literature

Drive

Deviation Actions

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Literature Text

My headlights careened across the woods as I made the final right turn into my driveway. The gravel path offered a dusty sighed as I eased the truck to a stop, popping the clutch into neutral. I tugged my hair tie free, releasing the mess of hair it kept. Killing the headlights, I left the engine to idle, staring down at the black band twined around my fingers..

I'd lost a patient today.

From his black tattoos and ratty attire, I guessed he'd been stabbed in some gang related accident. Lying on the table, under my hands, he had gone into cardiac arrest before I could stabilize him. CPR yielded no results; even the paddles had done no good. I tried adrenaline, intubation; but nothing I called for saved him from death.

'You tried,' my boss had told me, sending me home.

I pinched the hair band between my fingers, listening to the gentle rumble of the truck. This wasn't the first time I'd lost a patient, and it wouldn't be the last. The black elastic twisted as I rubbed my fingers together.

I'd saved a little girl once, only 8 years old.  Her leg had been torn to ribbons from a dragon attack. I promised her it would be okay as the anesthesia took hold. I'd spent hours in surgery, piecing her leg muscles back together, covering it all with a tender envelope of grafted skin.

She had survived. Months later, she even walked again. Her mother sent me a thank you card every year for Christmas, filled front to back with all the reasons she was grateful to me this year for still having her daughter.  

I drop the hair band. In an instant, the cloth ring is lost in the dark swath of the floorboards. I imagine the nurse dialing the dead mans' next of kin. I can almost hear the anguished cries from the other end of the line. In failing to save his life, I'd broken a different mothers' heart today.

What was so different between them? Was the bandanna headed gang member less deserving of life than the mauled girl?

Once he was out of recovery, maybe he would've reconsidered his purpose in life. Perhaps he would've cleaned up, found a new lease on life and a new reason for his existence. He could have married, had children, found a good job, had a fair life. Maybe he would've, if he had lived.  

Wrenching the key I killed the truck. I nearly kicked the door open as I exited, slamming it closed after. Marching towards the house with purpose, I kicked up some gravel, intent on fixing myself a stiff drink. I remembered a partial fifth of vodka in the pantry, unable to focus enough to recall if I had something to mix it with; and I didn't give a damn.

A low, inhuman groan reached my ears moments before I would've hit the porch, every hair on my arms standing on end. The sound was animal; pain written in every bitter chord. My head snapped around quick enough to give me whiplash, eyes searching for the source of the noise.  

The huge barn in my backyard had hidden it when I'd pulled into the driveway, but my walk towards the house revealed the creature in the moonlight. A pale dragon was doubled over, arms wrapped around dark colored sides, leaning heavily into the barn. It coughed; a wet sickening sound. Raising its' wedge shaped head towards me, a forced keen rasped from its' contorted maw. "Fix..... me."

Suddenly I was back in the ER. I saw the fresh blood of the stabbing victim on my hands; heard the frantic beeps of the machines monitoring his fluttering vitals. The lead nurse looked at me, then at the heart monitor, staring at the flat-line on the screen. Another wet cough brought me back to the now, fingernails digging into the crease of my palm.

"I can't."

It stared for a long moment and eased away from the barn, forcing a hobble towards me. Long dark streaks leaked from between clutched fingers, the dragon trying to cover the worst of the dozen circular punctures. The right side of the creature was pock marked with holes the size of quarters, all of them very fresh. I'd repaired wounds similar to these many times before, but never this severe. Muggers and gang members tended towards rounds of a much smaller caliber.

I swallowed. Hard.

What had this individual done to merit being shot at by a firing squad?

Bringing these dragons to Earth from a distant planet on the other side of the universe had proven astronomically expensive. Geneticists disassembled the structure of the creatures DNA, removing undesirable characteristics, and effectively the creatures had been domesticated within a single generation. Then they were sold as a polished product; intelligence made them wonderful pets, and strength made them impressive workers. They were insanely expensive as a result.

No owner would willingly fire upon such a prized treasure unless the animal itself had become violent.

It stopped, the labor of the forced steps clearly paying a heavy toll on the beast. This one was much smaller than the dragons I'd seen on the news. From talons to head, it was only a few feet taller than me, yet I felt dwarfed.

I was in too much awe to move as the creature slowly lowered its head, leveling eyes with mine.

"I will perish if you don't try."
One of many short story segments that are all interconnected in my brain. :3
© 2011 - 2024 Silerenth
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KaseySnowArt's avatar
I would love to see an accompanying illustration to this! Interesting premise, are you hoping to do more with this story? As in publishing?