Five Words

For our first project, we did an exercise called Five Words. Five words are written on cards, one on each card, and passed around. Each writer has five minutes with each word. The word needs to be the basis of a section in a short story. By the end of the exercise each person should have a short story.
This project I think was a perfect way to start the workshop. It was quick, easy, and we had to rush and put down the first thing that came to our heads. Just WRITE,WRITE, WRITE! Every ones' stories came out totally different, which I thought was really neat.
Our five words for the day were stars, shoes, magician, duel, and myth.

-Becca

This is my world. People say this is nothing more than a fantasy. They say it’s but a myth. But not in my world. Not in my life. In my wake, I bring destruction. I’m not a kid’s story. I’m not a monster under the bed. I am not a myth. I am a dragon tamer.

I step out into the night, blinking back tears as the chimney smoke assaults my fragile, newly opened eyes. I look behind me at my little stone cabin. Moss has made its way onto my windowsills, leaving the windows ajar. Smoke comes drifting up out if my chimney, making the black-blue sky turn a dull grey. Millions or trillions of stars rest in the sky like diamonds. I like the stars. They’re someone peaceful, yet energetic. They wake me up with their magical presence.

I suppose you’re wondering why I’m only getting up now, when the sun has gone to bed and the moon has come out to play. Last night, my faithful companion and I were out saving a local village of women and children from bandits as their men were out hunting. They give me no credit, the people I save. They never do. How could a redheaded woman on the back of a beast possibly be a hero? Only men can be knights.

I lace up my shoes and kick off some of the mud. They’re more like work boots than mere shoes. Steel-toed and made of the hide of several of the toughest oxen. Fur sticks up from inside, warming my freezing toes. I may be a midnight heroine, but even I get cold.

I grab my chainmail vest off a nearby rock and throw it on. I look up at the sky and whistle my loudest. The wind picks up and like a hurricane, my companion arrives. Desdemona, my familiar.

I was but sixteen years of age, three years ago, when the Magician of Knox came to my door. He said he had come for he had sensed a great power emanating from this place, like an aura of light and hope.

The magician was an old man, so I let him stay on my sofa. I had lost both my parents in a war some years ago and I enjoyed his company. It was one night, late in May, that he told me of my true power.

I was a dragon tamer.

After much persuasion, the magician got me to partake in the ritual to call my dragon. When we were done, Desdemona appeared, fire blazing from her mouth. That’s when the magician told me we were to duel.

It was a tiresome battle. I had no idea in the slightest how to go about duelling a dragon. I was losing miserably. Desdemona had me pinned under her forepaws. So I did the one thing I could. I pleaded for my release.

My tears wet her dry, crackled scales and with my tears, mine and Desdemona’s bond was formed.

Desdemona became my dragon.

My familiar.
- by Ainslee Adams