Today I am a Dead Man

I woke up in a coffin - it was quite odd considering the last thing I remember was telling a joke at this year's office christmas party.

I suppose it was a heart attack - my mind grasps the thought as I stare at the cheap satin lining. The air is thick and dusty, but my lungs seem to have forgotten how to breathe. So there I sat listening to nothing, smelling nothing but dampness, and staring at what was practically nothing.

I congratulated myself on not going insane - for people waking up in coffins are always go insane. They scratch and claw and scream their dead little head off.

Not I. No, I lay in quiet dignity. In my coffin. My narrow, tight, dark, creepy coffin. It's sticky warm inside my finished tomb - and yet I do not sweat in my primped suit. I could feel an inordinate amount of gel fixing my side part. I hate gel.

Time ticks by slowly, or quickly. I don't really know. It's a bit irritating, this coffin. My mind is stone at the bottom of the well...

I rap a knuckle on the coffin lining, I hear a dull thunk.

I know that no one can hear me. No one. Maybe worms, and a beetle or two.

Oh god, no one can hear me. No one.

How boring.

What a close call - I almost lapsed into insanity.

This coffin grows smelly. I just realized it. It's far more pungent than when I woke up. Wetter too. I shuffle, muscles feeling like wax. I get an odd sensation when I do that, like I'm... oozing. By now my eyes have adjusted to the darkness, I don't know how much time has passed, but I can see clearly now. And one look makes me wish I wasn't.

I was, in fact, oozing... all over my coffin. My skin dripped and sloshed off and muscle was mush between sticky skin and dull bone.

Now I lay here rotting.

Too much time has passed - I'm probably dust by now. My present is too far in the future - I can't keep up.

But then, my brain stopped working ages ago... that's why they put me in a coffin.

Because I'm a dead man.

Today I am a Dragon Hunter...

I can’t gather how tall dragons are - I’ve faced five, but every time I stand near one the height never ceases to amaze me.

The creature was a lean tower of pale blue scales, belly hung low over four dull eggs nested in shining gold and jewels of every color.

The villagers never mentioned eggs, the bastards. All they said was “a dragon.” One simple little dragon - not a mother dragon.

She roared down at me, warm sulfuric breath suffocated me. As my lungs willfully expanded against my chest, I debated on whether or not to flee. After all, it’s not like I was a knight. Knights have honor, I don’t. And it’s not like I was certified by God. The only holy war was waged in my coin purse.

Through the foul breath my eyes caught on that shimmering pile of gold and jewels. I could feel my empty coin purse trying to crawl away from me to swallow the gold. I could feel the greedy hands of all my debt collectors let go of my soul and aim straight for the rubies and emeralds.

If only it were that easy.

Mother dragons were the worst. A hundred mother bears with endangered cubs couldn’t compare to mother dragons guarding a nest. I heard once that a dragon could only lay eggs once every three hundred years. Thank god for that, or else we’d be over run by the scaly bastards.

“I need more arrows,” I said examining my meager bundle of three arrows.

I know it would seem foolhardy to face a dragon with only three arrows, a half-dull dagger, and a short sword in a worn out scabbard… but it was all deception. I don’t know if dragons get complacent or over-confident and whatnot, but when I stand before them in patched breeches, weak leather jerkin, and lackluster weaponry I swear I feel their defenses lower. They don’t even notice the arrows are elf made and the sword forged in the volcanic mountains of the Dwarf Kingdoms. I could slice through dragon scales like butter - I’d like to see those Crusaders or Templars do that with their Pope blessed blades.

Another wave of foul breath signaled the start of the fight. She snaked after me with her long neck, fangs snapping out like a rabid dog. I dodged left, just in time to see her dark eye slide past.

A rusty knife took care of that weak point. The blade was a miniscule thorn in her diamond-shaped pupil, but it was painful enough. She bellowed, snatching her head away from me.

“Oh wow, you’re making this easy for me.”

Her neck was exposed - it was a lot of neck. If I aimed right, I’d hit the main artery. If I didn’t aim right… well at least I would cause some more distracting pain.

“Is it on the left side or the right?” I muttered, reaching for an arrow. “Well, I have a fifty-fifty shot.”

I knocked the arrow back and looked down the line to where the presumed artery nested. The arrow loosened, the elf made fetching guiding it inhumanly straight. The shining metal head buried easily into the scales.

It took seconds before a trickle of blood oozed from the hole where the arrow was buried. While the dragon looked pained - and slightly annoyed - it did not shriek with a death. Instead, she only looked down at me with her remaining dark eye and exposed more rows of fangs.

“Wrong side.”

Today I am a Gimmick

Every blog needs a gimmick - I figured this out after two failed blogs. How else will I know what to write if I don't have a gimmick? My life is void of anything interesting enough to appeal to the masses - I have an allergy to drama and a disinterest in gossip - therefore I will make shit up. Hopefully this will be the last entry in which you come eye to word with the actual me. Tomorrow, I will be a ninja. The day after that, a dragon slayer. Henceforth I will write about the adventures in dreamland. I should be amusing. If not to anyone else, then to me, at least.