I had to walk past that place every day and see those walls and those wires every day. My skin prickled with a sense of apprehension, and my heart ached for them every day.
The dragons couldn’t be shot or bled to death because their skins were so tough- so they were electrocuted instead… apparently on a massive contraption that looked like a cross between a hospital traction wheel and an electric chair. Granted- I’d never seen it- but the ever present “they” said that’s what it looked like.
We needed another escape like the get away of three of the baby dragons that had started the DPS. They had begged telepathically for help, for refuge, for safety and foolishly- I went to the media. I told the reporter who agreed to see me how the three babies had found me and what they’d told me. By the time I got home to show her the dragons- “they” had beat me to my place. The babies were gone. I had no evidence.
As I pushed open the seemingly always grubby doors to the Dragon Perpetuation Society, I wondered again about our future. Our fundraising had trickled to a few bucks a month and our rent was way overdue. The volunteers didn’t even pitch up anymore.
Another “escape” was needed to fire up our contributors consciences again…
I realised then as I walked home trying not to look at the walls and wires- that maybe I didn’t actually need real escapees…