Sure, people have told me that I have a knack for words. Me and every other student who got an “A” in high school English. But I’ve been looking for a way to be heard for a few years now. I’m not entirely sure what I’m going to do when someone hears me; all I know is that I’m here to do my three minutes. I don’t have an inspiring tale of loss or perseverance, but I do have a tale to tell.
I believe in dragons. From the fire—breathing serpents of medieval Europe to the wise sky wyrms of the Orient, I believe in dragons from my heart of hearts. The ancient strength of tooth and claw…the untold magic of golden hoards…it all fills me with awe that I’ve never managed to overcome.
When I was much younger, I was not a sociable creature. Luckily, I fond refuge in books and stories of fantasy, and it was in those draconic encounters that I lost myself. Perhaps it was their invulnerable scales that made a child long for respite from sometimes cruel peers. Or perhaps it was an imagination craving something beyond the world it was presented. But dragons have been with me, ever since. I have felt their breath upon me. I’ve lied under the shadows of their wings. Be patient. Be wise. Be strong. That is what I have learned, and that is who I strive to be. I have sworn myself to ye Olde Code of Chivalry, and I can recite it by heart.
A part of me takes all of this allegory and symbolism as it is…even in the face of logic, however, I have learned that some things are not to be denied. I know that dragons do not exist, but I don’t believe it. So if your local damsel is ever whisked away by a wingéd beast whose breath stank of brimstone, look me up. Please. I’ve been looking forward to the day for so very long.