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Lesbians in a Dragon

Christopher Fielden | Michael Ilkiw

“Bloody dragons,” said Laura.

Chloe couldn’t agree more. Being swallowed was bad enough, but the state of this thing’s stomach was beyond imagining. She flicked the flashlight around their fleshy prison. It was like a blood-puree-Jacuzzi; bubbling, brown and full of bits of half-digested God-knows-what.

“If we’d have used the bazooka,” said Chloe, “like I suggested—”

“Ha! You and your stupid bazooka,” said Laura. “Dragons explode when they’re bazooka’d. No head, no pay out. You know the deal.”

The deal. It was always about the stupid deal.

“Stick it up your—” Chloe muttered.

“What did you say?”

“If we’d have used the bazooka, becoming dragon crap wouldn’t be part of our future.”

“Oh, try and be positive, please.”

Laura was the most amazing woman Chloe had ever met. Stunning, sexy, vibrant, funny — her company was addictive. But sometimes. Just sometimes…

“Forgive me,” said Chloe, “but I’m struggling to see anything good about being eaten.”

“You’ve still got the bazooka,” said Laura.

“You want me to let it off in here?”

Laura nodded.

“We’ll die,” said Chloe.

“I’ve got a plan.” There was a glint in Laura’s eye, a sparkle filled with excitement and just a smattering of madness. Chloe always found that look reassuring. She felt hope crawling around inside her head, hand in hand with lust. “This thing has an ass, right? We fire a rocket south, blow a hole in its butt so big we just walk out of here. And its head might still be on.”

Why not? It was better than dissolving in stomach acid. Chloe’s skin was already itching like hell. They wouldn’t last long in here.

“Where do you reckon its ass is?” asked Chloe.

“We came in up there,” said Laura, pointing above them at a puckered, sphincter-like gash. “So I reckon…” She looked around and pointed behind Chloe. “Over there.”

Sod it. Best not to think. Thinking always messed everything up.

Chloe turned, swung the bazooka onto her shoulder, steadied herself in the gooey swamp of stomach detritus, took aim and — be calm bitch, breathe — fired.

There was a flash. Everything exploded. A tidal wave of stinking juice hit Chloe in the face._ I’ll need a skip-load of Dove to recover from this intestinal nightmare_, she thought as she swirled in a mass of acidic, bloody slime.

Chloe felt a hand grab hers. She was hauled to her feet. Laura was standing before her, covered in blood. Fleshy gobbets decorated her hair. She’d never looked more beautiful. Chloe hugged her, so tight they squelched. They were alive.

Holding hands, they walked out of the gaping mess that used to be the dragon’s posterior. The mountain ledge, lit by moonlight, was spattered with dragon debris. Scales stuck out of the rock face. Flesh and blood decorated everything.

Laura grinned. “Let’s cut off the lizard’s—”

“Head?” The voice was filled with the wrath of a cyclone.

No way. Chloe turned and saw a pair of monstrous eyes, glistening in the darkness.

“You’ve just blown a hole in my behind the size of the Channel Tunnel,” said Cerberus the Black, moving out of the shadows.

“Does it hurt?” asked Laura.

“It’s not all that comfortable,” Cerberus admitted. It didn’t look very comfortable. To Chloe, it looked agonising. The dragon was colossal, black scaled and oozing evil. As it spoke, noxious smoke cascaded from its nostrils. “I’m a tad upset,” Cerberus continued. “I don’t think I’m going to let you cut off my head today.” There was a menace in the dragon’s tone that made Darth Vader sound like a pussycat.

The lizard moved further into the moonlight, the carnage that was its backend slipping along behind it on a mass of entrails. Its incisors were the size of tanks and the snarl on its lips suggested it wasn’t all that happy. “Not without a fight.”

Most people don’t believe in dragons. Unsurprising really, seeing as David Attenborough has never done a series about them. But when standing before one, even a dragon that had been blasted by a rocket, you appreciated how real they were. Despite having hunted and killed three of these giant lizards, Chloe’s heart twitched with nerves.

“You’re first,” Cerberus rumbled, nodding at Laura. “This time I’m going to chew before I swallow.”

Chloe took a step forward. “No.” She dropped the bazooka and drew two ivory swords from the scabbards on her back. “You’ll have to come through me if you want her.”

A humourless smile touched Cerberus’s maul. “Ah, sweet.”

The beast lunged. A blast of rancid breath hit Chloe in the face, but failed to ignite. Maybe a dragon needed a rectum to breathe fire. Whatever. She side stepped and leaned back with the grace of a ballerina, swinging the swords in unison.

Schloooooorp. This is the noise made when slicing through a dragon’s neck with enchanted swords.

“Damn.” That’s what a dragon says when it’s been outdone by an angry blonde.

Badango. Large heads create this sound when they’ve been severed, dropping from a substantial height.

“Whoa.” This’s what someone called Laura says when someone called Chloe saves their life.

“Whoa indeed,” Chloe said, sheathing her swords. Yeah, that about summed things up. She felt Laura take her hand and squeeze it.

“You really love me, don’t you?” said Laura, a rare softness in her voice.

“Yep,” said Chloe. She looked at the gigantic head. “How’re we going to get this bloody thing down the mountain? It’s massive.”

“Let’s leave it,” said Laura.

“What about the pay out? This dragon had a hoard. We’re due a cut.”

“Sod it.”

“We can’t just leave the carcass here,” said Chloe. “Someone might see it. You know the law.”

“Maybe it’s time for dragons to be discovered. You know. By everyone.”

Maybe it is, thought Chloe. Maybe it is.

“Let’s go back to the cabin,” said Chloe. “There’re things I want to do to you.”

Together, they walked down the mountainside. Quickly.

About Christopher Fielden

Christopher Fielden uses his published short stories as case studies in the hope that his advice helps other authors when publishing their work. On his website you will find much information about magazines, competitions and a lot more fiction.
Photo credit: 'Simon Hedges'

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