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After a further ten minutes of extremely painful speed-plodding, George had finally passed the last shop on the other side of Dragonville.
Stopping for a moment, he gazed longingly into the distant countryside which separated his home town of primitive monsters from the beauty and elegance of People Town – a place clearly far more befitting of an individual of his civilisation. Slashing his tail through the swarm of flies that had been drawn to his sweat-soaked poncho, George comforted himself. Not long now. Nearly there.
A calming breeze swept over his clammy face and for a moment, he began to ponder the items he planned to buy from Farmer Fred’s in addition to his hummus. The speciality, ‘obscure-ingredient’ loaves always sounded interesting; ok, so perhaps they were very dry and yes, maybe they didn’t taste as ‘nice’ as ‘normal’ bread, but it was the sense of self-satisfaction, plus the trumpeted health benefits that you were paying for. He would see if he had space left in his bag.
Suddenly, a grey-brown haze a hundred metres out in front reminded George that now was not the time to be daydreaming. Far from it. Although he had successfully traversed the terrors of the town centre, ahead lay Dragonville’s final and foulest hurdle.
In his stomach, the resident swarm of neurotic banshee butterflies scrambled into action and, as per his self-devised and well-rehearsed ‘drill for dealing with ultra-panic and avoiding unnecessary public embarrassment’, George focused his mind then clenched everything as hard as he could. He was about to negotiate an area so vile that even the toughest, most-violent dragons chose to steer clear of it. A place full of the worst of the worst; the most obnoxious, offensive, and outright awful creatures the town had to offer. Beasts so bad they weren’t even allowed to go into shops unless accompanied by an adult. Steeling himself, George began to think happy, sophisticated thoughts. This wasn’t going to be pretty. It was time to go past the youth recreation ground.
–––
Between George and the tranquillity of poisonous-thing-filled nature, plumes of smoke were already visible, and loud, cackling laughter interspersed with cries of pain and shrieks of glee could be heard.
Treading as softly as a morbidly-obese dragon was able, George began his stealthy approach towards the play area.
A minute passed. Now sweating profusely and panting, George drew to a halt alongside a clump of bushes some twenty metres away. Cautiously, he peered through the greenery. There it was; the full horror revealed. Dozens of young dragons – some of whom he could swear he recognised from his plant-related persecution in the garden this morning – were misusing the climbing frames and swings by lounging all over them.
Pulling his poncho tight in a feeble attempt to look as small as possible, George pushed his dragon bag back over his shoulder and prepared to break his cover. On three, he told himself. Quick-smart straight along the perimeter before the scumbags have the gumption to look up from their aerosols. One... two...
“Oi, George! You big fruit-nosher! We can see you! Why are you watching us?”
“Look! He’s back from the outskirts and now he’s spying on us!”
George gritted his teeth. This didn’t look good.
He stepped from the leaves and, without any acknowledgement, began his speed-walk along the wire fence.
“Hey! You big, lardy-dah salad-eater!” came a shout. “What’s the hurry? Going to knitting club?”
“Why are you walking like that?”
George kept on waddling.
DING! Something bounced off the fence, narrowly missing him. A stone!
“Yikes!” George broke into his best attempt at a sprint.
“Get the weirdo!”
DING!
DING!
DING!
More stones followed, zinging off the fence and spinning over the street.
“Good grief!” panted George, now waiting to be fat-discriminated by receiving a cardiac arrest that he would not have got had his BMI been the right side of forty. “No! Stop it! Cease! Desist, I say! Most dangerous!”
Almost immediately, the howling increased, accompanied by an even larger barrage of rocks.
DING!
DING!
DING!
“Weirdo! Weirdo! Weirdo!”
“Weirdo! Weirdo! Weirdo!”
“Dragon’s Health! Dragon’s Health! Dragon’s Health!”
WHACK! A stone struck George on his back.
“Oww!”
WHACK! Another – this time to his shoulder.
“Aaargh!” He had to get out of here. Clutching his claws around his head, George fled as fast as his ballooning poncho would allow. This was simply not on. Anti-veganism at its absolute worst, no doubt. Possibly, sizeism? Maybe even, classism? Surely that worked upwards as well as down?
DING!
DING!
DING!
DING!
DING!
DING!
–––
Gradually, the sound of projectiles hitting things tailed off and George brought his wobble down to a walk. The tarmac road had now ended. Ahead lay the lush, green, pollen-clogged wilderness. He had done it. He had got through!
With a spring in his step, George set off into the hillside, abandoning his horrendous home town without as much as a second thought. Unfortunately, however, his home town wasn’t going to let him go quite so easily. George’s dragon issues weren’t over yet – trouble was hot on his tail!