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Having finally got ready and left home – only slightly over two hours after deciding to do so; a new record – George began to plod down the road in the white homemade poncho he had eventually elected to wear.
A walk to People Town should have been a pleasurable experience for George. Since he had discovered it during one of his wild foraging sessions – something none of the other concrete-loving, nature-hating dragons had fortunately ever managed to do – it had quickly become one of his favourite places in the entire world, packed full of culture and sophistication, and where fear of authority more or less successfully stifled the base instincts of its obsequious inhabitants. But sadly, what should have been a feeling of excitement was actually one of complete dread – because getting to the delectable destination involved trekking through the middle of the cesspit that was Dragonville.
–––
As the burnt-out buildings came into view, a foreboding rumble filled George’s stomach, accompanied by a sensation of sickness. “What a spiffing, lovely day!” he forcibly announced, looking around and trying hard to find positive, motivating images. “Ah! A newly-hatched butterfly! You’ve certainly bettered yourself through hard work – inspirational! A plucky little bird removing maggots from what could once again be a beautiful bush – good for you, sir! Oo-er! An invasive foreign species on the verge of wiping out the native hedgerow. Gah!”
George carried on purposefully and had soon reached the part of town where the shops started. This was it. This was where it started to get really nasty. Drawing to a halt, he began to rummage in his tapestry dragon bag – another item he had made himself – and a moment later, pulled out his pocket watch. Nearly quarter to twelve. Hopefully he could be out of the other side before any of the residents bothered to unstick themselves from their bedsheets.
He braced himself and... forward!
Speed-walking along the cracked pavement as quickly as his bulging stomach would permit, George made his way down the high street.
Out in front, it seemed quiet. No signs of life.
Like a bright green, elephant-sized ghost, George stealthily made his way along and in no time was passing the fried animal outlets, weapons shops, and amusement arcades without his eyes deviating from the road.
Head down, he waddled on determinedly. The numerous raw flesh shops were now slipping away behind him, the dingy convenience stores with their indescribably awful odours. He was making good progress.
Onwards he went. Past the pawnbrokers, the torture store, and the nail bar. Soon he had reached the town hall with its spike-tipped railings and still hadn’t seen another individual. This was a pleasant surprise.
Perhaps today is my lucky day! thought George, now beginning to stride more confidently. Maybe he had been worrying over nothing? Maybe the centre of Dragonville wasn’t as terrible as it used to be? Maybe the authorities had clamped down on all the antisocial conduct and now the place was actually really up and comin—
A commotion up ahead brought George back to reality. Three rough-looking dragons had just burst out of a takeaway and gone straight behind a bus shelter.
“Dammit!” Quickly, he crossed to the opposite side of the road and kept going.
The sounds of scuffling and whispering were becoming louder as George got nearer. Tensing his muscles, he prepared. Were these beasts going to try to get the drop on him?
His head now tilted away, he carried on, doing his best to move in silence.
SMASH! A glass panel from the shelter crashed onto the pavement, closely followed by two of the three dragons. Frantically, they dragged themselves up and out of the shards and then disappeared back behind the remaining section.
George let out a small tut. It was appalling conduct but he wasn’t going to intervene; that would only invite a torrent of abuse. Let them get on with smashing up their own town. What did he care, anyway? It wasn’t like the bus route ran anywhere near his house. Nevertheless, it was certainly irksome and for a split second, he found himself grinding his teeth and thinking how it wouldn’t be at all tragic if their destructive capers led them to stumble into the road just as the 11.52 service came skidding in—
CRASH! There went the final panel.
Snapped out of his traffic-accident-comeuppance fantasy, George gave a huff. Woeful individuals who didn’t have the breeding to know better. Drowning would be kinder. However, with nothing left to conceal them, George caught a glimpse of something which sent a shiver down his spine. Three adult male dragons, standing in a circle, each tightly gripping the tail of the individual in front of it – and one of them was a familiar figure. A large, red, steroid-fuelled, definitely-overcompensating monster. Tyler – deputy leader of the town’s ‘most-baddest’ gang, The Dragonville Massive.
Feeling his blood running cold, George looked away. If he had realised they belonged to this group earlier, he wouldn’t have hesitated; he would have backed away sharply in the opposite direction. But he had not. And now here he was, all alone in the middle of the street with the most depraved brutes in the area. Nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.
Keeping his speed constant as he drew opposite, George carried on, not knowing if he was being watched by the dragons who now stood awkwardly in their three-way clinch behind the metal framework of the bus shelter. Come on, George thought, forcing himself not to break into an energy-efficient, mirth-inducing speed-walk. Keep going. Just a bit more.
Heart still-racing at the terrifying sight, George pushed on. Soon he was halfway down the street and miraculously, neither the shouts of obscenity nor the cries of bodily assault he had been expecting to hear had arrived. It was looking good. “Phew!” He dabbed a bead of sweat from his temple. That had been a close—
“ROOOAAAARRR!”
“Oh, for fu... I mean, aaaargh!” George felt his temperature rocket and his bowels shudder. “D... Dylan!” he blurted. “Chief Executive Officer, Player-Manager, and bass guitarist of The Dragonville Massive, if memory serves correctly. Anyway, hello! Sorry, can’t stop!” Instinctively, he side-stepped the blue, unhygienic-looking individual who had just burst from the arts and crafts store and upped his speed.
Quickly, Dylan dodged around the back of George then appeared in front, pushing his nose right up close so that George couldn’t help but notice the ‘Awwoq 3uld’ tattoo smudged onto his forehead – scale-ism, dyslexia, and bathroom mirrors were not a good combination. “Where you going, George?” he snarled, pulling back his gums and exposing curved, yellow teeth. “Thought we agreed you stayed on the outskirts nowadays? Oh, yeah! And I heard you wanted to fight with me!”
“F... fight?” Subtly, George edged his nostrils sideways and away from the wave of halitosis. “M... me?” Quite clearly, he had no desire to even be in the same airspace as this disgusting creature, let alone engage in any sort of physical contact. “Dylan, surely you realise there’s been a mistake?”
The gang leader took a step back. “You calling me a liar, George? You big salad-eater!” He began to bob about as if readying himself for an attack.
“Oh, no, no!” panicked George. “I would never question the integrity of an individual such as yourself.” This poncho was white – bloodstains would ruin it. “I’m just saying, obviously I don’t want to fight you. Why on earth would I...? Sorry, I’m confused. Could we just take a step back? Why do you think I want to—”
“My niece,” interrupted Dylan, still hopping from toe to toe as though he were in desperate need of a public lavatory. “Or nephew? I can’t keep track, to be honest.”
George briefly allowed his expression to drift from abject terror to thin-lipped empathy.
“Anyway,” continued Dylan, “it was on your roof, minding his own business, and you yelled at her that you were going to see their parents.” He let out a small sigh. “Damn these hermaphroditic phases; still, I suppose we dragons have all been there. Ha, remember yours? You got stuck halfway for about six months! Good times, good times!”
Ah! Now it made sense. The rotund reprobate in the garden earlier. “No, no!” said George, forcing a smile. “I simply told the exceptionally well-nourished youngster – well done on that front, by the way – that I would be informing their legal guardians of their mischievous conduct in my vegetable plot. No fighting involved.”
As the explanation began to sink into his brain, Dylan looked muddled, then disappointed, then embarrassed before finally settling on being annoyed. “Ye... ye... yeah, well,” he snarled, “don’t you go telling my daught... er... son... er...niece ...NIECE! anything, yeah? She can do what he wants, right? And so can my wife and sister, ok? If you happen to meet her; doesn’t go out much, to be honest.”
“Oh yes, no problem at all!” breathed George, incredulous. “Absolutely anything they want. Destroying my house and garden, observing utterly irreproachable acts through my kitchen window; seems perfectly reasonable.”
By now, Dylan had stopped his toilet dance. “Um... just out of interest, did you happen to see the other members of The Dragonville Massive whilst you were on your way here?”
George began to nod. “Mmm – well, sort of. They were er... busying um... occupying themselves behind the er... bus shel-ter.”
Dylan’s jaw fell open. “Ri...” COUGH! COUGH! “Right. Er... were they...?”
George shuffled. “Um... yesss. T... tails.”
Dylan swallowed hard, then gingerly raised his snout to look over George’s shoulder.
Seeing that The Dragonville Massive head of dragon resources was now preoccupied with whatever was behind him, it seemed a good time to make his excuses. “Um, are we done?” asked George. “It’s just that I’ve got an er... appointment with my um... chiropodis—”
“Bye, George.” Dylan shoved past and set off in the direction of his gang.
Steadying himself on a nearby lamppost, George took a deep breath. That had been a close one.