The Dragon's
Eulogy
by D C White
“Well,”
asked the boy, “don’t you have anything
to say?”
The dragon
felt slightly embarrassed. “Not really, no,”
he said.
“I
thought you might like to say something.”
“Like
what?”
“I
don’t know. Something.”
The dragon
looked at the boy. “I really don’t
think I should have to say anything,” he
declared, “I’m sure it’s not
really the done thing you know, eulogising
someone whom you’re currently digesting. Not
really cricket, and all that.”
The boy put
his hands on his hips and glared at the dragon.
“Look, Sir Michael is dead,” he stated.
“I know,”
replied the dragon, “I ate him, remember?”
“Well,
you can bloody well say a few kind words then,
can’t you?”
The dragon
sighed, a tricky operation for a creature who
breathed fire. “I suppose so,” he
replied, then stopped to gather his thoughts.
When he looked down again, the boy was standing
with his head bowed.
“Right. Well, I suppose I never knew Sir
Michael as a man,” the dragon declared
somewhat self-consciously, “I only ever
really knew him…as an hors d’oevre.
However, um…well look, I wasn’t going
to say this but what he hell, spirit of the
moment and all that, I mean to say that frankly,
as an hors d’oevre, he was jolly good.
“Now, I’m not one who is overly given
to eating humans, as a general rule. There’s
the clothing for a start. Sticks in your teeth.
And don’t get me started on the shoes! I
mean, you’ve got no idea what the mucky sods
might have trodden in.”
The dragon paused to collect his thoughts. His
stomach rumbled ominously. “In any case,”
he continued, “I really don’t know what
it was that made Sir Michael so, um, delicious.
Perhaps it was his courage in the face of
adversity which, I must admit, didn’t do him
a whole lot of good; or perhaps it was the fact
that he tasted a bit like horseradish. Who can
say? I know I can’t, and I count myself as
something of an expert.”
He paused,
right at the wrong moment, and the boy was
treated to the sound of genuine dragon flatulence.
“I say!”
the dragon declared, blushing, “I do beg
your pardon. Although, perhaps I should really
end this here. I’m sure we would all like to
remember good old Sir Michael like that, er,
going out on a high note, as it were.” He
lapsed into silence.
“How was that?” he asked the boy after
a few moments.
“To be
honest,” replied the boy, “I’ve
heard better.”
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