It was night. He was sitting on the porch in front of his trailer, accompanied by the small light coming from the lantern beside him. Again, he was thinking about the war. He was a soldier at the World war II. That war changed everything. The war ended by the civilians and soldiers rebeling against the government. So the government, both offensive and defensive, got a truce agreement, and the war ended. Still, it was too late. Thousands of dragons died, and more were either wounded emotionally or physically. And there was no erasing what the war did to all dragons. Funnily, some dragons from the government wanted to celebrate the end of the war by giving him and other war heroes by awarding them with medals. Snorting and angry, Rustle refused. How could they celebrate when so many had died or got wounded?
Rustle opened the beer bottle he had in his claws, and drank from it. He was not an alcoholic, but alcohol let him forget about the killings he did and the faces of the dead. It let him live, if you can call his life a life. He lost his whole family in the war, and now lived alone, only with his gun from the war to keep him company. He wanted a hatchling, but everytime he tried to get another mate, he was always reminded of his old mate and his hatchlings and how they died. He didn’t want to suffer again. So he was alone, and unknowingly, slowly, he grew grumpier and grumpier, like an old dragon would get. Sighing, Rustle looked around territory. He still had a good eyesight, thankfully. Nothing seemed to be moving except for the slight movement caused by the wind. That was good. During his 3 surveys of his territory, he found nothing, so it had to be like that. Sighing, Rustle got up from his chair, and headed inside his trailer. Time to go to sleep again.
Sun shone through the window of his trailer. Blinking, Rustle woke up. He tidied up his bed, and washed. Another day. Couldn’t he die already? He was already over 200 years old, and living was just a constant pain for him. Everyday he was reminded of deaths, and the killings he did. The faces of the dying he killed, the faces of his comrades who was dying from the attack from the other side. It was just constant pain. Sighing, he washed up, and opened the door of his trailer. He was about to get out when he saw… a hatchling in front of the stairs of his trailer.
‘What the…’ he thought, as he approached the hatchling. There was only one hatchling, strangely. Dragons laid hatchlings in 2-4 at a time, and it was strange seeing only one hatchling in the basket. Still, he approached the hatchling, and saw that it was sleeping. ‘At least I don’t have a hatchling that’s crying…’ Rustle thought as he picked up the basket hodling the hatchling. He looked around, hoping to find the one who put the little hatchling here. He surveyed his land a few times, but didn’t find anyone. A little bit shocked and annoyed, he brought the sleeping hatchling inside his trailer, and thought. This was the unthinkable for him, especially since he lost his whole family in the war. ‘What has the world come to?’ He thought, as he stared at the sleeping hatchling. He sure was going to give a long speech to whoever left the little hatchling here once he found him/her. But first, he’ll have to visit the police. Rustle opened his trailer door once more, and walked out with the basket with the hatchling in it and headed towards the police station, careful not to wake the sleeping hatchling.
About an hour later, he was at the police station with the still sleeping hatchling. He was going through the list of lost hatchlings list, but seemingly, none seemed to match the hatchling he had in the basket. He was a well known grumpy-war hero throughout the town, having saved his whole squad from death, so the commissional general was beside him, looking at the list together. Rustle was a bit furious at the amount of lost hatchlings, and the general was a bit frightened, being over a hundred years younger than him. Carefully, the general said ‘He doesn’t seem to be in here, sir.’ to him, and angrily, he said ‘thank you.’ to the poor general, and walked out of the police station with the basket with the hatchling in it.
Next he headed for the nearest hospital in the town. Maybe the hatchling had a birth certificate or something in the near hospital. But that turned out to be false as well.
So getting angrier each time, which he hadn’t been for the last century or so, he went to every hospital in the near by town of his trailer. But he couldn’t find any trace of the hatchling. No birth certificate, no trace of parents, no nothing.
Angry with the parents of the hatchling he held, he went back to the police station once more to check if anyone had reported more missing hatchlings, but that turned out to be a dud, again. Sighing with anger, he headed towards his trailer after he got the permission to keep the hatchling from the police.
Once he was home, (a.k.a his trailer) he put the basket down and went to the fridge and pulled out a beer. Again, he thought ‘What has the world come to?’, and drank from the bottle. He walked over to the sofa, and sat down. Maybe some beer would help him forget this cruel world as well.
Some time later, the hatchling started to stir, and wake up from it’s sleep. He didn’t know if the hatchling was a he or she, but he didn’t intend to find out. It didn’t matter. From what he found out today, this hatchling was thrown away by it’s parents. He felt sad for the hatchling. The hatchling didn’t have any family. Just like him. Just like him…
Then a thought flashed across his mind. Maybe the hatchling didn’t have to be alone anymore. And maybe he didn’t have to be alone, either. Maybe…Maybe…
He got the now awake hatchling back inside the basket, ignoring the hatchling’s surprised squeaks, and rushed out of his trailer. He headed straight for the police station, and asked the commissioner if he could adopt the hatchling as his own. The commissioner thought for a bit, then said yes, but only because of his social status. In a brighter mood, Rustle got over all the steps he needed to pass to become a parent once again, and when it was finally over, carried the hatchling back to his trailer, set him down on the table in front of his sofa. He thought for a bit, and decided to call his hatchling ‘Future’ as it meant a new future for both him and the hatchling.
‘Future.’ Rustle said to the hatchling’s curious eyes. ‘I’m your daddy.’
-15 years later-
‘Father, father! Look what I brought!’ Future yelled, running into their house. Rustle bought a house as the trailer would not be sufficient to raise a hatchling in it. Rustle also cut on the amount of alcohol he drank, as to raise his hatchling in a more healthy matter. Rustle looked up from the book he was reading, and looked down at the little hatchling…well, the adolescent dragon in front of him. He was holding a test sheet in front of him. ‘I got an A+! And none other than I have got it!’ The adolescent dragon yelled excitedly. Rustle chuckled, and nuzzled Future lovingly. ‘Good job, son.’ He said. ‘Now I suppose you have a date waiting for you?’
‘Yes. So… 10pm?’
‘Yes. Be home at dead 10, alright? Now, go enjoy your free time.’ Rustle said, pushing the Bronze adolescent towards the door. Future ran out, and before he got out of the house, Rustle yelled ‘I love you, son!’
Future replied by ‘Me too!’ And flew out with his date.
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