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Rated: E · Prose · Dark · #1825937
A complete personification of a bout of depression into a mythical short
The black dragon. There isn’t the tiniest hint of shine or colour in the vastness of scales dressing that powerful body.  Those red eyes do nothing but inspire fear of finality. After all these years, nothing has changed about it’s character. How do you fight a beast that dines on despair? Always sated, this one is. Now I awake this morning to its challenge outside my window once again without appointment or explanation.

I’ve learned to build better swords over the years however not always can I repair them in time for the next battle. Sometimes I have to contend with a shattered blade and a smithy who is miles away. This takes creativity and energy I feel I sometimes dread to muster under the weight and burden of having to protect what is mine. We all become tired of war eventually.

It may be today that it came only to observe or test me. The great hot huffs of its breath are blowing the torn fabric on my windows. I may just stay here in bed and let it analyze me for dinner. It’s curious and casual pacing tells me that it is in no more mood to fight today than I am. I have other weapons at my disposal. Some under the category of dangerous magic and over the years IT has come to know THESE as well.

Stalemate it is for now. Until there is more to chronicle, I won’t bore you with my sentiments of it’s movements and our histories. For this has been my life. A duel with a mediaeval devil.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1825937