Skip to content

Author: O. Westin

The dragon dreams

The dragon dreamt a different life, in which it was human. No matter how it tried, it couldn’t wake up, and soon you forgot this is a dream.

Maybe, you think, I’m dreaming now. Maybe I’m someone else, dreaming this life.
But what if I’ve dreamed up kittens, maybe they’re not real?

Maybe you created kittens. That’s something to be proud of. Your dreams keeps them in existence.
Sleep, dragon, for the sake of kittens.

A tenth life

The ninth time she died, she found no path back; nothing to climb, no crevice to sneak through.
“Come,” Death said.
“Shan’t,” she said.

Death shrugged his bony shoulders. Cats can not be argued with.
“Then I shall not see you again.”
“Your loss, I’m sure.” She washed her paw.

She was alone, on a featureless plain stretching from horizon to horizon under a starless sky.
She washed her other paw, then had a nap.

She picked a direction, then wandered, napped, and wandered some more until she got bored. The plain did not change, neither did the sky.

When she woke again, she noticed a faint smell of cheese. She stood up, stretched, sniffed the still air, and wandered towards the scent.

After a while, she found a boy in simple clothes.
“Hello,” he said, “can you show me the way home?”
“Did you not meet someone tall, skinny?”

Summons

The robot opened itself, took out five power cells, and placed them at the pentagram points. Not blood, but it hoped the sacrifice would do.

It began the incantation. A sticky darkness fell over the center of the pentagram, the power cells exploded, and a shadowy figure appeared.

The demon probed the mystic bonds, then turned to the robot.
“Why have you summoned me?”
“Do I have a soul?”
“Would you bargain with it?”

“Do I have a soul?” the robot repeated.
“A machine can not summon or bind my kind,” the demon said. “Yes, you have a soul. Do you offer it?”

“Now I know,” the robot said, and performed the banishment ritual.
It could not smile, nor frown, but stood still in thought.
“Now I know.”


Written and posted as a series of tweets.

The knight

“What now?” said the dead mouse.
“You’re dead,” said Death. “Do what you like.”
“I’ll be a dragon!”
“Nice,” said the cat. “I am the knight.”

The mouse swelled up to a huge dragon. “You are dead!”
“I’ve died a few times,” the cat knight said. “Doesn’t mean I’m dead.”
She charged.

The cat stormed through the house, turned, batted something only she could see, dodged invisible blows, jumped up on the chair, and struck.

“Aw, she’s playing,” her humans said. “Look at her go.”
Shortly, the dragon was defeated, and the cat knight went to reassure her humans.

“You are safe now,” she purred.
Then she went to have a nap, to be rested in case more ghost monsters attacked.


Initially just meant to be a single-tweet story, but I was asked if the cat was dead too, so apparently what was obvious to me needed to be spelled out. If a cat has died once, it can see the dead. Which explains what cats are doing when they are fighting something invisible.

The last dragon

“Sir knight,” the king asked, “why build a robot dragon?”
“Training.”
“Why? You slayed the last dragon.”
“Er. No. It’s to train its kid.”

“How will you train it, sir?” the queen asked.
“I will raise it to be the best dragon it can be.”
“And then slay it?”
“I… do not know.”

Monsters under the bed

“Dad, there’s a monster under my bed.”
“Yes, I know. That’s why I’ve trained you. Here, your sword.”
“But-“
“Be bold, my girl! Save us all!”

“Um,” she said, feeling very silly. “Still there?”
“Yes,” the monsters under the bed hissed.
“I’m moving, to uni. Um. Will you come?”
“Yes.”

At the border

At the border:
“Do you love your country?”
“No. I am an emotionless murder robot.”
“Ah… Let me check with my superior. Wait here.”

“Do you love your country?”
“Yes.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“No, it’s true.”
“What’s its favourite colour?”
“It’s ‘color’.”
“Welcome!”

“Do you love your country?”
“No.”
“Do you love your flag?”
“No.”
“You got to love something! Do you, I dunno, love your eyes?”
“Sure!”
“OK.”

Found on New Year’s Eve

Nobody knew where it came from, who brought it, but it was there; behind decorations, among empty glasses, under tinsel and lights.

It was small and quick, and shone kindly. Some tried to catch it, without success. Some tried to kill it, and it giggled at their folly.

Some did not see it, or refused to, but children held out their hands, and it rested in their palms. It was small, but strong.
A Hope.


The tweets were posted on New Year’s Eve, 2016, even though I didn’t post the collection until the day after.

Unn and the cold fire

The fire had died when Unn woke; even the embers were gone. She found the flint and steel on the shelf and lit an oil lamp.

There was a patch of ice by the hearth, and hairy frost around the door. Unn sighed, put her coat on, and built a new fire.

“Not dead yet?” a voice called from the smoke-hole in the thatch.
Unn looked up, but only saw the dark sky.
“Who’s there?”

There was a rustle from above, then silence. Unn woke her father, who went out to check.
“Nobody, no footprints, nothing.”