I Hate Math...Almost as Much as Dragons

My name is Felix Carter. I’m your average seventh-grade teenager. I'm just in limbo between adult and child, not ever knowing where I belong. I go to school, but I never learn anything new. I don’t have a job, and bullies pick on me often. I know, womp womp.

I’m in a private school, mostly because of bullies. As a kid, I was pretty skinny, and you can fill in the rest. Oh, and I’m a nerd. I play things like D&D and read fantasy, so you can imagine how my mom didn’t like the amount of black eyes and broken fingers I kept bringing home. She switched me to this weird new private school, Dunders Academy. By the end of the first week, I learned that private schools can still have bullies, they’re just more preppy. 

Fortunately, I also learned that private schools have more kids like me. That’s how I met my best friend, Chauncy. Ok, yeah, go ahead, laugh. He isn’t that comfortable with his name, so I call him Chaunce. Anyway, we met when the school bully, Lucas, was beating me up for the first time. He didn’t “save” me. He just happened to distract the bully.

By being even more of a nerd. He sorta scared Lucas by speaking Latin extremely creepily, like, totally fluent, deep, and dark. He sounded like he was prophesying Lucas’s doom and to be completely honest it scared me too. But he did help me, so it’s ok. I’ve learned to ignore the fact that my friend is crazy.

We’ve had each other’s backs since then. Unfortunately, during the last week of school, we’ve been under even more pressure than usual. Bullies are looking for their last pickings, so I have to keep my head down, heading to math.

“Felix!” Chaunce speeds up to walk beside me. “Did you see last night’s Shrabbit Raiders episode? It was a real thriller, I’m tellin' ya.”

“Dude, not now, class is about to start.” I slap my hand against my forehead. “Oh my M.C.U, we’ve talked about this . . .” I often say dramatic phrases like that—it gives me personality. (In reality, I’m just a nerd—and probably neurodivergent)

“You can tell me during lunch when we’re not being beaten up by Lucas and his goons,” I sigh. Chaunce can be a bit oblivious sometimes. 

Last Tuesday I had to save him from eating the egg salad sandwiches (he’s deathly allergic) in the cafeteria because he was convinced it was actually ‘alien guts’. That’s just the kind of person he is, and unfortunately, I’m just like him.

We rush to Math, where Mr. Stewart’s going over the Pythagorean Theorem with another student. We sit down in our pre-algebra class, preparing for the most boring fifty minutes of our lives. (We may be nerds, but that doesn’t make us smart.) 

“Good morning class,” Mr. Stewart announces as soon as the bell rings. “Get out the math homework.”

I reach into my backpack, pulling out my homework, when I notice a glint of something shiny at the bottom of my bag. I reach toward the glint, curious. I didn’t remember putting anything shiny in there.

My fingers brush the object and a sharp pain splinters in my head. “It’s the boy,” a dark voice slithers into my ears. (It sounded like Ear Demons. They speak in your head and make you do crazy stuff. Coffee tended to make them worse.)

Golem’s ring’s glory, that hurt. 

I sit back, pulling my hand away and the pain fades, but my stomach has dropped. Something feels wrong. I start to pull all of my books out and dig through my bag when I-

“Mister Felix,” Mr. Stewart’s hands hit my desk. “I do believe that you’re supposed to be paying attention to me and not your bookbag. Eyes forward. Please.”

I swallow, eyes wide, nodding slowly before leaning over to Chauncy. “You’re into paranormal stuff…right?”

He doesn’t bat an eye. “Yes. Why?”

“Something just spoke to me.”

“Ear demons,” he grins.

“Except this is real. Very real, and, dude, I-”

“Mister Felix, if you’re going to continue to disrupt my class, I’m going to have to ask you to leave the classroom.”

“I…”

“Now.”

I pick up my bag and shake my head, stepping out of the classroom. Opening my bag, I dump all of my stuff to the floor. There’s a battle axe among my school things…

Something about that axe terrifies and enthralls me at the same time. 

Oh, don’t worry. It’s a small one. It looks realistic though, so it’s probably something of Chaunce’s. I lean down to pick it up, but once I do, it grows. It elongates and becomes huge, a glorious masterpiece. Designs and ribbons run the length of it, a weapon of brutal strength.

What the Demogorgon?

At that moment I hear something rip. It sounds wrong in the barest way possible. The kind of sound that makes your skin crawl.

“Time to die, boy,” The Ear Demon whispers. Except it isn’t an Ear Demon. It’s much worse.

I turn, axe still in hand, to face a huge dragon. It had come from a portal-like hole, a rip in the space-time continuum. Claws, teeth, scales, and fire are all I can make out. Oh my gracious Star Trek, I’m going to die, aren’t I? I hold my axe up as a shield, cowering before the dragon.

It grabs me by my leg, turning me upside down. My shirt falls over my face, and I quickly pull it back so I can meet its eyes. “Now, you foolish creature,” it growls. “I-”

I stop listening. I know what’s going on. This dragon is a bully.

I spit on it. 

Yeah . . . not a great idea, but I heard it in a podcast one time, and it was supposed to keep them from breathing fire. Also, this guy is making me increasingly mad, assuming I’ll just kneel over and die. I probably would’ve if it hadn’t antagonized me.

By Medusa's snakes, it didn’t like that.

It throws me to the ground. I lay there, reaching desperately for leverage. My leg hurts, badly. The monster had gotten it pretty beat up. That’s a lot of damage, I think hysterically. 

It hisses, threatening me with fire. 

“YOU SPIT ON ME, CHILD SWINE!”

“I-I swear I didn’t mean to.” That was a lie, but I’ll do just about anything to get a few more seconds of life. 

“Either way, I’m killing you.”

“Uh, are you sure? We could just make ourselves even . . . like, go ahead, spit on me!”

By the Dementors, Felix, what a horrible idea.

It hisses again, and I can feel the heat building. 

I swallow and reach, crawling over to the axe. Honestly, that thing is the root of my problem. It seems to be the root of all my problems. I wouldn’t be here without it. Stupid axe. Then a thought comes upon me. A real light bulb moment.

Why did the dragon want to kill me anyway?

“Why are-why are you trying to kill me?,” I grunt, standing to face the creature. 

“Oh child swine, your father, a prophecy, and the monsters.  It’s fate.”

“That . . . makes no sense . . . my father? I haven’t met him. Mom said he loves us but refuses to make any more comments and I-”

“Silence!”

“Oh.”

Mr. Swine Dragon cocks his head. “You do not know, do you?”

“What?”

“Your father! The dark lord of the realm! You’re the chosen one, prophesied to destroy the world.”

“Aren’t chosen ones supposed to be heroes?”

“Not in this story. And the axe you hold, your father's axe. The chosen one is the one who wields it.”

I glance down at the axe, grimacing at it. It gives off major evil vibes.  Shivering at this sword in the stone-style prophecy, I think, It can’t possibly be real . . . can it?

It charges, teeth and claws out,  ready to tear me apart. It really does want to kill me.

I realize then that I desperately do not want to die. I slam my axe up straight into its chest. A sickening crunch sounds, and I close my eyes, my stomach dropping. 

“How?”

It falls.

“Wait, no! Don’t die, I didn’t- I didn't mean to-” I pull the axe out and throw it back. Curse this. May it be cursed like Prometheus, spending eternity being picked to pieces by a crow. 

The beast is dead. And I killed it. 

I look over at the axe. I notice a small note on the edge, crumpled but not destroyed in the fight. 

From Dad—Hope you grow to be as bad as me.

I almost throw up. 

How . . . how could this be real?

I turn to see Mr. Stewart gaping at me. And, you know, the dead dragon on the floor. Chaunce pushes past him and grabs my shoulders, eyes wide.

“Felix–run.”

And I do just that. Hoping foolishly that this won’t haunt me for the rest of my life. I run as far as I can, running from the axe. It represents everything wrong in the world. So I run, trying to escape it all.