The Jealousy of a Dragon

I can’t believe it. I’m actually posting a story on the first Friday of the month. *gasp* Let’s hope I can keep up with it. It’s one of my New Year’s Resolutions… Those typically don’t have much luck of being followed through on, but I hope with your accountability, I can do it. Thanks a ton for everything, guys!

Also, guess what? It’s another Venus story! Last month, you guys seemed to really enjoy “Venus,” the story about the college kid whose laundry money was being stolen by a mini dragon. So, I decided to write a sequel (hopefully one of many).

And this time… Drew embarrasses himself in front of a girl. It’s great. But also, poor guy.

You might want to read “Venus” first if you haven’t already, though you should be able to understand this story even without reading the previous one. Anyway, enjoy “The Jealousy of a Dragon”!


This is the best it’s gonna get.

Exhaling, I press the print icon. The printer hums to life, then spits out one sheet, another sheet, so many sheets of edited word vomit. Twenty pages about a planet I’ve never been to. Dozens of hours spent staring at a screen with bloodshot eyes, catching a few meager hours of sleep.

Sometimes I really hate college.

Something brushes against my leg, and I flinch. There’s a ghost. A rat. Something. I look underneath my chair to see a bunny-sized dragon, golden scales gleaming, expression unreadable.

“Venus!” I sputter. “What are you doing here?”

Yeah, I know, I named my mini dragon after my science paper. She looks like the planet, okay?

She flexes her claws, then scratches them against the metal leg of my chair with an awful screeching sound.

“Stop it! Someone’s gonna hear you!”

She looks up at me with wide, innocent eyes.

How did I get a mini dragon, you ask? I have no idea. She showed up under my bed and stole my laundry money. Now I’m stuck with her.

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Venus

This picture does not belong to me. I found it on Pinterest.

I toss the last sock into my laundry basket and turn back to my unmade bed, where four shiny quarters should be sitting. They’re not.

Frowning, I look under the rumpled sheets. Under my pillow. On the floor.

I swear I put quarters there two minutes ago.

“Hey, Matt?” I say. “You got any quarters?”

“I gotta do laundry tomorrow.” My roommate shoves a slice of pizza in his mouth. It’s cold by now, but they don’t allow microwaves in the dorm. “Get your own quarters, Drew.”

That’s the thing. I had quarters. Lots of them. But every time I turn around, they vanish.

At least it’s not my keys, I guess. But if I want to avoid smelling like an armpit, I need some quarters. Now.

“Look, man, I just need four. I’ll pay you back––”

“Like you’ll pay me back for all the other quarters?”

I guess I could ask my Resident Assistant, Nick, but seriously. This is stupid. And it hasn’t just been quarters; it’s been any coin I lay out. I look away and bam, they’re gone. “I swear I had them. They were just on my bed.”

“I dunno, man. I think it’s that Venus paper.” Matt finishes the slice with a loud smacking of his sauce-covered lips. “It’s frying your brain.”

He’s not wrong. For the past two weeks, every thought that has gone through my head––unfortunately for my other professors and my social life––is about the hottest planet in our solar system.

Note to self: college sucks.

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Shadow Wolf: Part 4

It would be greatly to your advantage if you read the first three parts (Part 1; Part 2; Part 3) of this story before continuing on. If you have, then congratulations! You’ve reached the final part of “Shadow Wolf.”

“Shadow Wolf” is based on a writing prompt posted by Intuitive Writing Guide:

“What big teeth you have, Grandmother!”

“All the better to––”

“Eat me with?”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.”

“Yeahhh, I’m not sure why you thought that would work.”

~ Mirriam Neal

Now, let’s see how the story ends!


Stella

My head bumps into an unseen barrier. Gasping, I push against it with all my strength, which isn’t much. “Marielle!” I cry.

Then the barrier shifts. I push harder, my wings straining. A piece of sky starts to show––if one could call it that. It’s dark but not as dark as the inside of this box.

Am I in the shoebox?

With a heave, I throw off the lid and fly out. My head smacks against something hard. Yelping, I float lower. So much confinement! Sure enough, in the dim light, I can just make out the shoebox.

I’m in her world! But where am I? And where is Marielle?

I peer around the small expanse, limited by the hard substance above my head. To my right is a faint light. Rubbing my head, I fly toward it and meet a cloud of something gray and fuzzy. Shrieking, I try to brush it away, but it clings to my dress. At least it doesn’t seem malevolent, just . . . disgusting.

I continue scraping it away the best I can and glance around. More gray fuzz lingers to my left, but I can easily avoid that. My fingers brush something hard on my dress, and I yank on it unsuccessfully, then realize it’s the anchor. I gently finger the glowing green strand. I’ll come back to you, Lysander.

Oh, why am I delaying? Marielle needs me! I can almost hear her voice crying my name.

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Shadow Wolf: Part 3

If you start during this part of the story, you will be thoroughly lost. My recommendation is to read Parts 1 (here) and 2 (here) before starting this segment. “Shadow Wolf” is based on a writing prompt posted by Intuitive Writing Guide:

“What big teeth you have, Grandmother!”

“All the better to––”

“Eat me with?”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.”

“Yeahhh, I’m not sure why you thought that would work.”

~ Mirriam Neal

Without further ado, here is Part 3!


Marielle

I see gray. Lots and lots of gray. Oh, and that gray’s darker! It’s like a big ol’ shadow––wait, nope, there are lots and lots of shadows, comin’ toward me. I step back, but they’re behind me, too. I shriek. My head hurts.

A shadow touches me. It’s all slick and nasty, leaving a wet, dark stain. Then all the others think they can do it too, and they start squishin’ me. I wail, trying to twist away, but the shadows keep coming. I can’t see! I hate these shadows!

Mommy? Daddy? Stella?

Then, there, a bigger shadow––big and wolfish, but not wolfish like Daddy. Daddy’s a fun wolf. This is a mean wolf; I can tell. It’s got a hole in its head that I think is its mouth, and now that it’s comin’ closer, I can see two lil holes for eyes.

I don’t want it to come closer. I want it to go away and stay away. I wish I was at home or in Endellion or somewhere other than this nasty, awful shadow place.

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Shadow Wolf: Part 2

I would recommend you read Part 1 before you continue this story. “Shadow Wolf” is based on a writing prompt posted by Intuitive Writing Guide:

“What big teeth you have, Grandmother!”

“All the better to––”

“Eat me with?”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.”

“Yeahhh, I’m not sure why you thought that would work.”

~ Mirriam Neal

Now, here is “Shadow Wolf: Part 2”!


Stella

“Stop worrying. You’re making my skin itch just looking at you.”

I glance at Lysander, hovering beside me at the edge of the rainbow lake. Lines mark anxiety into his pale face. “Your skin itches?”

“Yes.”

His green wings, which match his green sparkle suit, whir behind him and stir the surface of the lake. Directly below us, the lake is shaded orange, but a bit farther down, it melds into sunshine yellow, then the bright green of Freya’s fur, the colors shifting with each ripple.

“Because you’re twitching,” Lysander continues.

My wings grow weary. Part of me longs to touch the surface of the water, even to be submerged in the rainbow liquid. Perhaps that would distract me from Marielle’s absence. But I don’t wish to ruin my dress, a navy blue sparkly sheath that hugs my figure. “My twitching makes your skin itch? Oh, Lysander, you are something.”

He huffs. “Just stop worrying, Stella!”

“I’m not worrying.”

“Liar.” Snorting, Freya paces the shore of the rainbow lake. Her three green tails twirl behind her. “I’m sure Marielle is fine. Maybe she’s just busy.”

“She’s five. What could make her so busy?” It’s a warm Endellion day, almost too hot and still to be doing anything––except worrying. Fine, perhaps I’m worrying a bit.

But Marielle never leaves us for this long. She always comes to Endellion every few days.

Has she . . . grown tired of us?

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