The Tartan

The worst part was that no one was even stopping to look at it.

It just sat there, balancing carefully on top of the fountain’s statue. It was a beautiful statue — an angelic woman rendered in green rusted copper, standing idly as jets of water spouted around her into the little pool at the base filled with pennies. Her expression was flat, but if you looked too long, it almost seemed like she was staring at something off in the field. It reminded me of that fountain in Central Park in New York. The one in the plaza where they shot the final scene of “John Wick 2.” 

It didn’t even look precariously balanced, despite its considerable size and weight compared to the fountain. It looked comfortable. It appeared to be looking off into the distance. Who knows if those beady, flickering red spots on its head were even its eyes? Gentle and wavering columns of smoke rose slowly out of its nostrils, disappearing into the sky. Every so often it made a sound like it was coughing, or perhaps clearing its throat (unclear on whether these creatures are susceptible to respiratory infections), and billowing black smoke would erupt from its long jaws. But even at its booming coughs, no one turned to so much as glance and wonder where the sound was coming from.

I realized at some point that I was standing in the middle of a busy intersection, because people had been taking wide berths around me while I was busy staring at the fountain. I moved out of their way and picked a bench to sit on. Its old wood creaked as I sat, and the tiny memorial plaque pressed against my back uncomfortably.

On the other side of the bench, there was a woman with her nose in her phone. She looked normal, around my age, wearing a nice brown coat that I doubted I could afford. She had a regularly-sized mouth containing average teeth and eyes devoid of flickering flame. The only other notable thing about her was her bright pink headphones, which were playing super heavy screamo music. This I knew, because even through the headphones I could hear it.

Even so, she seemed unique.

I leaned over to her, quite unsure of how to begin a conversation with a stranger with no prompting. I cleared my throat (no smoke came out of my mouth) to no avail, but after a couple of seconds of trying she noticed me. She pushed her headphones down to hang around her neck and looked at me questioningly.

“¿Quieres algo?” she asked. I knew that Spanish was a real language, but in my current condition it took me a minute to convince myself that she wasn’t talking in Elvish or Klingon or something else. After that, I tried to wrack my brain for the little Spanish I could remember from grade school. I do not know why this occurred to me first, instead of asking if she spoke English. 

After a few seconds of thinking, I stuttered out, “¿Miras … el cosa?” She stared at me for a few seconds with confused wide eyes. I had myself convinced that she was about to bite my head off. Then she cleared her throat (not helping).

“Do you speak better English? We can speak English.”

I was relieved. “Oh! English, yes! I’m so sorry to bother you, I am maybe going crazy, I think, can I ask you a question?”

She moved back a bit. “Uh, sure.” 

I looked back up at the fountain to see that that thing was very much still there, unmoved. I pointed directly where it was sitting.

“Do you see that?” I asked.

“The … fountain angel? It’s very beautiful, yes —”

“No! The — the thing above that,” I said. At this, she looked at me strangely.

She opened her phone, “I have a friend who just became a licensed psychiatrist. I can put you in touch with her if you would like some help?” she offered. I thought about saying yes, but I just couldn’t. That would be admitting defeat. 

I stood up, dusted myself off, and walked away from her towards the fountain despite her protests, which became muddled as I got closer to the fountain. Between me and the shallow waters littered with pennies was a low, limestone wall. 

I stepped over it, and the sharp chill of the water shot into my ankles. Each step came with the crunch of old coins beneath my shoes. People must have been looking at me strangely, but it didn’t matter anymore.

As I stepped closer, the massive form above the fountain moved for the first time. The dragon’s head turned with awesome speed and stared right through me. I meant to speak, but I may as well have been chained in place with fear.

Then it spoke. In a booming and bellowing voice, that tore at the air and shook me to my core. It said, almost curiously, “Human. Dare I wonder if you can see me?” 

Words were out of the question for me, but I managed to nod my head. 

Then it laughed. It laughed. What could possibly be so funny to a dragon, I could not begin to imagine.

“Humans. So incredibly ignorant, and yet some are incredibly lucky, nonetheless.”

Through the fear, I managed to shout, “Dragons aren’t real!” despite what was sitting in front of me.

The dragon chuckled once again. “I am glad you still have some sense about you, my flightless friend.” Finished speaking, it melted into a shower of old pennies that tumbled into the water like an avalanche.