The baby dragon I'd rescued from the crows a few months back, the one that was roughly the size of a fat cat when I found at and had stayed that size ever since, had finally started to grow. Ash was as big as a beagle, and that wasn't counting the tail. Hiding her from Grandma and Grandpa, which had never been easy, suddenly got a lot more challenging. I knew I couldn't keep her in the house, but the old high school gym ten blocks over was still standing. If I could get Ash to the gym, she'd have plenty of room to grow and fly.
I was playing in the backyard--something both grandparents had warned me against many times on account of the big dragons being heavy in the area--when a flopping green mess came scrambling over our property's cement barrier, and landed in the oleander bushes. Squawks and croaks emitted from the bush, chased by plumes of fire and smoke. I wanted no part of this dragon.
Ten years beyond the big Ocean Rise, the first of the dragons flew ashore. People freaked out, though not as much as you might expect with the revelation that dragons were real. I think a lot of that had to do with their size. These early dragons were much tinier than anyone expected.
Roger Nimitz stands just inside the open mouth of his garage and surveys a swirling sky the color of dryer lint. The day's not yet freezing, but he's bundled up in his bibs and warmest coat all the same. A monster of a snow shovel rests like a bastard sword over his right shoulder, while a pumped and primed blower rests at his side like a faithful hound. He should be able to handle the storm's early stages, but Roger wants the blower ready for when the flakes earnestly start to gather, and the situation turns serious.
A week after her sixth birthday Franny Hollis learned that time travel was possible through her swing set. And like many of the world's greatest scientific discoveries, temporal shifts via swing set came to light quite by accident.
Oscar folded the last of the clean towels, and stacked them by the front counter, then resumed his post behind the check-in computer. Through the entrance doors, he watched two men talking and laughing as they approached, and he cued up what he thought of as his most reliable smile and head nod.
You climb from the second story window of Haunted House #3, and pause to brush the cobwebs from your hair. Behind you in the room, you hear the troupe of ghouls who'd chased you from the basement attempting to muscle their way through the door, and you hope the Ultra Stick Taffy spell you cast on the jamb holds long enough for you to escape.
As the sun sets, the line where the sky meets the distant Martian ridges turns chameleon, shifting from red to lavender to royal blue and finally black. Old starlight makes its presence known like sugar crystals spilled across diner linoleum. Not to be outdone by nature's display, the crawling toward sprawling metropolis of New Bradbury winks on in the glow of yellow street lights and neon blur of downtown bar and restaurant signs.
Dr. Spaulding Wentworth leads his team of students--a group he's dubbed The Mighty--up a steep grassy hill covered in red and orange leaves. The silver-haired old lecturer walks with a pronounced limp aided by a stout blackthorn shillelagh, and yet despite his advanced years and physical ailments still manages to outpace the four younger people accompanying him today.
The last ice cream truck operating on the New West Coast began to cough and sputter just as it rolled past the town limit sign for Cave Junction.