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A Procedural, to Wit: Dragons

 The breeze blew back the curtain of the main room of the ramshackle old manor that had, such a long time ago, situated itself outside a nearby town. The warm currents circulated, escalating the temperature of an already uncomfortable room. If there was a question as to whether the discomfort arose from the heat or from the policeman standing at it's center or from the two ladies staring at said policemen, this was difficult to determine. What was clear, however, was that the two faces looking up from their cushioned seats into the eyes of the moist police sergeant were not surprised.

    'The dragon tore through the town, ma'am,' said policeman was saying.

    'I understand that, Sergeant. But all I am saying is that we must take into account the fact that she is an infant. She has not yet learned the power of her wings.' This was explained by one of the two ladies present.

    'There was also the burning, miss,' the constable who stood behind the sergeant pointed out with a raised finger. 'It did a fair sight worth of damage, that.'

    'She,' said the other lady.

    The constable snorted, apparently in disbelief of the gender of the dragon. The sergeant glared at him. To wit, the constable tried to pretend as though he had faded into the striped wallpaper.

    'Was there anyone inured, Sergeant?' asked the first lady.

    'There were three, ma'am.'

    'Three what, Sergeant?' asked the second with scrutiny.

    The Sergeant cleared his throat. 'Geese, ma'am.'

    The second lady raised a brow.

    'Wounded wings,' put in the constable.

    The sergeant rounded a second glare.

    'Have no fear, Sergeant: we will indeed pay the damage.' said the first lady. 'Provided no further action is taking against her.'

    'It's not merely a matter of payment, ma'am. As the town sees it, the destruction goes beyond physical harms and people are less than happy, ma'am, that they are.'

    'Ah. Knocked down the pub, did she?' put the second lady.

    'Burned it down a beauty, miss,' pipped the constable. 

    The sergeant frowned.

    'Then, we will have to keep the town in ale until the pub is back in working order,' said the second lady. 'Will that do, Sergeant?'

    The sergeant was no longer frowning. 'Well,' he began slowly, as though he had to consider the proposal, 'seeing as how she's not much more than a baby — and it wouldn't do to go around punishing babies, now would it — I suppose that will do just fine, sir.'

    The sergeant smiled, the constable smiled, and the ladies rolled their eyes.

    Then the ladies led the policemen to the door, and went to take care of their baby. 

Solace

 A small dragon does not pillage, nor does he raze landscapes, eat virgins, or get up to other shenanigans oft thought to be perpetuated by the larger of the species. In point of fact, small dragons often enjoy small pleasures. One dragon in particular happened to enjoy a rather robust, fragrant cup of tea. He did so, as often the case with perfect pleasures, to the point of routine.       In order to have his ready routine, he specialized in the best of tea leaves, flying across continents to gain the finest of specimens. There were always new varieties to be found, always new perfect cups of tea to enjoy. Always as the sun went down. Always alone.      To supplement his tea drinking, he traded in tea leaves, regularly collecting enough to keep him well-stocked in his own tea and in books. A perfect evening, the small dragon always thought, lay in books an tea. He could think of no finer pleasure. Though, this consideration was put to the test on...
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A Fight Against Madness

A witch sat in her arm chair. On the table alongside sat a pot of raspberry tea, a plate of lemon scones, and a jar of clotted cream. There was also a knife.      Why, wondered the witch, is the world mad?      Do you have an armchair? she asked the world.      Do you have tea and scones and cream?      Do you have a bed at night? Books? Children or quiet (one or the other will do)? A friend? Two friends?      Why are you so mad, little world?      The sky turned pink gold out the window. The witch ate her scone, cut with the knife and smeared with the cream, and drank her tea, creamless. She forgot about the mad world.       A knock came at the door. Croup. Another knock. Wart. Another knock. Birth pains, and too soon.      The witch didn't think about the world then, either.      She fell asleep, worn and weary, too tired to think about it again t...
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The Shadow

 It was all hard, all struggle, to see past the shadow. Shadow was everywhere, and the girl knew better than to be friends with it. She knew that she must be friends with light, with its bright, cheerful glaring, illuminating all the things.      All the things.      The roses and distractions and dust.      Yet, bowers are made of shadow, distractions are better unlighted, and dust... well, it is better hid in some shadows than in others...      Shadow, then, it had to be acknowledged, had some fine points. Very fine, too often ignored points. It was another one of those things that people said without thinking, the girl realized. She had been realizing an awful lot of these kinds of things lately. It made her life easier, and harder. Better harder, though, than believing untrue things.      Yes, the girl thought, shadow might make a grand friend.       After all, the girl added to herse...
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Cake, Cake, Cake

 Cake. It was all the woman could think about. She thought about making cake, buying a cake, buying a slice of cake.       But what kind of cake?      Part of her wished she lived in a world with less kinds of cake, options being double-edged swords. Which was nonsense. Cake, she thought, was all about texture, taste, allure —and the fact that there were all kinds of cake.      When she said she wanted 'cake' what she meant was equally a metaphysical reality and actual cake in the mouth. But to decide to have actual cake, and which one, was to punch metaphysical reality in the nose. Cake on the plate will never be cake in the mind. It was a fact she accepted.      Still, she'd like to eat some cake.      So she did.      And then she didn't think about it anymore. 
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