There are dragons in his dreams. They fly, bright, metallic colors contrasting against the flat, endless blue of the sky like confetti. They are flying, and he is watching them fly.
*They* are flying, and *he* is watching them fly. None of them fly close enough to the ground to see him. None of them notice him waiting on the ground, watching the sky.
There are dragons in his dreams some nights, and always, he watches them fly.
Drake wakes up with his hands clenched tight into fists and his back aching, skin too tight for his body.
Half an hour later, he feels better, but it will take forever to clean the blood off his shoes.
No comments:
Post a Comment