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George had lived alone on the furthermost edge of Dragonville for nearly as long as he could remember.
It wasn’t as though George had never tried to get on with the rest of his species, although it was fair to say he hadn’t tried very hard. During his early years, he had, of course, attended school – Dragonville High Comprehensive. George’s schooldays ought to have been a happy time, however, his inability to not really irritate everybody due to an out-of-principle sensitivity towards literally all mainstays of dragon society – even the less objectionable ones – had quickly meant that he became a target for victimisation.
Unfortunately for George, the years of name-calling and beatings did nothing to suppress his unorthodox opinions and he remained an oddball who would go through day-to-day life attracting abuse from all angles. However, Dragonville being Dragonville, it was only a matter of time before things escalated far beyond the point at which George could stand there and look about, po-faced. The final straw had come one fateful Monday lunchtime in an event that, to this day, remained vivid in his mind and still caused him to wake during the night, dripping in sweat.
********
The town hall clock had just clanged 1 pm as George entered Staphylokebabus, the newest and therefore, for the moment at least, the cleanest-looking takeaway on Dragonville High Street. Normally, George wouldn’t bother with these sorts of establishment; he knew they only sold deep-fried animal entrails and, as a recent convert to veganism, could never find anything appropriate to choose. However, this place was new so perhaps they were different? There was always hope.
Clad in a bright yellow, chunky-knit polo neck – his most-recent homemade creation – George joined the queue and began to scan the giant, illuminated menu boards out in front. ‘Dog eyes in chilli sauce. Cat intestines with garlic mayo. Barbecued badger ribs (hot).’ He continued down half the options before giving up. “Yuck!” The same old stuff. Apparently, he was going home to roast another cauliflower. He began to edge himself free. “Typical!” he groaned. “Absolutely ruddy typic—” Suddenly, something caught his eye. Squashed into the bottom right-hand corner of the menu were the words, ‘Deep-fried spicy fal’. It must be ‘falafel’! thought George, instantly brightening up. The single obligatory option for the non-meat-eater. They didn’t forget me!
George slipped back into the line and now stood patiently with his polo neck pulled right up over his nose in the hope that the ethically-sourced wool might counter the stench of the unethically-sauce-covered flesh that seemed to be everywhere. Did they use separate oil to fry the non-meat products? he wondered. Did they use different utensils to pick up different things? He glanced to the half donkey which was revolving on a spit on the other side of the counter, and then to the server dragon who had just given his bottom a very thorough scratch before delving claws-first into the shredded cabbage. George pulled his jumper up a bit higher. It probably didn’t make too much sense to think about what happened in the back, out of sight.
Over ten minutes of ignoring dubious food hygiene went by.
“NEXT!”
George stepped to the front.
The server dragon repositioned his paper hat and leaned forwards, leaving greasy claw prints on the surface. “What d’ya want? Lunchtime special?”
“No, thank you,” said George quickly. He had no idea what the special was but was one-hundred-percent confident he would not be interested. “I’ll have the deep-fried spicy falafel, please. Sorry, I’m assuming that dish is suitable for vegans; you couldn’t possibly confirm, could you?” The server looked confused so George began again, “The falafel,” he pointed towards the corner of the menu, “does it contain any animal products?”
Still looking directly at George, the server opened his huge mouth. “Dwayne!” he yelled. “Does the deep-fried spicy flamingo contain any animal products?”
“Fl... flamingo!” spluttered George. “You... you think I would eat flamingo?! That’s... that’s not even how you would start to spell flamingo!” That was a quarter of an hour of his life that he wasn’t getting back. “F-A-L is what you’ve written!” he snapped. “It’s obviously falafel. Fal... fal... falcon, maybe? I suppose I could have just about accepted that; it would have been slightly more predictab—”
“Fallow deer?” quipped the dragon who stood immediately behind in the queue. “Bit tenuous?”
George glared over his shoulder. “Not helpful!” Seriously hangry, he spun back to the server whose still-open trap was now really irking him. “You... you believe I, me! – a plant-based patriot of nearly two months – would ever, ever, ever put flesh – of any sort – inside my body?” Now his neck was starting to spasm. “That I would ever consent to such a barbaric act? I’m appalled at the mere suggestion! Literally—”
“Oi! George!” snarled a voice from behind. “How’s about you calm it down, hmm?”
“—literally, literally appalled!” George carried on. “You contemptible carnivores are once again questioning my beliefs! My heartfelt beliefs of virtually nine weeks! How... how dare you?! I mean, meat! MEAT! Meat is murder! You’re all m... murderers!”
“George! Leave it out!”
“Incredible!” he spluttered. “My lifestyle is being ridiculed by a bunch of appalling, murderous, murderous... you’re all an absolute disgrace! An absolute downright absolute disgrac—”
“George! I said, that’s enough!”
“Filth!” he hissed! “Every last one of you! Unfit-to-walk-this-earth murderous, murderous filth! Pure, stinking, filthy, dirty—”
“GEORGE!”
“—filthy, dirty, filthy, dirty, filthy, dirty, filthy—”
“GEORGE! GEORGE, I MEAN IT!”
“—dirty, filthy, dirty, filthy, dirty, FILTHY, DIRTY, F—”
WHOOOOSH! A ball of fire sent the server diving for cover before spreading out around the walls and ceiling.
“Yowwwww!” Snapped back into reality by the sensation of being encased in fizzling lemon knitwear, George rolled frantically onto the floor, trying to extinguish himself. “Aaaaaaaargh! Aaaaaaaargh! Aaaaargh! Aargh! Ahhhh! Ahhhhhh! Ahhhhhhhhh!” FZZZZZZZZZZZZ!
“This is the last time!” came a voice. “Get the fat weirdo!”
“Hmm? What?” Still shrouded in smoke, George looked up just in time to see a tattooed, blue fist whizzing towards his nose. “Dylan! No—”
CRACK!
“Owww! Crikey! No!” George brought his claws to shield his head.
WHACK!
“Owwwww!” gasped George. “Sorry, Dylan – and your charming gang-related friends – there’s been—”
“You won’t do this again will you, Georgie Porgie!” Dylan glanced sideways at an incredibly muscular red dragon. “Tyler, put your back into it!”
SMACK!
“Ooooof!”
“Still rubbish!” snapped Dylan. “My mum can kick harder!” He let out a deep, frustrated sigh. “We talked about this, didn’t we, Tyler? And we revisited your training, didn’t we, Tyler? Sorry, but we in The Dragonville Massive have standards to uphold. I’m afraid it’s gonna have to be a verbal warning!”
“Aw! What?! No way! For f—”
“Now do it again!” snarled Dylan. “Neutralise the weirdo – like we practised.”
“No, no, quite unnecessary!” gasped George, now unsure if the excrement in which he was rolling was his own or that of a third party. “Already most-agonising, certainly no skills-issue here, a good 8.5 on the pain scale—”
SPLAT!
“Oooooh!”
WHACK!
“Ooooof!”
SMACK!
“Motherf—!”
Cackling laughter rang out all around the shop, followed by more kicks and stamps. Slowly the lights faded and George’s moaning fell silent.
–––
When he awoke a day later, at first George didn’t know where he was. In a dim room, surrounded by blood-splattered curtains and an unpleasant stench of stale urine. It seemed familiar but his head was still very fuzzy, plus there were lots of places like this in Dragonville. The library, possibly? Then, as his vision fully returned, the photographs of grinning doctors and nurses posing around his naked, unconscious body confirmed it. He was in the accident and emergency department. Again.
And that was it. There, handcuffed to a sodden bed with ringing in his ears, George made his decision. From now on, he would keep away from everyone in Dragonville. He would go as far away as he possibly could – right to the outskirts – and he would live all by himself. No more dragons.
********
Back in the kitchen, the smell of freshly-baked bread was comforting and as George hurriedly removed the tray, he smiled with relief. “Not a second too long. Impeccable!” You could do a lot in seven and a half minutes.
Doing his best to put the probable hate crime in the veg plot from his mind, George plated up four of the pittas and went to the refrigerator knowing exactly what he was looking for. The ultimate in comfort food. A delicious-yet-healthy spread that would complement his wholegrain baked goods perfectly. The life-blood of the happy vegan – organic hummus. However, as the fridge light illuminated his excited, chubby face, in an instant he remembered the previous evening. “Midnight snack!” he groaned, clutching his brow. “None left. I completely forgot!”
Irritated, George dug through the shelves, shoving bunches of celery out of the way and dropping radishes onto the floor. “Must be something suitable,” he muttered. Flavoured soy spread? No, he didn’t fancy it. Avocado dip? Meh. Tofu? Not even sure why he had bought that.
With a bang, George closed the door and then looked back to his heaped plate. Now the bread didn’t seem so golden and delicious; more dry and bland and desperately, desperately tasteless.
A nervous tingling had now begun in George’s palms.
It was hummus – and only hummus – that he wanted. But this wasn’t a foodstuff you could get in Dragonville – or at least not the ultra-virtuous version of it that George had in mind. This involved a far more masochistic and therefore worthy trip. He took a breath, drawing in a deep lungful of the intoxicating kitchen smell, then held it until his eyes glazed over. “FUUUCCCKKK!”
A perilous challenge now beckoned – a wholly unnecessary one brought about through a sheer determination to be awkward. An endeavour to make his life needlessly difficult. An escapable experience. An avoidable adventure. It was him all over. Classic George.
The siren song of the hallowed chickpea dip was calling to him – and that meant only one thing. It was time to travel to People Town – and more precisely, its ethical grocer. It was time to visit the glorious Farmer Fred’s feel-good, local, family, fair-trade, organic wholefoods store.