The Hoard

Honestly, I’m not really sure how I came into possession of a dragon. At first, I thought I’d been robbed. My door knob and lock had been ripped from my front door. My spare change jar had disappeared from the computer desk. The watch that my abuela had given me, and I had forgotten on the kitchen counter, had also vanished. Worst of all, my Spanish coin collection had been ripped from the case mounted on my living room wall. I’d scoured my downstairs and began dialing 911 as I scaled the stairs, using my long legs to skip two or three stairs at a time. And at the top of the stairs, what was gnawing on a Spanish doubloon?

A dragon, a green dragon, its vibrant violet eyes piercing my plain blue eyes, was chewing on my rather expensive doubloon. It had a tiny purple stripe of fur that lead from the top of its head to a very bushy tail that bristled as I stared. The coin fell from his razor sharp, black teeth, and its paper thin wings spread open. I should have been terrified, but the little shit was so small. It was only four feet long and about two feet tall. Its underbelly showed as it stood on its hind legs. Behind the adorable beast was my valuables, in a neat pile, the little bugger's hoard. I nudged the brightly colored little beastie with my steel toed boot, and it fell over with a pathetic attempt at a roar. Then it started biting at my blue jeans as I started to clean up the mess it had made. It squeaked and squawked angrily as I put everything back into place and mulled over what I would do with a stray dragon off it's leash.

I sat for a while, staring at the creature. It hopped around and made seemingly angry noises at me, an intruder in it's new nest. I pursed my lips and ran my fingers through my hair as if that would give me some grand idea. I murmured, “I hope you’re not nocturnal…” because obviously I just wanted to sleep, and this little fucker better not ruin my sleep. I cocked my head to the side and asked, “Do you sleep?” as if the thing could answer back. “What do you eat?” I sighed. “Do you need to pee or something?” Already exasperated by new pet, because keeping the thing seemed logical at the time, I threw my hands in the air and stood to go take a shower. The dragon jumped back and squeaked in terror of my sudden movement.

I turned the water on to scalding hot, just the way I like it. I stripped and took out my hair. I looked into the bath, and the small dragon was splashing around the tub and squawking up a storm. I sighed and climbed in after the dragon, careful not to step on it.

Later that night, I started to cook the deer I’d shot and butchered a few days ago. The tiny dragon squeaked and squawked as it darted between my legs while I tenderized the meat. I tossed it a scrap, and it gulped it down. As I cooked, I tossed the imp scraps until it stopped begging. I fried up some veggies with my deer meat. Then I sat down to watch TV when I finished cleaning the dishes. There wasn’t anything on the news about a missing dragon. I don’t know why I thought there would be. I looked over at the tiny beast. It was sticking it’s head under the cushions, pulling out spare change. I sighed in irritation. I knew this thing would be the end of me and my sanity.