writhing iridescent green, her scales voluminous and threatening to peel off, one-by-one, and impale me, i grabbed a hold of her torso and shook with all my might, as if all i wanted was the last lone apple of autumn to break off from the branches of a tree.  Her whiskers curled in cartoonish wisps of smoke, as i had imagined with all the nighttime tales i’d heard since i was a child.  Here in her grasp i was suffocating, and though my eyes bulged, i could see her tail making lazy figure eights, curling up and around my body, set with spikes and widgets, as if she’d wriggled herself out of some muscled tattoo.  I’d set out to slay her, but in the grasp of her pulsating flesh, I was myself dying, no longer did I know who, or what, I was.  Sensations glided off my skin, and there I was drowning in a leathery pool of undulation and constriction, of myth and women.  I think I fell in love that moment, before I was squeezed to my death, not in affection, but afflicted wholly and stricken, partially paralyzed, my lungs collapsed, and my body folded into a dead frightened coma.  All this by the curse of a people who still believed in dragons.


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