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Nineteen minutes later and George arrived at the Dragonville recreation ground to the sight of the resident spotty savages herding their terror-stricken prey into a tight bunch, but miraculously before any actual people-eating had begun. For once, it was fortunate that adolescents took forever to do anything.
“Excuse me!” George speed-walked into the middle of the fray, trying to ignore the burning sensation in his legs. “Young dragons, if I could just ask you to let these nice people go. As you can see, they are a little lost and I’m going to help them—”
“Clear off, George!” snarled one of the youngsters. “Finders keepers! You can watch us from your bush if you have to.” It let out a blast of flames which almost set fire to the heavily lacquered, peroxide-blonde hair of grieving widow, Mrs Winterburn.
“Yeah!” jeered another of the mouthy beasts. “Go get your own lunch, you cabbage-chomping misfit!”
More fruit and veg-based insults followed but George, arms folded and jaw jutted and well aware that he had an audience of humans to impress, fought to retain his composure. “Young dragons!” he cut in, just as one individual finished offering a particularly offensive – not to mention impractical and unhygienic – suggestion about where he should put his lettuce. “I’m going to have to insist; please could you kindly back away now!”
He glanced to the people. “I do apologise for these appalling delinquen... youths,” he said, cringing slightly. “I’m afraid they are um... a little rough around the edges. Obviously, trendy-modern-opinion dictates the fault lies with society and – as I’m sure you’re all aware – as compassionate, superior citizens it’s our duty to make the best of a bad situation until we have a water-tight-enough reason to finally incarcerate the horrible, little—”
WHACK! A stone collided with one of George’s rear spines and went dancing off over the path. “Good grief!” he gasped. The nerve of it! Cutting short his bleeding-heart speech! “In... in... incredibly disrespectful!” he eventually spluttered. “Disgraceful, antisocial behaviour! Who threw that? Come on, I demand to know! Who’s the culprit?”
“Society!” shouted someone. “You need to punish everybody!”
A wave of sniggering began to spread through the gang of youths.
CLINK! Another stone zinged off the nearby wire mesh fence.
“Now, seriously!” snapped George. “Desist immediately or I shall have to give you a um... pretty stern speaking-to!”
CLINK! CLINK! CLINK! More stones followed.
Flinching dramatically, George raised his arms. “No! No! Stop it!”
“Haha! Watch out, Georgie! Heads-up!”
WHACK! A stone struck him on his shoulder.
“Goodness me!” George looked himself up and down in wide-eyed disbelief. “What on earth do you—”
“Weirdo! Weirdo! Weirdo!”
“Weirdo! Weirdo! Weirdo!”
CLINK! Another stone hit the fence.
“Stop it!” he warned. “Do you have any idea how dangerous—”
“Dragon’s Health! Dragon’s Health! Dragon’s Health!”
WHACK! A stone hit his arm.
“Ouch! That... that really hurt! Right, that’s it! I’m... I’m about to start taking names!”
“Weirdo! Weirdo! Weirdo!”
“Weirdo! Weirdo! Weirdo!”
“Weirdo! Weirdo! Weirdo!”
CLINK!
CLINK!
CLINK!
“For... for the last time!” Now cowering into his poncho, George wagged a claw. “I absolutely demand you—”
BOOOOOOFFFF! Half a brick, directly on the forehead. “UHHHH!”
“Wahoo! Bullseye!”
A high-pitched ringing sounded within George’s head.
“Weirdo! Weirdo! Weirdo!”
“Is he...?”
Now looking skyward, George desperately fought to hold himself up.
“Yep, he’s going!”
It was all turning blurry.
His knees touched the ground.
“Weirdo! Weirdo! Weirdo!”
“Weirdo! Weird...”
Everything went black.
********
“Weirdo! Weirdo! Weirdo!”
Running as fast as his feet would carry him, George raced down the school corridor, past the Torture department, then the GBH block, not slowing.
“Get him! Get the fat weirdo!”
Skidding around a corner, George collided with a display outside the Science room sending cube-shaped papier mâché planets – a compromise with the Dragonville Flat World Society following their donation to the new wing – spinning off in all directions.
Onwards he raced.
“Weirdo! Weirdo!”
“Oi! You big veg-muncher, come here! We’ve got something for you!”
“Come on, come on!” gasped George. His satchel was now twisting around his neck and starting to strangle him but he couldn’t stop. They were gaining. His scales were already pretty battered; he couldn’t take another beating this week.
He turned another corner.
There! Just beyond the Modern Languages department – a door.
Ignoring the huge ‘No entry to pupils’ sign, he pulled the handle. It opened.
SLAM! He closed it behind him.
Panting furiously, George dashed back into what was now clearly a large storage cupboard. Ducking behind some boxes, he held his breath. Had he given his bullies the slip?
He listened. Out in the corridor, it was quiet... Suddenly, footsteps.
George crouched down even further.
“Where’s the weirdo?” sounded a gruff voice.
The footsteps seemed to stop outside the room.
“He’s getting faster,” came another voice. “Must be all that meat he isn’t eating? Or because we do this to him at twelve-thirty every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday?”
George blinked. Apparently, he was part of the time-table. A lunchtime extracurricular activity, by all accounts. No wonder no one liked him.
“Must’ve gone out the other entrance,” came the gruff voice. “The one that we’re not supposed to use but which is always inexplicably open. Come on, we’ll go around the other way and surprise him – with yet another kicking!”
Gradually, the footsteps faded out.
Leaning on the back of an old, paint-splattered chair, George looked to his left wrist. Another big Dragonville Burn – where they simultaneously twisted your arm in two different directions and then blasted you with fire when you started to scream. Still, at least now he had a matching pair.
Steeling himself, he began to wander his new hiding place.
Inside the tiny room – lit only by one small window at the far end – there were lots of piles of junk. Books that were no longer used because books were no longer fashionable in the Dragonville educational system. Various pieces of broken weapons that had been forgotten about. Manacles hanging off the wall – odd for a cupboard; presumably taken at some point from the after-school detention room and then not replaced. And they complained about having no budget?
Opening the lid of a box, George lifted out the top item – a book entitled ‘Intermediate Arson: Propellants and insurance claims’ which featured a picture of a dragon standing in front of a bankrupt hotel, holding a can of petrol and grinning broadly. He tossed it back, then flipped the lid on another box. A glossy cover greeted him.
George picked it out and focused on the text – ‘Dragon’s Health Magazine’. This was strange. Judging by the very muscular dragon who was bending over on the front, it certainly wasn’t a school publication. It must be the caretaker’s, George reasoned. He was probably the only one who came in here, although he didn’t seem to be the sort who would spend hours in the gym. Still, rousing yourself with pictures of role models was a start.
His curiosity piqued, George turned back the cover and began to skim down the contents page. There were lots of entries for body-building exercises. ‘Turgid tails – gaining and holding on to. Big spines – really getting to the point.’ George frowned. Lifting weights for the sake of it all seemed a bit unproductive. He carried on, ‘Scale-waxing methods – get buff the right way.’ Again, more vanity – not something he had any interest in. He stopped. ‘Fighting techniques.’ Now that seemed a bit more like it! Not as an aggressor, obviously. That was appalling. But for self-defence – to be able to stand up for himself – which would have the knock-on effect of allowing him to do whatever he pleased without any kind of repercussions? That definitely had a charm to it.
He began to read, ‘Terrible tail swipes – from head spine to toe claw: A guide for efficient body-part-removal.’ He pouted. Most interesting! His tail was actually coming along nicely with age. Perhaps the appendage he was proudest of – it almost made up for his spindly little wings. He continued down the page, ‘Poison-claw boxing: Workarounds for non-venomous dragons.’ Hmm, sounded like a lot of work. It seemed best to work with what you had. ‘Fatal fire-breathing: For when they’ve left an egg in your wife’s...’ Maybe he was straying a bit into dubious territory?
BUZZ! The bell indicating the start of lessons rang out in the corridor.
George dropped the magazine back into the box, then slowly got up. Time to go out there and face them. A quick dash to the relative safety of his classroom and perhaps he would be going home with the same number of teeth as he had arrived with this morning? There was always hope.
He stepped towards the door and, heart-racing, began to depress the handle.
He paused.
He turned back.
Reaching into the box, George picked up the Dragon’s Health Magazine and slipped it into his bag. Something told him he needed it more than the caretaker.
********
WHACK!
George opened his eyes just as the stone left the end of his nose.
“Wakey-wakey, George! You big weirdo!”
Still groggy, it took a moment for him to realise he was lying on his side on the recreation ground grass.
“Weirdo! Weirdo! Weirdo!”
Slowly, George began to drag himself up, doing his best to keep one arm over his head to fend off the ongoing rock-barrage.
“Weirdo! Weirdo! Weirdo!”
Trying to focus, George looked to the group of people. Were there the same number as before? Forty-seven? He was seeing double so... That was worrying.
WHACK! Another stone glanced off his shoulder.
George barely felt it. His head was aching so much. Strange shapes were floating in front of his eyes.
WHACK! A stone hit George’s chest.
He just stood there.
WHACK! One hit his arm.
No response.
“I bet I can get one right on his bum!” came a snigger. “Ready, and... huhh!”
THWACK! George spun, knocking the stone out of the air with the tip of his tail.
“W... watch out!”
CLANG! The projectile bounced off the crossbar of the swings upon which perched two young dragons.
“Did... did you see?” came a gasp. “He... he just threw something at us! The weirdo just threw something!”
“Ooh! Why so mad, George?” taunted a voice. “Did Mr Staphylokebabus run out of deep-fried spicy flamingo again?!”
His vision still not right, George stared into space. “Flamingo?” he murmured. It sounded familiar. A distant memory.
For some reason, it was making him feel hungry.
For some reason, it was making him feel angry.
He couldn’t think straight. Someone was beating a drum inside his skull.
THWACK! His expression remaining vacant, he tail-swiped back another stone, scattering the crowd from around the see-saw.
“Flamingo?” he murmured. “Fal-mingo?”
The world had now taken on a pink sheen.
THWACK! He effortlessly sent back another rock, this time putting a large dent in the roundabout.
A vein in George’s temple pulsed, then pulsed again and again and... blood. Now he could taste blood. Sweet blood. His own blood.
“Fal-mingo? Fal-mingo?”
THWACK! CLANG!
THWACK! SMASH!
THWACK! SNAP! “Owwwwwwww!”
“Fal-mingo?” He continued to murmur. “Fal-mingo? Fal-af-mingo?”
George’s eyes rolled back into his head. “FAL-AF-MINGO!”
That. Was. It.
“RAAAAAAAAAAAARRR!” George bellowed with all his might, making the recreation ground swings squeak and sway.
The greasy adolescents fell silent and stared at him. They had never expected such a thing from an uptight oddball who had so rabidly shunned the society he was supposed to be a part of.
“RAAAAAAAAAAAARRR! DID YOU JUST ACCUSE ME OF EATING MEAT?!” screamed George.
Saliva had now begun to pour through his lower teeth.
“RAAAAAAAAAAAARRR! HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT?! YOU’RE NOTHING BUT DISGUSTING, LOWER-CLASS SCUM! THE DREGS OF SOCIETY!
“RAAAAAAAAAAAARRR! NICE, DECENT, UPSTANDING INDIVIDUALS DON’T CARE ABOUT YOUR EXCUSES!
“RAAAAAAAAAAAARRR! YOUR PARENTS SHOULD ALL HAVE BEEN STERILISED!
“RAAAAAAAAAAAARRR! AND I STILL HAVEN’T HAD MY RUDDY ORGANIC HUMMUS! RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRR!”
George began to blink. Goodness, he needed to take something for this migraine.
He looked around. Now the youths were bunched together on the far side of the play area. Fighting hard to keep a cheery smile from creeping onto the edges of his broken, psychopathic mouth, he gave a shrug. You couldn’t argue with results.
Now no longer surrounded by a marauding pack of hooligans, the group of people looked at George. He had saved them, but after his display, there was no denying that he was an unhinged individual with violent, unpredictable tendencies, and potentially problematic opinions.
Seeing their pale faces and panicked expressions, it was all too clear to George that the people were still terrified of him. He had done all he could but maybe it just wasn’t to be? Maybe there was no chance people would ever feel comfortable around a fearsome-looking beast, no matter how well he normally managed to control his temper and his tendency to gravitate towards acts of violence? Prejudice really was a terrible thing.
With a lump in his throat, George turned and began to walk back towards his hut. A public breakdown, a serious head injury, and still ostracised by two separate societies. Plus, he hadn’t even got anything to put on his pittas. Today’s trip had not been a positive experience. Oh, well. At least things couldn’t get any worse...
“HOWWWWLLLL!”
“RAAAAAARRR!”
“Oh, come on!” Unable to believe his ears, George stared towards the noise.
Thundering towards him, surrounded by a cloud of dust, was none other than The Dragonville Massive!
He clenched his jaw. How much more stomaching the abhorrent did he have to do today?