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A Shop.

Once or twice a week I go into town to get my shopping, I do not need much, it is mainly for the fresh milk that I use for my endless cups of hot sweet tea that keep me going through the long days. Nothing unusual in that you might think, everyone has to go shopping and buying milk is something that most people do. It is not the shopping that I want to tell you about but the shop in the high street. The shop is a second hand shop but to be kind I will call it an antique shop. All kinds of articles are for sale in its windows, this too is nothing to get excited about there are many such shops all around Great Britain, what makes this shop so special?

Every time I walk past the shop or stop to look at the articles for sale a feeling of deep sadness comes over me and I feel as if I should do something about it. One day the owner of the shop had changed the layout of the goods for sale. Stopping to look at the new arrangement I noticed that at the back of the window an old red dragon about fifty inches high was for sale. The feeling of sadness came over me again this time much stronger, then I distinctly heard a voice crying for help. I looked hard at all that was in the shop window. Just old clothes and a few cups and saucers. A tea pot a collection of various knick knacks and the dragon.

I decided to go into the shop and see whether the call for help really came from the dragon. As I entered the shop a man with a face that I did not trust asked me how he could be of service. I asked to look at the dragon. Reaching behind the curtain he handed me the dragon. The dragon is warm in my hands and I asked what it would cost. “Thirty pounds.” “Thirty,” I said in a very hard voice, “The dragon is badly worn the paint is coming off it and the brass is beginning to show through the red paint. Twenty pounds is my offer, take it or leave it.” I turned to leave the shop. “Twenty pounds and it is yours,” the man said. He wrapped the dragon in an old newspaper and put it in a plastic carrier sack. I wished him a good day and left the shop.

Getting the rest of my shopping I walked home and placed the plastic sack on the kitchen table. I next put away my shopping and turned my attention to the dragon. Ripping off the old newspaper I found the dragon to be warm to the touch and decided to wash the dirt from its surface so that I might better see the details of its making. The warm water much to my surprise washed off the red paint and the dragon was perfect with its scaly skin and its long pointed tail its wings. Drying the dragon with a towel I placed it on the mantelpiece and made myself a cup of sweet tea. As I slowly sipped my tea I glanced at the dragon. A tear was slowly running down its cheek. Yes! The dragon is crying for some reason or other I was not surprised. I remembered the feeling of sadness every time I passed the shop where I bought the dragon. Then the call for help, I should have known. Putting on my coat and outdoor boots I carefully took the dragon into Fairyland. To my surprise I was met by Her Majesty Queen Feeanna, she had been waiting for me. We exchanged greetings and I showed Her Majesty the dragon. “Oh! The poor thing,” said Her Majesty. “He has been through a very rough time.” Waving her magic wand the dragon grew and grew before my eyes. He was huge and Her Majesty told me that he was the last of his kind on earth.

The Welsh Peoples under Morgan, a famous Welsh warrior asked Merlin to place the dragon under a spell so that it might always remain in South Wales. Merlin owed Morgan a favour and turned the dragon into a brass statue. The keeper of the dragon did not like the colour of the dragon and painted it red. The dragon had been in an old country house for some hundreds of years before the house had to be sold and the dragon had been taken and bought by a shopkeeper in England. The dragon is now with its own kind on a planet way out in space. One day perhaps we will meet this other race and then we will have much explaining to do as to why we killed so many dragons.