The White Dragon

Harry Windham leaves his quaint home at exactly 4:30 am on a cold Monday(he is a very precise person, he likes routines and symmetry), takes only his yellow Jansport backpack and a bulky coat. The sun hasn’t risen, still hesitant to behind the mountains and trees. He jumps into his red car, starting the engine and drives down and out of the neighborhood. The traffic is enough to get on his nerves, enough to make him want to turn back and drive back home, but what he is doing is necessary. 

He pulls into the parking lot, checking for the third time his keys were safely in his pocket and steps out. He smooths out the wrinkles in his coat, coughs into his arm, and without a further glance, walks down the path. Up ahead, there’s a large wooden sign: WELCOME TO GILBERT MARSH! Next to the big words, there’s a smiling duck with googly eyes giving a thumbs up. He ignores the sign completely, since he’s seen it everyday for a few weeks already. Harry’s boots scrape the sand, causing an irritable scrape, screep, scrape every step he takes. He goes down a different path, a path that’s there, but nobody ever goes down. It just isn’t memorable, just a random old pond. To Harry, it isn’t random. To Harry, it’s extraordinary.

Harry stops in front of the pond. It wasn’t very large or small, just an average pond, of course. There were green chains surrounding it, preventing idiots from jumping in. He sets down his yellow pack and zips it open, carefully taking out a strip of raw meat. He turns around and checks again to see if anyone is watching him, observing him, spying. There is no one. He approaches the pond, and before anything else can get to him, he throws the meat in and scrambles back. At first, nothing happens. The meat just sinks beneath the algae, disappearing from sight. Harry grimaces, and throws another one.  

There it is.

It’s long, graceful even, white scales glittering on its body. It’s eyes are a bleak blue, mesmerizing, beautiful. It jumps out of the water, catching the meat in pointed white teeth and dragging it down, its tail flicking and spraying water. It's gone, just as it came. Like a dream, like a mirage.

Harry smiles, finally, and opens his backpack. He pulls out a notebook from the front pocket and flips it open. The binding is falling apart, the pages a variety of thin and thick. He clicks his pen and starts writing down notes.

“Hates lamb and mutton,” He murmurs as he writes neatly, drawing an X mark next to the new writing. The pages before that have drawings of the creature, side view, front view, habitat, everything you need to know about them. And written at the top of the page is the name of the creature. Now, Harry isn’t a very creative person. He was a scientist, just had to uncover things, not create new silly, lies. So, instead of calling it “The Angel” or some dramatic name, he simply calls it “Species 72371”, which is his birthday. It's quite easy to remember, but isn’t intended for others. If it is intended for other people, he would’ve given it a better name, of course. But he’s the one who discovered it and he wants to keep it his discovery. He doesn’t want the rest of the world discovering this beautiful creature, he wants to keep it safe from the public eye. 

He sighs contently and places his notebook carefully back into the backpack, zipping it up and leaving the way he comes.

There Harry is, the next morning. He’s standing at his desk in the laboratory, briefcase resting at his side. He’s reviewing the notes he’d taken about Species 72371, adding some extra shading to the intricate drawing with a ballpoint pen. He likes it, the sound of a pen scratching paper and the cool air conditioning blowing on his face. The white cup of coffee next to him has stopped steaming a while ago, it is most likely cold now. He adds one last stroke and leans back, admiring his work. Although he has a lot of information, he needs more = about the mysterious species: like their life span, breeding, origin: the list goes on and on. 

“Good morning, Harry!” Harry cringes at the voice of Richard, a fellow colleague. “What are you up to, eh?”

Harry smiles awkwardly, but grabs the journal protectively and hides it behind his back. “Uh, well, you know-”

Thomas, their boss, scootches in behind him. “Harry, what are you working on?”

Richard suddenly smiles playfully, “Ay, I think he’s hiding something!” The way he says “something” is more like “somefink,” which makes Harry extremely uncomfortable.

Reluctantly, he pulls out the journal. “Well, all I’ve been doing is planning my schedule and, uh-”

Richard grabs the journal from his hands and starts flipping it open. “Yeah, right. I know you’re hiding somefink,” Then he stops. “What is Species 72371?”

“DON’T!” Harry yells loudly; very out of his character. 

Thomas starts to read off of his shoulder. “What’s this little project you’ve been working on?” He asks curiously. “Species 72371 is a beautiful creature, with scales lining…” He trails off and continues to read for himself. “This Species 726-”

“72371,” Harry interrupts. While talking, he makes a lunge for the book.

Richard yanks it away in his fat little fingers.“Right. Sounds interesting to me, the way you’ve described. I’d like to have a look sometime…”

Harry starts getting real nervous, sweating and all. “No. No, no, no. Please stop, and give me the journal-” 

“Your job is at stake. Either you show me this wonderful creature or you will lose your job and everything you have worked for here.” A real nice threat just spills out of Thomas’ mouth, but this time he doesn’t take it back. He has before, when Harry had been working on a different project secretly, but his job was threatened. No one ever knew what the project was.

He swallows hard, tears almost pricking his eyes. “Fine.”

A few days later, Harry’s standing in his office once more. “We have to open this to the public!” Thomas says excitedly, pacing down the halls. “Just think of it: ‘New beautiful creature captures our imagination!’ Or, how about-”

“No, just please shut up.” Harry snaps back, his head between his hands. “This is not meant for the public eye! I did this for my own personal research, and-”

“We could be famous! All because of our discovery-”

“My discovery!” He interjects. “It’s my discovery that I discovered!”

“Yes, whatever.” Thomas waves his hands away, but picks up the notebook. “This is wonderful…” He murmurs, stroking the book, running his fingers on the spine. Before anything else can happen, any blink, any movement, he darts down the hall with the journal.

“STOP!” Harry screams so loudly, it seems almost inhuman. Even Thomas looks worried, but he keeps running. He needs this information exploding around the world. The beautiful creature swimming around everyone’s minds, captivating our attention. Just the thought of it made him run faster, hopping into his car and driving away.

“My precious…” Harry was sitting down on a plush chair, grabbing at his eyes. His hair had been ruffled, his clothes gone a few weeks without washing. His usually neat house was cluttered, everything thrown to the ground and broken. The TV was on behind him; a close up of the newly discovered White Dragon.

Words flashed across the screen and a picture of Thomas smiling. “SCIENTIST THOMAS MCROW DISCOVERS THE WHITE DRAGON, A-”  

The woman stops talking, for Harry has thrown a knife at the screen of the TV. His eyes dart around manically; he’s on the borderline of sanity. 

“They will torture it in the zoo,” He mutters, grabbing his greasy hair. “They have stolen it from me...my beautiful animal. My precious…” 

He snatches the worn journal from the desk: Thomas had mailed it back after he had documented all the information. Weeks of progress just to be stolen by some scientist.

He doesn’t open the journal, just throws it into the fireplace, watching the pages curl and burn, the smoke dancing.