he intending to do with it? Boiled or poached? Write me a story based on the sculpture and post the link in the comments before next Thursday. I’m looking forward to reading a lot of dragon stories 🙂

 

varnadragons

Photo ©Grantscharoff