"Dragons Aren't Real"

Dragons are 100 % real. I should know. I have been a dragon for most of my life. When I was a child, I was something of an introverted dragon. I was a forest dragon, preferring to spend my time in the deep woods. I loved to collect pennies, rocks, and books and bury them in the ground. I kept dozens of cedar boxes, locked with tiny locks and protected in gallon sized Ziploc bags, buried all over the woods in which I roamed and played. I would bury every book that I thought contained some kind of secret knowledge: the Holy Bible, Bram Stoker's Dracula, an old Farmers Almanac, Grimm's Fairy Tales, a dog eared copy of The Black Stallion... I also had rolls and rolls of pennies, pretty rocks, broken jewelry, tiny silver spoons, etc. I would keep maps of my buried treasure and often dig them up to enjoy my secret hoard alone in the deep woods.

As I became a teenager, I traded in my pennies and books for alcohol. Alcohol became my secret treasure, and I became a tricky dragon.  Dragons, by their very nature, are clever and selfish creatures. They do not like to share and they will go to extreme measures to protect their treasure. I began drinking alcoholically at the age of fourteen. From the beginning of my alcoholism, I exhibited the more undesirable dragon traits. I could be a lot of fun and shiny to look at, but basically every move was designed and executed to increase my bounty of secret treasure. I was an adventurous dragon, and began to travel near and far in search of treasure. I took my dragon-self nationwide.

Somewhere along the line, I became a fully formed, bully dragon. If I did not get my way, I would spew fire and wreak havoc. I kept captives to fulfill my gluttonous needs. To stave my wrath, the meek villagers were forced to bring more and more treasure to my caves. As brave knights came forth to slay me, I left an army of charred bones in my wake. My mouth constantly billowed smoke, laced with tricky lies and riddles designed to confound and awe. I had a mighty wingspan and portrayed myself as fearless. The truth was that I had a weak spot that I protected fiercely and also my coveted treasure became lackluster and hollow. As I became buried in my treasure, I dug deeper into my cave and could no longer even see the light at the end of the tunnel. The villagers were left relatively to peace and I was all but forgotten. They would randomly send forth a fresh virgin sacrifice laden with treasure to appease the great, sleeping beast. Decades went on in this way.

I no longer thought of anything but burying beneath the treasure day and night, season to season, year to year. But somewhere deep inside I was STILL a dragon.  Dragons tend to go out in a blaze of glory, not buried deep within a cave, chained forever to their treasure. And sometimes, just every once in a new century or so, a dragon with break free of the treasure and reenter the world. If the dragon has maintained its natural clever nature, it will realize that the world has much changed during the time of their imprisonment. Adjusting to change takes a certain desire to obtain fresh knowledge and a malleable spirit. It also requires a mind that holds on to and learns well from the lessons of yesteryear. It is about putting behind the billowing smoke and lava hatred in favor of becoming a wise and fearless, mythical and inspiring sentinel. A protector of ancient knowledge more so than a tyrannical overlord.

A very clever dragon will set out to reinvent itself and expand its horizons rather than continue to be crushed under the weight of a treasure that no longer serves its purpose. This kind of dragon will seek and find a new, more awakened treasure that satiates more than an earthly longing, but a treasure that transcends an old soul.

Dragons are 100% real. I should know. Because I'm going to be a dragon for the rest of my life.