They said that the carp that swims up a waterfall turns into a dragon. It’s supposed to suggest that the dragons are rare. Precious, even. The old stories lie. The sky was littered with dragons, the night sky was awash with their lights, the world shook with the thunderous bellows of their engines as they shot beyond the atmosphere.
The old stories lie. There were no waterfalls to climb. Above the refineries were giant towers built taller than Babel, and when no God stopped them, they kept building. The air was too thin at the top so the loading platforms were automated. This was so the dragons never had to stop flying. With their gaping maws attached, they suckled their fuel.
What if the dragons fell? If their engines failed would they fall back down into the waters and return to being carp?
She held the rail gun tightly in her hand. It was time to find out.
A.G Jones is a dabbler in many things. When he isn’t trying to encourage the next generation in his English classroom, he is writing, lost in a book, rolling D20s, or plucking the strings of his Double Bass. With a background in Comparative Religious Studies, faith, organised religion and the power of symbols are often a big part of his writing. A quiet life in regional Victoria provides A.G. Jones with plenty of time to explore new worlds of his own and others creation.
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