Uncaged

By Wes Leigh featuring the contributions of Rob the Scribe

 

This is a work of fiction intended solely for the entertainment of our readers; any resemblance to any real people or places is purely coincidental. Readers who would like to chat are encouraged to contact us at weston.leigh@protonmail.com and robthescribe@protonmail.com.

This story is the property of the authors and is protected by copyright laws. The authors retain all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the authors' consent.

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Epilogue

 

Roderyk placed a hand on RJ's shoulder and squeezed it gently. "What are you working on?"

RJ looked over his shoulder and smiled. "Just something I started writing. You wanna read it?"

Roderyk nodded. "Of course! Always want to read whatever you write."

RJ smiled and handed Roderyk the paper, waiting as his boyfriend read silently.

 

THE AWAKENING

By Robin the Bard

The darkness was almost unbearable. He had always been there. He had never felt the bright sun on his scales. Never felt the warm wind of a balmy summer day under his wings.

But that was a lie. He'd been sleeping down here for far too long. Here, far below the mountain, in his lair, in the midst of the all-encompassing rock. And so he deluded himself. It was true: even the mightiest mind could be deceived by its senses. And so he would probably end up a prisoner of his own mind.

How many others were left? How many of them were like him? How many had perished? Did they all deserve it? Did they deserve it like he did? Did they deserve it because he ruined them all?

Or was it just the natural course of things? Had it just been natural that his kind had given way to another race? He wanted to believe it. But how pointless this way had been.

Once he and his brothers and sisters had been the mightiest under heaven. They were the ones who were created before the humans and thus emerged strengthened from the Great Magic. They should have reigned forever. At least that's how his people saw it. All of them, the dragons, saw humans as nothing more than prey. A few, maybe a species of servants and subjects, but no more.

How presumptuous, how arrogant they had been! How could they have believed that humans would have accepted such a fate? They who had already risen above their former masters, the spirits, and banished them?

The resting one shook his huge head involuntarily.

These humans would never have allowed themselves to be so oppressed. Not by the spirits, not by the dragons, none of them. These humans just weren't like that.

Humans. At this word alone, the most contradictory feelings stirred in him. Humans were the epitome of weakness and the symbol of hidden strength. They were the followers. They were the mob. They were the rebels. They were sin. They were virtue.

This inconspicuous breed stood for all of this and so much more besides.

Why was he the only one among his own kind who recognized it? Why had all the others just closed their eyes and flown in the direction of their demise?

He alone had approached them, this young species, wanting to guide them. But again and again his own race got in his way. None of them could understand him, who only had the best for them all in mind. Nobody wanted to listen to him, wanted to walk his path with him.

At first he tried to convince them. He tried to explain his way to them, tried to get them on his side. But they laughed at him.

They called him a do-gooder, a philanthropist, a hopeless fool, an enemy of his own race.

Meanwhile, the dying among the humans continued.

Grief was his constant companion at the time. He, who saw generations of humans come and go, mourned for every person who had to suffer and die at the hands of the dragons. Everything, it seemed to him, he had longed for; everything he tried to convey to his family was in vain. They would never shake off their desires, forget their lust for power. They would never recognize humans as equals among equals. And yet it was so badly needed.

All talking, all negotiating, wouldn't help. Action would have to follow. There would have to be a fight. He would have to fight against his own kind. He would have to wipe out his family.

But hadn't they caused it? Weren't they the ones who had laughed at him because of his closeness to humans? Hadn't they been the ones who had branded him? Hadn't they been the ones who had rejected him, their son, their brother, their father?

Wasn't it the humans who took him in, who promised him a future, who deserved a future of their own? It was a decision. His decision. A decision with far reaching consequences.

A decision that turned out in favor of the humans.

Thus began the age of the great dragon hunts. And so they fell. His brothers and sisters. His kind. His family. They were vengefully snatched away by the blades of men, cut down ruthlessly by his own claws, crushed in cold blood by his jaws, heartlessly burned by the magic within him and that of the human Magii.

The dragons could not escape them, because no one was on their side. Didn't they bring this upon themselves? Wasn't it their own fault? Hadn't they been the architects of their own destiny?

Sticking always in his mind was the one thought: it was he who had brought death to his own.

With every last sigh, with every last fiery breath, something had died in him. Something he could never regain. He had sinned against them, against his family. Noble as his reasons might have been, he could not deny it.

Eventually the last of the dragons decided to retreat; to begin a sleep from which they did not wake until people had forgotten. Had forgotten what once was, what once existed. Until the dragons could once again reach out for power.

It would be a new age. A time when humans finally took over. A time when there were no more dragons.

He too had to disappear. To become dormant. He knew that very well at the time.

But he wasn't allowed to disappear into nothingness. He had to keep awake. He had to disappear so that one day he could face the sleepers. They who slept now would want to enslave humanity again. Someone had to stand up to them in the future as well. He would have to fight again. Sometime. In the future.

And so he too lay down to sleep, as the last of the dragons; his name a mark of human honor: Draco.

And now Draco stirred underground. People had forgotten the past for far too long. For far too long they believed that he and his kind did not exist, that they belonged to the realm of myth and legend.

But they were wrong. The dragons, the spirits, the werewolves and Tuatha were all real and threatened the unsuspecting.

His former brothers and sisters knew this and were about to awaken. This was the reason why Draco had been jolted out of his sleep so suddenly.

Draco knew perfectly what had happened. Now it was time for him to explore this new era. Much had to be prepared. After all, it was about nothing less than the future of all mankind.

 

Roderyk, impressed with RJ's story, handed it back with a curious expression. "Why are you writing this?"

RJ shrugged. "I don't know. It's just something I thought would be fun to write. A story about dragons coming into the world again." When Roderyk frowned but said nothing, RJ asked, "What? What are you thinking?"

"Nothing."

RJ punched Roderyk in the arm. "Come on! Tell me what you think."

"It's a great story. Sounds interesting, and I'd like to read it. It's just ..."

"What? What are you hiding from me?"

Roderyk took a deep breath and said, "Okay. You really want to know what I'm thinking?"

RJ nodded.

Roderyk shrugged and said, "I'm just trying to figure out what they symbolize? The dragons. The spirits. The humans. What does it all mean?"

RJ, puzzled, shook his head and replied. "They don't symbolize anything, Roderyk. It's just a story, okay? A story doesn't have to be anything more than a story!"

Laughing, Roderyk kissed RJ on the nose. "Okay. I'm sorry."

RJ grinned. "For the first time in my life, I'm truly happy. I'm with people I love. My life is good. Can't I just write a story that's fun and entertaining? Geez!"

Roderyk looked at his young lover and smirked. Then he took RJ in his arms and lifted him off the ground, spinning the boy around and making him laugh. "Happy? Is that what you are?"

RJ nodded and nuzzled Roderyk's neck. "Very."

 

The end of UNCAGED, with warmest regards from Weston Leigh and Rob the Scribe.

 

A few words from the authors...

 

From Rob the Scribe (robthescribe@protonmail.com):

Before I met Wes, I was lonely. Only now, very gradually, do I realize how much.

I told him how bad it was for me. How much I suffered, how much I wished to be someone else. He listened to me, he understood me, and he created this story around my feelings.

I owe him so much...

I hope in this story I give some of that back to you.

Be proud of who you are. Don't be ashamed. Raise your head. Look up. Face a rapidly rising sun. Stand for yourself. Don't listen to the voices around you; don't believe for a moment that your feelings are wrong.

Those dark days of pain and fear, sadness and hopelessness are now over. New days will come. Days full of cheerfulness and laughter, joy and courage.

And we, who have experienced, and will experience all this, look up. Full of hope we look towards the rapidly rising sun.

 

From Wes Leigh (weston.leigh@protonmail.com):

When I first started chatting with Rob, my heart was broken by his story. By the struggles he'd endured and overcome.

And when he shared his essays with me, I broke down and cried, because his words were an expression of raw emotion. Like a surgeon's knife, those words cut deep into the wounds we all have from the poisonous hatred of others.

It hurts to relive the past, but then something amazing begins to happen. The words that first cut into you then begin to heal you. The tears you shed cleanse your soul and you find peace.

My hope for those of you who've read Uncaged is that you've found healing in these words and hope for your future.

And perhaps you'll also find a good friend, as I have, in Rob. Friends stand beside you, offer a shoulder to cry on, give you strength to face life's struggles. May you all find a friend who holds the key to whatever has encaged you.

With warmest regards, Wes.