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Back-story:

In a world similar to earth, where humans go about their normal lives, working for money, caring for their children, and having fun if they are bored, this is where our story takes place. For many centuries, even millennium, there have been rare sightings of dragons living around the world in secret. Few humans can tell what they look like and fewer can say they saw one close up or had a dragon as a friend. For those who want to find out, dragons are trustworthy creatures, prideful and strong. They will not hesitate to defend their young if they see you as a threat, or help you if it is in their interest and own salvation.

Many go about their day oblivious to what is happening behind their backs, to the whispered growls, the muted arguments and the silent movements of their scaly neighbors. Some theorize that the dragons once roamed the earth in the thousands, trading and having fun with their siblings, cousins and primitive human friends. Trust won trust and strength showed the ability to lead on to the future...That is, until something happened.

It appeared the dragons were getting sick, dying faster than they could reproduce, and it seemed all hope was lost for the remaining dragons that hid away in solitude. The humans were baffled as to where their friends had gone, some searching far and wide, but few ever having found were they went off to. Every now and again, one dragon might appear, looking to be healthy, only to fly off again if the human seemed to be hostile or threaten them off.

Humanity had begun to forget what it was like when dragons roamed the planet, abundant in the thousands, playing every day while the parents hunted, protected, and flew among the clouds. Time forgot, what the mind let go. There comes a time, in a dragons life, were they are too old to fly, too old to breathe fire...too old to want to go on living. It is in this period, where their parents, grown hatchlings, cousins and friends gather around to wish him farewell, but not before he gives them something to remember him by.

A wish, one, last, dying wish which lets the dragon contribute to the clan or family pack as he passes on. The bonds of love and blood give him the strength to rise one last time and grant the oldest and wisest dragon a gift of luck and good life. It is said by humans that dragons can live forever, being immortal where only poison or a mortal wound can kill, but they would be wrong. Living forever serves no purpose except to build greed, lust and power over time. Even with dragons having long lives, spending many centuries or a millennium or two on earth, the soul has to move on at some time, to be free, to move where it wants, not constrained by a physical body.

Some say miracles last a life time, others say love prevails above all else...Me? I say, trust those near to you, provide care and love where and when it is needed, and protect those who you hold dear, for maybe one day, a dragon may grant you his last dying wish and have his legacy live on with you...

Modern Day April 17, 2013: Tuscaloosa Alabama

It is hard to say goodbye to the ones you love. It is even harder when you lose someone who is close to you. The heart is fragile and takes time to heal. Human emotion can only go so far to show the things we feel, less insanity take us. We do not plan on when we die, nor do we plan for what happens in our lives, only doing our best to live and move on. Living. Loving. Dying.

But we are sociable creatures, just like dragons, just like any other pack animal or living being who can feel sadness and sorrow. It is in times when we lose someone that we look back and measure whether our lives have been worth it, our time with friends, the last cookie, the sweet bite of cake, or the hug of the one closest to you. It is those moments we look upon to see if it is worth moving on, to stay with the ones you care for; grieve for the dead, but don't pity them; you have a better life, one worth living while you have it.

Sometimes it feels like I was drifting away, alone with no one else. This...disease I had could only kill, and there was no cure for it, and I was certain to die. My mother provided for me, looked after me and did everything she could to save me...but it was not enough. I never knew my father very well. He passed away when I was only four, and now I am twenty six. My friends did not come to see me, did not want to catch what I had. I could not blame them, when every second of every day was torture on my soul.

Any day now, I was going to die, either at home, or in the hospital. Doctors did not know what to do but to say rest, and recover. I had gradually lost my strength over a few years, my memories becoming hazy where I could not even remember if I had a dad or what he was like. Food tasted like nothing and I had to have an IV hooked up to me to keep me going...but for how much longer? I could feel it, destroying what I had become from the moment I was born. Of course, it was slow, hidden, and did not affect me nearly as much as is does right now as I lay on my bed, dying.

My mother always said I was different than most children, showing genuine interest in nature and insects, especially the things that flew. Birds, bees, eagles, I observed them all. I was curious, never causing mischief but inevitably following the ones who did, but my mother loved me all the same. My father, I never saw him much, if I can remember. From what I can, is that his smile was warm, and looked to be at peace even when he passed away, as if ready for it, welcoming the chance.

When I became seven, my mother told me the story of how she and my father met. One day in the Amazon he showed her all the wonders nature could bring. Around the world he took her, she said, to see many different places of beauty the earth held for those who looked for them. It did not take long for her to marry him, sharp face, strong frame, calm attitude. I can remember him holding me, whispering words I could not understand, nor could recall to this day. He was a mystery even to my mother, she said, but he loved and cared for her, just like she cares for me now.

Now, my time is wasting away. My body is frail, sapped of what energy and strength I used to have. At age fifteen, I remember my mother took me to see Niagara Falls, the Colorado River, wild forests and Yellow stone Valley. The memories remain with me even as I slowly fade. The scents, the sights, the sounds of nature captivates me, puts me at ease. When I started to become weak, frail, my mother took me to Alabama, a quiet place for my final days. My friends, of the ones I made, sent me get well cards to become well again. I should have known that would not happen when my mother explained why I was getting weak, why I had the disease I did.

When I was twenty two, doctors said to stay at home, limit outdoor activity and stress. Nature was taken away from me except for when my mother brought in insects, bugs and the occasional tree bark so I could smell it and remember happier days. She painted my room then; to make it look like every place we had traveled to, and even put my dad on it, which I did not know what his name was by then. I cherished the time we spent together, the troubles we faced, and the victories we achieved over a board game we shared to pass the time for me.

My mother told jokes, acquired by my father, to help ease the pain of knowing that my time was soon coming. They were funny, and even though I could not laugh because it was painful and sapped my strength, I nodded my head or smiled, letting her know how much it meant to me for her to care so much. Expressions can go deeper than just what we see, the eyes, the motion, and the small things that happen every day to say what we feel; the memory stays with us forever. The mind remembers, what time erased.

My bed...is comfy, my room...is quiet. The paintings on the walls sing to me, murmuring sad songs. My mother is crying, kneeling on the floor by the side of my bed. I do not blame her; I would cry if I was her and my son was dying from an incurable disease. She smells...like lavender wrapped in mint, a combination that puts a small smile to my tired face. My sheets...are clean, washed constantly to make sure I am as comfortable and happy as I can be.

It helps...somewhat, as my mind slowly fades, my eyes gradually closing, my heart slowly stopping. My mother, my loving mother cries for me, prays for me, wishes to protect me, but she can't. Her long, brown hair streaked with dark yellow coils around her, lying limp on my bedside with salty tears staining them. Her plain dress is wrinkled and wet from the water dripping from her face, her chest shaking in denial and grief.

My time...has come. I do not hold it back, except, I relish it like my father, my hands by my sides, my head indenting a permanent depression in my pillow, and my whole body...still, only for the beating of my heart and the blood in my veins. My breathing slows as my mother cries rivers of tears onto my bed, her arms spread out to bury her sorrow, muffling the sound so the world can't hear her.

Everything stops for me, my eyes close one final time, my heart pulses once more, before I utter one. Soft. Word.

Goodbye...Mother...