I did not kill that man. How could I kill someone who doesn't exist?
I knocked on the dragon's door. "Damnit! Don't you know what time it is?" I didn't. I'd stopped sleeping. How could I, with questions of such profoundity gnawing on my brain? I wanted to know about the Gnostics, about the divine spark trapped in flesh. I wanted to know about the archons and the demiurge.
He wasn't a dragon, not anymore. He had chosen to become human, to live among us. Crazy. But he knew many secrets and he shared them all with me. Eventually.
This is a piece of micro fiction. Enjoy.
by Dustin Driver
“Are you OK?” asks Olhado.
His silhouette dances against the glare of the sun like a reflection in a funhouse mirror. The throbbing in my head is getting worse. I doubt I could stand if asked.
“You don’t look so good,” he replies.
“I’m fine, I’m just hot.”