Amy The Dragon – Chapter Two

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If you’re following along with this silly story – click here for Chapter One.

“Darling!” Aunt Sandra screeched.  “Is it really you?  I didn’t even hear you land.” She waddled through the immaculate courtyard, adjusting her sequined turban along the way. “After all these decades, you’ve finally decided to take a trip?  Well, it’s about time is all I can say.”  She kissed the air next to Amy’s cheeks, emitting a scent of sulfur and roses. “Oh!  You’re using my bag!  Isn’t it fabulous?  I have one just like it.  Here, wait a minute and I’ll go get it.” Surprisingly spry for a thousand-year-old, she hurried into her cave, pausing every few steps to stabilize the turban.

Ignoring Aunt Sandra’s babbling, Amy trudged through the gloom and thumped her way down to the guest pit, resisting the urge to curl up on the luxuriously damp stone bed.  She gave the obnoxious Travel Diva bag a little kick and followed the sound of her aunt’s chatter to the kitchen.

“Darling! I’m just flabbergasted you’re here. But of course, so excited to see you outside of your humble abode.” Aunt Sandra retrieved the glasses hanging from a thick chain around her wrinkled neck. “Here, let me take a look at you. Oh, my.” She frowned. “Well, I see we’ve put on a little weight, haven’t we?”

A fire laden groan found its way out of Amy’s mouth and on to one of her aunt’s jewel encrusted claws.  “Oops.  Sorry.”

Aunt Sandra huffed a cloud of smoke and the two of them stood glaring at each other.

Amy’s stomach released a growl.  She looked sheepishly toward the kitchen.  “You don’t happen to have a tiny serving of your world-famous Spider Soup in there, do you?

“Darling!  Of course I do!”

Amy sprinted toward the kitchen, nearly knocking her aunt to the ground.  She wedged herself between a volcanic rock bench and a marble table, wondering again how this garish cave ever ended up on the cover of Cavern Digest. 

The minute the Spider Soup was placed before her, all judgments left her head, replaced by the earthy aroma rising from the crock.

Seeing the gusto of Amy’s hunger, Aunt Sandra looked into her cold room, hesitated and then pulled out the platter of mice meal loaf she’d planned to serve at tomorrow’s tea party.  “Why are you so famished, my dear?  Your place is barely a day’s flight from here.”

“Didn’t fly,” Amy mumbled through a mouthful of melt-in-your-mouth mouse.

“Didn’t fly?”  Did you say you didn’t fly?”

Amy nodded her mighty head.

“How on earth?  What in the world?’  Aunt Sandra sputtered.  “Amy The Dragon!  You stop eating this instant and tell me what is going on.

*The Mayor Writing – Art by Annie Raab

Today…I wrote.

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This surprising event has not occurred in over a year. And now, thanks to Jessica Conoley’s Co-Writing Zoom Meetings, I can officially call myself a writer again.

Here’s what I’m working on. It’s a first draft, but I will post as the story moves along. As a little game, tell me your hypothesis on which resident of Crazie Town the characters are based.

I don't have a picture of a dragon yet, so enjoy!I don't have a picture of a dragon yet, so enjoy!I don't have a picture of a dragon yet, so enjoy!I don't have a picture of a dragon yet, so enjoy!

AMY THE DRAGON

Amy The Dragon eased her massive body into the overstuffed chair.  Choosing to ignore its whiny protest, she exhaled a smoky sigh. She opened her journal and slid a claw into the inkwell.  Just like the day before and the day before that, and so on for months, no words came to her. A thick red droplet rolled off her sharp talon and hit the page.  It rolled down the paper, fading to pastel pink before disappearing. 

Expelling another sigh with a little too much fire power, her journal burst into flames.  “Fiddlehead Ferns!” she cursed and hurled the book to the ground. She smothered the flames with her colossal foot, knocking the inkwell to the floor.  A pool of scarlet oozed across the granite floor.  Somewhat relieved to be finished with a bottle full of dullard’s blood, she lumbered over to her ink cupboard to get another.  But, as Old Mother Hubbard had forewarned when delivering Amy’s subscription of The Medieval Times, the cupboard was bare.

Amy blinked at the empty shelves.  Gone were the six bottles she’d harvested from the couple lost on a hike, as was the scrawny knight’s blood and the ink from those two handsome Mormon boys.  She slammed the door, cursing the judgmental Mother Hubbard and her mangy dog.  How was Amy to know that a tiny spark directed to quiet the obnoxious yapping would start the mutt’s tail on fire? Without ink she couldn’t write, and without writing, what would her life be?  A blue tear fell on her paw.  She watched with disinterest as it steamed, then boiled away. 

Amy plodded to the kitchen, broke a stalactite from the ceiling and sucked on it. “Maybe Aunt Sandra is right,” Amy addressed the nest of snakes in the corner.  “I can’t hang around here just waiting for Prince Charming to come along and drop dead, can I.”

***

Searching for Aunt Sandra’s Tar and Feathers Day gift, Amy tore through the catacombs. Crates and cases fell from the organized shelves, her only thought being — need more ink.  A sparkle of torchlight revealed the pink glitter words, TRAVEL DIVA! and Amy yanked the gaudy suitcase to the floor.  Mumbling the many things she had always wanted to say to Aunt Sandra, Amy carried the bag to her room and threw it on her obsidian bed. 

She tossed in her tooth sharpening stone, a couple of prairie dog protein bars and her fragrant homemade teas; Chamomile, mint and lavender.  Adding the charred journal last, which now smelled deliciously of fool’s flesh, her stomach rumbled.

***

Stepping outside her cave, Amy blinked against the harsh sunlight.  She turned left to follow the overgrown path to the mountaintop for takeoff, the ridiculous suitcase bouncing across the stones behind her. 

*Drawing of Mayor by Annie Raab.