Dragon

“When you read this again in a couple years, don’t forget to pour a little more salt in the wound…”

There’s a dragon in my closet.

Not the kind with scales and wings, but a dragon nonetheless. It’s been in there since we moved in, pacing back and forth, watching and waiting for the chance to strike. A true serpent in disguise, it hides in the shadows, plotting and scheming, eagerly anticipating the day I’m forced to contend with its cruelty.

It hasn’t got me yet, but I know someday it will.

There’s a dragon in my closet.

I’ve tried to tell anyone who cared enough to listen but it’s always the same answer: get over yourself, move on, learn to forgive and forget. They think they have the answers, but they aren’t the ones living with it. They can’t smell the sulfur in its breath; the rot beneath its skin. They can’t feel it’s piercing eyes burning tiny holes into their soul, surgically dissecting them like a doctor hell bent on removing anything good and leaving the cancer behind. They can’t hear it hissing in the night, singing a fiendish lullaby that calls to me like a starving siren.

It hasn’t killed me yet, but I know someday it will.

There’s a dragon in my closet.

I know so, because I remember putting it there. I remember spending years sweeping up the fractured bones of all my skeletons just to make its nest. The day it finally hatched, breathing life into its lungs only to steal it from mine. It was small at first, something I could feed from time to time, making sure it didn’t outgrow its cage, but it was no use! One minute you shut the door and the next thing you know it’s bursting at the seams, frothing at the maw and ready to devour anything that comes to close. I tried to evict it once! But I didn’t have the heart… Maybe I’ll try again later.

It hasn’t beaten me yet, but I know someday it will.

There’s a dragon in my closet.

It’s about six feet tall and a little over two hundred pounds. It has a nasty limp in its right leg and more scars on its knuckles than anyone would dare to count. Its eyes are a flashing blue, with a tongue that spews hellfire and hatred. It’s bruised up, banged up, and extremely pissed off – a cross between a decent man and some wicked, demonic spawn.

Death? Oh, it loves death!

Pain? That’s the only thing it eats anymore!

Fear? Are you serious?! He was the first to be eaten!

I have a dragon in my closet.

It lives in my mirror.

And it hasn’t won yet, but God knows it probably will.