A Birthday is a Deathday
The calm and sunny sky was a welcome addition to the joyful day. The sun shone the brightest on a wooden sign that read:
Welcome to God’s Playground
0 Days Without Divine Intervention
Ladies walked adorned in rich red clothes, men wore glittering helmets on top of their heads and children ran around and chased each other. And children wore bloated and grotesque masks. Crude materials such as rocks and broken pieces of wood mimicked scales. It all accumulated into a long and mangled snout.
The children would hide behind trees, buildings, and whatever structure they could find. When they jumped out their victims fell to the ground clutching their faces and gasping. If the victim was an adult, they would stop the attack with a bribe such as candy. If it was another child, they would chase each other in circles.
Absorbed in their cheer, the iridescent body of the dragon went unnoticed.
Humans are too crude to replicate my beauty. Ala thought as she changed into her human form and disguised herself as the wood of a tree.
A little boy no older than the age of five came walking across. As he crept around the corner, he pounced.
Seeing no victim, he said proudly,
“The mask is ugly enough to scare them away. Dragons are bad luck charms.”
Ala removed the glamour from her eyes and mouth. He fell back in fear at the appearance of her green snake eyes and forked tongue. Trembling, he dropped his mask and ran away.
Tiny bastard.
The mask had fallen face down in the red mud. Now it looked as if the skin was blistering with blood seeping through the cracks. Just when she put it on, a group of men with a poor excuse of wooden armor walked by carrying a rolled-up banner. One leaned down and inspected her.
“Miss, your mask is incredible. How on earth did you get the eyes like that?”
“Perhaps it is just my talent.”
They all nodded in agreement.
“Nefarious! The bad omen in your eye shows clearly.”
Feigning modesty she asked,
“I can show you something more if you like?”
They all prepared themselves.
“Well, you know the dragon’s tongue?”
“Yes, one touch from it contains enough poison to paralyze or leave you for dead.” Said their leader, a man with a grotesque nose.
Another chimed in.
“My grandfather has told me stories on how he was touched by it and pronounced dead, but by the grace of his guardian angel,” he blew a kiss to the sky. “He was revived.”
Their faces turned cloudy with fear, a stern line was shared amongst their lips, and all their heads shook with disapproval.
“Cursed dragon.”
They all turned and spit.
The forked tip of her tongue came out smoothly. It was long enough to cover the short distance between them. Their eyes were transfixed as it flicked up and down. Quickly, and with the slightest touch she whisked it across their cheeks and back into her mouth.
They were stunned into silence.
“Wow! You should enter the mask contest!” They cheered and carried on their merry way.
It was Ala’s turn to grimace. She faced the ground and gagged.
I don’t know who is more stupid, the humans for believing it's fake or me for doing it. They stink!
And that is how Ala came to spend the next few hours dousing her mouth with alcohol.
A sign that denoted a special hung on the door:
Dragon’s Blood mead only 14 gold coins.
Ala scoffed. The typical price was 4 gold coins, and there was nothing different about it other than the advertisement.
Though the price was grossly inflated the tavern was bustling with patrons. It was tradition for them to drink on days of celebration. Also, on days of mourning, anger, boredom, really any day. One thing about humans is that they lived to get drunk.
Mead spilled onto the floor and seats. They clanked glasses and let the warmth of their intoxication ignite passion in their hearts. Many of them were having heated discussions about the best way to vanquish a dragon.
“Stab it in the heart.”
“Cut its head off.”
“Burn it alive.”
“No, there is only one true way to kill a dragon.” The same man with the nose spoke.
The entire tavern was silenced and turned to look at him.
He grabbed his glass and raised it to the sky. The vibrato of his voice was full of conviction, and he looked up as if he was drawing inspiration from the heavens.
“This mead we drink is heavenly, given to us by the blessed angels.”
They all blew a kiss to the sky.
“It is divine in nature. That’s why we are full of vigor when we drink it.”
He clutched his heart.
“This mead will penetrate and burn the dragon from the inside. It cannot handle it with its dark and twisted nature. Mead can only be drunk by the pure and holy.”
They all raised their drinks in salute and downed it.
“If anyone is up to challenge my divine and holy nature and outdrink me, I shall pay!”
Ala slithered up to his table.
“My good friend, we meet again.”
He turned to her with a cheerful smile.
“Is it true what you say? About the dragon?” She made herself small and whispered with fear.
“Of course it is.”
“Then could it be said that the more holy one is the more they can drink mead?”
He shook his head.
“That’s right.”
His buddies surrounding him shook his affectionately.
“None of us could challenge his divine nature and outdrink him.”
Ala replied thoughtfully with the sweetest voice she could muster.
“Wow, your divine knowledge is profound.”
“Good friend, join our parlay and test your divinity.”
She hesitated, “I doubt I could win, but if you insist.”
She raised a glass to cheers.
“May the holy drink burn our inequities.”
And that is how Ala ended up at the podium standing on steady feet in front of all the celebrators.
The men from the tavern stood on weak feet and swayed together. Cheering her on from the crowd. The torches in their hands gleamed in anticipation of what would happen next.
Settled next to her was a shroud of flowers in full bloom. The scent familiar to her was her own blood. A bundle of wheat was on the other side. Between the podium and the crowd was a pit that was deep enough for her to stand in. From her position, she felt as if she were about to fall into her grave.
The crowd took turns throwing things into the pit. Masks, wooden dragon dolls, crushed flowers, rudimentary drawings, and finally, the most important of it all.
“Burning this image will ensure we banish the dragon. It is a cold and icy creature that hates heat, warmth, and love.”
Stretching from here to there was a drawing of her body. The length was curled into a refined circle. Her snout tucked into her tail. The scales were lifeless, dull, and gray. Black shadows came from her mouth and nose and curled around her. The only thing in this image that was her was the green snake eyes.
“Take off the mask so we may see who our champion for the year is.”
“Free mead, no taxes,s and everyone bows down to you. We will treat you as the hero!”
Tsk, your mead can’t compare to the one from the underworld. A legal way for tax evasion sounds interesting if I were paying taxes. But to be a hero...
She poured the mead and watched the photo float to the bottom of the pit. As if I care.
She motioned for the nose man to come on the podium with her.
“I owe it all to my beneficiary. You have been singing my praises the most. Do the honors and lift my mask.”
He pulled off her mask and threw it and the torch into the pit. As the flames went up, she shifted and flew circles in the sky. In her full glory, the iridescent dragon shifted in and out of existence. Her scales mirrored the horrors on their faces and shimmered in the light of day.
The man was so shocked that he fainted and fell right into the pit. His followers all clawed at their faces. Parents grabbed their children and went screaming in every which way. Selfish people ran and trampled the selfless ones who cushioned their falls. One by one they all succumbed to fear and hysteria. The last of their faith dissolves in smoke and scatters amongst the ashes of their remains.
Ala saw this reflected in the eye of the man. But it was her compassion that stopped her.
“Everything was a fluke today. The honor should go to you.”
And she jumped off the stage and disappeared into the crowd.
Sheltered in the corridors of the village, Ala let the maniacal laughs fade. The swish from the flask dulled her anger to a heated buzz. So much so, that not even cold winds of death approaching could bother her.
Cast in the opulent glow of the moon, the shape of a man stood silently. His river of black hair flowed into the night, and his featureless face was the epitome of serenity. The scent of lavender drifted on the breeze, soothing her and putting her at ease. A hand reached up, wiping the corner of her mouth and brushing her chin in a casual gesture, and she relaxed into his touch.
The only separating life and death is a moment. A birthday is a death date.
