This is a short story about my grandfather. IT has me in it, so therefore I will tell it from my point of view. My name is William McKeel. It all started after he got out of the hospital for ....
I drove over to Granpa's house. I was really glad he got out of that hospital! There was Tim, my granpa, in his old rocker on the porch. He had a pipe, some beer in his mug, and was rocking away in Old Red.
"Hi Granpa. How ya been? Feelin' alright?" I spoke.
"Yeah, okay I guess. But I hate that treatment. Just hate it!" he exclaimed.
"Wa?? To hard on your system?" I asked.
"That it is, that it is. Come and have a seat." His speech was slurred because of his treatment. I sat on the chair next to him, which resembled Old Red. We talked a while. Then he said:
"Wha[t] the jack. God help me! What is that thing? Big and purple."
"What are you talking about Gramps? I don't see it."
"God, why him? You don't got good eyesight do ya? Don'cha see it? Right there! Right in front of you, 'bout one hundred yards out."
"See where?" I asked.
"There!" he replied
"Where? There where?" I asked.
"Right there by that gnarled and gumped up tree, one ya always said looked like a deformed dwarf. See it now?"
"No Granpa, I don't." I had almost given up.
This went on for a number of minutes. I never could see the stupid thing, but Granpa sure could. Finally it came close enough so he could tell what it was. You would never guess. A Fire-Drake. That was what the entire thing was about. Granpa described it with incredible accuracy. So much in fact that I cannot hear a tale with drakes in it without thinking of Granpa's drake. He said the entire thing was purple with little black speckles all over it. The lips were orange and that the little rim of skin that encompassed the eyes were also orange. The eyes themselves he said he would never forget, because they were green and very deep. It was not an overpowering green, but it stuck with you the rest of your life. When I made the statement that they were very deep, I did not mean deep set. I mean that when you looked into his eyes, it was like looking into a well of memory, a vast cauldron if you will. It was peaceful, yet in a warring type of way. That last statement I don't expect you to ever fully understand that. Because of language's limitations, I don't think anyone can ever understand it, including me. But I think I am the closest, because my grandfather's eyes took on this quality (somewhat) as he was describing it. Not fully, though. Deep wells of memory took upon his eyes. A look an ancientness inhabited his eyes, but in some strange way newness abode therein too. They were ageless and joyful. Those are the most full descriptions, and also the shortest. Most excellent adjectives, no doubt.
What scared me most was how sure he sure he was that it existed. It did of course, but only to him. It was a hallucinogenic drug effect. My grandfather was suffering from hallucinations from the drugs he was taking for his illness. It was not real to me, but it was to him. Such is the true reality of things. Copyright 1997
M. A. Clark Email If you have any comments on this story, please email me