|HEMINGWAY: THE CHILDREN'S BOOK
||[Oct. 31st, 2008|01:41 pm]
He was a magic dragon who frolicked in the autumn mist in Honah Lee and it had been eighty-seven days since he could be brave. In the first days of summer a boy had been with him. But after forty days of painted wings and giant rings the boy's parents told him that the dragon was now definitely and finally fábula, which is the worst form of imaginary, and one gray night the boy had gone at their orders to a youth group, where he made three good friends the first day. It made the boy sad to see the dragon come in each day with his head bent in sorrow. The green scales fell like rain and, fallen, they looked like the flag of permanent defeat.
The magic dragon was long and green with glimmering scales on the back of his neck. Strings and sealing wax and other fancy stuff were in his hoard. The hoard spilled well down from his cavern to the cherry lane and it had many bits of wrapping paper from years of boyish gifts. But none of these gifts were new. They were as old as a Christmas present that was hidden in the attic and forgotten.
"Puff," the boy said as they walked back from the beach where the boat with billowed sail was moored. "I could go with you again."
The magic dragon had taught the boy to keep a lookout perched on his gigantic tail and the boy loved him.
"No," the magic dragon said. "You are with real friends. Stay with them."
"But remember how noble kings and princes would bow whenever we came and how pirate ships would lower their flags when you would roar out your name."
"I remember," the magic dragon said. "I know you did not leave me because you stopped believing in me."