A Dull Morning

“Dragons!” The exclamation caught James unawares. The words echoed around his skull, dancing with iron shod boots across his mind.

“Muh muh?” Was all he could manage, trying to ignore the music of the thumping in his head.

“Dragons, James! Dragons!”

Slowly, swearing silent vengeance on Aerendil once the world stopped enacting a personal revenge on himself, James opened his eyes.

Aerendil was bouncing on James’ bed, looking out of the window that was above it. James wondered for a moment why the Elf was on his bed while he, the rightful owner, was sprawled on the floor. He vaguely remembered some kind of party the night before, as university students are wont to throw, but for now he was facing the more pressing concern of making sure that breathing took place.

James coughed; something was stuck in his throat. He tried to bring a hand to his mouth but it wasn’t responding. He had lain on it all night and it was numb.

Dimly, stumbling all the way, he managed somehow to get up and make his way to the washbasin. He coughed. Something came up that seemed to be of a colour not from the normal spectrum. Although it lay in a lump on the side of the basin and didn’t move, James wasn’t convinced it was dead.

The Herculean effort done, he stood swaying for an indeterminable length of time, body still trying to go back to sleep, mind not stopping it and only being kept in check because moving back to the floor seemed a lot of effort.

You can find the complete version of A Dull Morning in issue 70 of TBD.

Fraser Thomson