Flash: Clockwork Dragon

Image by Laith Abushaar on Unsplash

“I did it!” The white-coated mad-man screamed. “Do you see that Meriday? It lives!”

Cowering into the corner, hoping his dark skin would hide him from his master’s creation, Meriday felt the sting of pride. It wasn’t Mr. Floyd who had figure out he needed four crocodile bones down the neck to hold the soul of the steam automaton, but Merry. His momma had taught him some of the secrets of the wild women before he got sold down river. It wasn’t Mr. Floyd who had fetched the ash from a burned church to make the black fluid for the hydraulic pumps. Sneaking through Virginia during the unrest looking for the right riot, the right town, to get the ash had taken months. The border North so close, but Mr. Floyd talking to one politician after another even closer, demanding to see him every Sunday during his quest.

It certainly wasn’t Mr. Floyd standing in the middle of the hurricane flying a kite like he was some thrice-damned descendent of Mr. Franklin. But white man will claim credit and there is nothing old Merry can do to stop him. Not that Merry wanted credit for mechanical mayhem his owner had raised. The door of the barn near, he wondered if he could slip out before master noticed.

Before the dragon noticed.

Master didn’t see the light in the dragon’s eyes. The orange light of zombie. The light of clockwork consciousness.

Something had responded.

Master didn’t lie in that the dragon lived.

(words 251; first published 11/23/2023 – flash written for Facebook Group prompt with a goal of 50 words)

3 thoughts to “Flash: Clockwork Dragon”

    1. Each person have their own skill sets. I write short; for me writing a novel is like written 50 or so flashes – then I have to smooth the edges between them.

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