Morning in the Park
by Robert Mariner, East Sierra Branch
An odd sort of whoosh passes close overhead as I walk across the park, causing me to look up. I don’t see anything, but whatever it was, it sounded fairly big – almost like a glider some of our more daring people use to ride air currents up along the mountain ridges. I’ve heard those a few times, but this sounded – different. Heavier, somehow, kind of like the sound of a large bird like a raven gliding past.
Ravens don’t usually glide close past people’s heads in this park, so while I was looking up it was probably below the tops of the trees and I just plain didn’t see it. Oh well – no harm done; I’m just anxious to get across this park for breakfast.
A commotion off to my left gets my attention — shouts, some terrified screams. Keeping the peace here is my job; I turn and hustle over to where people are moving in a confused manner — some people running away from the ruckus, others running towards it. An odd dark, angular shape momentarily rises above the people, moves back down.
There are a lot fewer screams now — well, none. Whatever happened must have really startled some folks, you usually hear a lot of screams when something scares people badly enough.
Working my way into the gathering crowd I catch a sense of the excitement around me. Kind of a feeling of almost-alarm, not-quite-fear, a lot of apprehension, some people still scared but willing to watch and find out what’s that sound.
There’s talking up ahead, an old dialect of our local tongue. Gosh, I haven’t heard that since my grandmother passed away, kind of brings back memories. She always insisted I learn to use that dialect really, really well, but I have no idea why; nobody uses it any more. One of the voices is awfully deep, not angry or upset – just a bit loud, but not for emphasis. Must be a really big guy, probably sings bass somewhere. Deep bass.
This crowd’s packed in awfully tight, not really great for me. I’m not a big person, most of the men in town are at least a head taller than I am. Can’t really see what’s ahead of me, but I get glimpses of something that might be a sculpture up ahead. Seems to be made of some black material, with maybe reddish highlights. I didn’t know the park was going to have a new sculpture, but from the glimpses I do get of it, this new addition seems to have had considerable work lavished on it to provide small details — I’ll just have to wait until I get through this wall of people.
I finally get through to the front of the crowd. A scaly head on a long, serpentine neck turns to face me full on, and that deep, rich voice says something very politely.
I don’t really hear it.
This thing is a freaking dragon.
Read more about Robert Mariner at
https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/RobertM256
and on his website http://therefugeconfederation.com/