The following story has been written for the World Story Telling Day which is on the 20th of March. The International theme for 2014, is Dragon Tales and Monster Stories.
The monster lurked in the shadows waiting for its prey. It had prowled the streets for some time now, hoping to dig into an unsuspecting victim. The eyes were glazed with the heady concoction of daze and need. The teeth in putrid decay, emanated a stench that drove away the flies that buzzed around, hoping to sit on rot and feast for the day. The hair, matted with grime, fell upon the face in strands like snakes swaying to the motion of music. The thick skin fell in folds, forming cylindrical belts around the grotesque body. The monster waited for the beautiful dragon to walk into its trap.
The dragon walked with a grace that exuded poetry in its motion. The soft and smooth body in flaming red, carried with it a fragrance of roses, which sent the bees in confused disarray from their charted path in search of flowery nectar. The eyes shone with a brightness that lent the moonlit sky, an extravagant glitter. The golden mane on the head was silken, bouncing in gay abandon at every trot. The multi coloured wings were a picture in seduction, like a printed sequin draped on a beautiful bride. The toes were painted in various hues and shades, and the dragon sauntered along, creating in its gait, a canvas of a spectacular parade.
The monster did not consider the dragon a match to its raw power. The dragons had for long, cowered under the brute force of the monsters, and had seemed to lack the will to put up any kind of resistance to the sustained assault on its clan. They had forgotten that once upon a time, they had ruled the world and scripted the tenets of existence, before the monsters with their scheming ways and cunning means had subdued the gentle dragons, reducing them to mere objects of beauty. They now failed to invoke the fire in their belly, and breathe it out, striking terror in those who dared to doubt their strength. They now seemed wary of the prowling monsters and this wariness had emboldened the brutes with a false sense of superiority.
The monster pounced suddenly in front of the dragon, baring its teeth, eyes lustful and the claws extended. It appeared to the monster that the dragon had painted its wings only to lure it in wanton invitation. The monster grabbed the golden mane of the dragon as it turned its head away in disgust at the nauseating sight of the ugly predator. The painful yelp of the dragon, at the sudden tug, sent a shiver of passionate power in the monster, and reaffirmed its belief in its own invincibility. It wanted to grab the wings and mount the dragon, subdue it, possess and own it against its will.
For a moment, the dragon was stunned at the ferocity and the speed of the attack. But this time, there would be retribution. The dragon had for long seen the plight of victims of such monstrous attacks and vowed that such brazen attacks would be repulsed with equal force. It twisted itself with a speed that took the monster by surprise, and pushed it down with a strength that was until then reserved, to suffer in silence, the atrocities of the monsters. The brightly colored toes of the dragon, now dug into the neck of the monster like sharp knives of steel. The monster, unable to move under the choking grip of the dragon, lay immobile looking with terrified eyes at this unexpected sight.
The dragon stood up tall towering over the shocked monster. The gentle eyes now glowered with a rage, which made them look like hot charcoals from the bottom of the mines. The colourful wings spread out like a shield of armour, ready to come down heavily on the enemy, incapacitating it. The fire rose from the belly like the molten lava from a long dormant volcano. The dragon opened its mouth and roared, breathing out the fire in a hot stream, enveloping the monster, as it fell down in a heap, hollering in pain.
The time had come for the monsters to be put in their place. The oppression could not be allowed to continue. This was the right time for the dragons, to turn the tables and reclaim the respect and their rightful place in the order of the world. They had to prove that they were not just brightly painted objects of beauty and desire, but had the ability to transform themselves to the feared fire breathing dragon when the situation demanded. The fire in the belly had started to burn again, ready to set fire and burn, all those who had oppressed it in the past. The wings had ceased to merely be a vestigial ornament and had started their mighty flutter powering their being to greater heights. The fight back had begun. They had a name for the fight. They called it the power of 49.