Then, whenever it was taken outside, or a door or window was opened, it would let out an ear-piercing screech. The boys should have let it go then. Everyone else felt the same.
This became apparent when the baby's shrieks were answered. One day a dragon, apparently the mother, was seen flying overhead. She let out a deafening roar, which was answered by a shrill screech.
She approached the ground, flying towards the house where her child was held captive. From my position, I could see her clearly. Her crimson scales and golden claws flashed in the sun. Her bat wings were extended as she flew. Angry, cat-like eyes were set in a long skull. Her enormous jaws opened to reveal razor-sharp, pure white fangs, the smallest the size of swords.
A glow grew from within her throat. The glow turned to flames, which grew to engulf the house. The building burned in the constant stream of blue tinged with yellow until it was no more than a pile of fine ash and molten metal. The baby dragon sneezed from the middle of the pile, apparently unharmed by the inferno.
The mother, in her rage, unleashed her wrath on the entire village. Houses were reduced to smoldering piles, people and livestocku to dust. I had managed to escape the village and hide. I watched the mother settle amongst the ashes, her back to me. She cooed sweetly to her baby, nuzzling it. It chirped back, happy to be with her again. It was almost sweet, except for the fact that this took place in the ashes of my friends and family.
Some madness took over me, and I slowly approached them. Then, of all times, I had to trip over my skirts! The mother dragon turned her head, one cat-like eye stared at me. I froze, I couldn't even get up. She turned her head a little more, then opened her mighty jaws. I stared as light gathered in the back of her throat, a terrifying sight indeed. Flames rushed toward me. Though I couldn't hear over their roar, I knew that I let out a scream just as shrill as the baby dragon's. I could feel myself being eaten alive by the fire, and when I felt no more pain, I knew I was dead.
Now some idiot probably records this story. Someone whose world has never seen dragons. Someone who spends her days with her head in a book. But perhaps that doesn't matter. Perhaps it only matters that my story is told, not who tells it. The story of the extensity of a mother's wrath.
What do you think? This just came to me. Narita (the girl in the story) sent it, I think. If you liked it, I wrote it, if you didn't, blame Narita. Review!