The Violet-Backed Starling

I want to fight a dragon, but that is apparently very dangerous. First, the beast will swoop down from above in an attempt to capture me for dinner. I imagine its scales would shine a comforting purple in the light from the sun as it descends upon my helpless form. Second, the creature will land if it fails to grasp me in its blood-stained talons. Third, the dragon would reach out and eviscerate me with just one single claw. I think I would look down and see the contents hidden under my belly skin falling to the ground, helpless and dying.

At least, that is why my mom says I cannot fight a dragon. I think she is wrong though. First, I am very strong. I would be able to hang on to the beast's neck and not slip off of its shimmering scales. Second, I would be able to climb up its neck and gouge its giant, turquoise eyes out of the sockets. I believe that the blood spraying out of the dragon's eyes would be blue because dragons are different than humans. Third, I am agile enough to evade its terrifying talons and find my way to its liver, the organ that keeps it alive. I would use my knife to slice it up, spilling that cool, blue blood all over the green grass. Maybe the blue would absorb the green and make the grass yellow again.

But my mom won't let me try. She doesn't understand that I could save the world from the dragon. She doesn't want me to be like Wiglaf. I guess I can understand though. I bet Wiglaf went on to be absorbed by his glory and power, just like Beowulf before him. I bet both of them ignored the amazing women who went through a painful labor to have them. But I am different than Wiglaf and Beowulf. I don't want the glory. I just want to save the world from the dragon.

It is morning time now; my mom enters my room and turns on the light. I sit up. She is carrying a brown tray that holds a glass of orange juice, a piece of toast with egg on top, and a blue pill. My mom sits the tray on my nightstand and smiles at me. I immediately reach for the toast. When the crunchy first bite enters my mouth, I hum with excitement. I love the flavor that is created by the mixture of bread and egg. It is a soothing taste that reminds me of when I was young.

"How was your night?" my mom asks me as she places the wooden cross that I had cuddled with back on the wall. "How did you sleep?"

"I slept well. I had a dream about..." I start, "about giving you a big warm hug in the morning."

My mom sighs a wind of disappointment at my lie, "You don't have to lie to me. You can't control your dreams. Was it the purple dragon again?"

I nod as I swallow a bite of egg toast. I take a gulp of orange juice, leaving just a little left over in the glass. "Thank you for breakfast! I'm excited to get to work today. I finally feel well enough," I tell her.

"Good! Now don't forget to take your pill. You need it to stay well," she says.

I groan. She doesn't understand that the pills are bad for me. She thinks that they help me, but they don't. I really think that the pills are mixed with a poison because people think people like me aren't good. Many people think of me as dangerous, so they try to kill me while telling those who love me that their "treatments" will help me get "better." It makes me sad that people don't even try to understand that all I want to do is save the world.

"You've been taking your medicine well for a few weeks now. Let's keep up the habit. You'll be fired if you go back to how you were a month ago, and I can't stop that," my mom says, a smile forming on her small, frail lips.

I smile at her and reach for the pill. I put it in my mouth and show her my hands so that she knows it's really in there. When I bring the cup of orange juice to my mouth, I carefully bring the pill to my lip and drop it into the hand supporting the cup. I pour the rest of the orange juice into my mouth, audibly swallow, and show my mom that there is nothing left in my mouth.