WINGED MESSIAH

Steven L. Shrewsbury

Artwork by Carole Humphreys

"For never can true reconcilement grow                         Where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep."

JOHN MILTON                                      Paradise Lost 1665

I rushed to the birthing cavern, slithering around my brethren to see if itwas true. Indeed, in the air pocket that housed the eggs, the Chosen one had been born. We were stupefied at his appearance, but the birth could never be denied. Told by sages from ages long ago, we knew our savior would come.

Many of the young ones, giddy and full of life, swam in swirls like fools. I reminded them not to risk exposure in their glee. We did not need trouble from those animals on the surface. Their time would come.

Ahh, but the temptation to join in the youths bubbled in my brain for I shared their fevered elation. In my centuries of life under the waters as I led these dragons, I hoped for such a reality before my life passed over.

There he was, mewling, growling and perfect, an utter dream slipping out of a giant shell. None like unto him has been seen on this planet in over three thousand years. So long did we toil under this current guise that many thought the legends of great dragons were just that, fanciful tales spun by the dreams of Terran children. Many believed our current subdued state anatural one, but I never wanted to accept that.

From our great magic minds, we have long fed on those dreams, reading thethoughts and fears of mankind. They dream of dragons and realms long ago,not realizing their victory over us in ages past was a tangible reality. It was their mighty men of old that drove us off land and made us seek refuge below the surface. These warriors broke our spirits and forced our minds into such dismal shame. Perhaps this indignity led to our deformity and contemporary status, thus robbing us of our majesty.

However, this fresh one is going to change all that. Yes, this young one is better than a Red Heifer to some races above, or their Son of Man riding ona steed out of the sky. For this dragon child born is more beautiful than words. My eyes at last rested on a dragon born with wings.

After he breeds a new race of dragons, he will rise up on those wings and lead the next generation against the cattle on land. So easy a prey there never was. The Terrans have bred out all of the primal qualities of their kind, much as our unwillingness to fight made our wings go away. I hope I see the day this young one stretches forth his wings and guides the dragons out of the murky depths of Loch Ness.

                              THE END