We would rise up from the earth like windstorms, unfolding our large wings and shaking out the stiffness of our ancestors. We would swing our tales like truth, hammering down justice with the sharp spade on the tip. Our scales would gleam in the moonlight like falling water when we pierce the sky, flying high into the night. From their earthbound feet, sons and daughters would point up at us, envy us, fear us. Sons and daughters would meet in small groups to discuss us, to discuss what to do about us, discuss how to do away with us. When sons and daughters finally settle on a plan and come for us, we would swoop low to the earth, breathe fire onto their tiny bodies, scorch their plan, their hands, their retreating feet. We would follow them to the caves they hide in and pace before their dwellings. We would sleep on the other side of the boulders they position to cover the cave entrances. We would let them fear us. We would become the fear they placed on us, drawing it to us with the force of gravity, relishing it. We would be as evil as they needed us to be.

Kristin Kozlowski

Kristin Kozlowski lives and works in the Midwest, US. Some of her work is available online at Flash Frog, matchbook, Vast Chasm, Pidgeonholes, Lost Balloon, and others. Her piece from Cease, Cows, “Salty Owl”, is included in The Best Small Fictions Anthology 2021, and “What’s the Opposite of Thief?” from The Birdseed was nominated for Best MicroFiction 2022. For her upcoming book publications, please visit her website at kristinkozlowskiwrites.wordpress.com.