Chapter 7: A Departure from Normal

James woke to the sun peeking into his window, bright and hardly dim. The grey of the world was gone, and his desk was illuminated by the glimmer entering his room from his window. He got up from the higher bed, and jumped down to the floor. Arthur was on the bed, and he understood the reason when he saw it was Saturday today. He was not hot on Arthur waking, and walked to his desk. Instead of turning to his notepad, he instead opened his desk drawer. Once he had got a good look, he felt life, even though it was fated to disappoint, will have something for him to live for, something colourful at the end of the road.

James sat on his desk, and began writing, closing the drawer. 'The giant walked on the ground, seeing the grey of thorn mountains contrasted with green of the ground and the yellow and red of the sunset sky. As he walked, he saw a wake of vultures, feeding on a carcass of a dead giant. The giant was laid on the earth, back down. The giant continued to walk, ignoring the ant-sized feasters and their giant-sized feast, and directed himself to the faraway mountains. He saw a boy, running away from the mountain, towards the giant. The giant raised his arm, and halted the boy. He kneeled, and in a bellowing voice, asked, "Why are you running, child?" The boy replied, in a voice bordering tears, "The dragon, the dragon! It ate my mother." "Why were you at the mountains?" "My mother thought that the dragon's rampage must be stopped, and wanted to find some weak spot on it to harm. She was found by the monster, and I hid while it killed her." The boy cried, but the giant needed to get some information from the wailing child, "Did she find something?" "It's belly. When she pricked with a sword, it began to bleed. Also, his eye, which she tried to attack." "Okay, boy, I'll kill the beast. I'll avenge your mother." The boy continued running, crying as well.

The giant walked to the mountain. As he walked, the world changed, night followed day, day followed night. He toiled, walking to his goal, wondering how the boy ran this long, when he was so small, compared to the giant. But after walking enough, the giant reached his far away, towering destination. The mountains raised to the roof of the earthly world, easily fifteen times the giant's height. He climbed, finding handholds and footholds, and punching some into the hard rock, when he didn't find any. The cave above him was huge, letting three giants in, abreast. It was made into the mountain side, a portal to a grey-black hell, holding a giant, winged, fire-breathing lizard, with scales black as the shadowy realm it lived in. And the giant entered this hell.

The rustling of the dragon's scales, and it's bloodcurdling howls filled the cave. The atmosphere was blisteringly hot, making the giant sweat almost immediately. The giant brought himself out, into a bigger clearing, with the beast laying in the middle. Seeing the intruder, the scaly monster shrieked, and striked at it's would be killer. It's flames sizzled the giant's skin, and it's claws bore into his chest, but raised his arms. His hands found themselves in the dragon's jaws, and he pulled them away from eachother. His fingers held the beast's teeth, and they pulled it's jaws away from eachother. A rip was heard, and the lizard's lower jaw was hanging from a single stringy tendon, swinging this way and that. The rip in it's mouth had not killed, nor deterred, the monster. It continued to attack, but it evidently couldn't spew it's flames. It's claws bore into the giant's shoulders, but the would-be hero had removed his hands from the beasts jaws, and found themselves near his chest. The wounded creature was dead just as that, when his fingers tore through his chest, and pulled it's insides out.

When the giant came out of the cave, with the dragon's lower jaw and heart in tow, the people screamed in adulation. Thousands had found themselves in front of the mountain, staring at the emerging hero. Their screams were happy, in adoration of the slayer. The boy he had met in the start was also there, crying tears of joy, for his vengeance. But the giant didn't care. He hadn't done his job, some would say more than his job, but he didn't need the public's joyous praise to feel accomplished. The peasants were not brave enough to deal with their own problems, so the giant's didn't require the cowards' absolution. He walked towards the dark forest, to his wife and home, with dragon's jaw in hand.'

"Too bloody, too short, and what the hell is the moral?" Michael was fuming. James was also irritated, "There doesn't have to be." "Yes, unless it was a children's story." "What if I don't want to write a children's story?" "You're a children's author, you can't do anything else." "That's not true. A man can change." "An author can't, at least once they make an identity. The people don't prefer changers, ever." "No. I WILL change." "You won't!" "I don't need you, Mike. I'll still be famous, with or without you." "Do you know how I helped you? The world won't give a sh*t about you, without me." "I am an artist! I don't need to grovel at your feet." "Do you even know what art is? Art is a endless war. You can win the battle, but when the next day dawns, there will be another battle, and the war shall continue. Art is thousands, no, millions of idiots all crawling and clawing for a small sliver of fame. Some might get that sliver on the stage, like you so luckily did, but they never hold it, unless they die quick. Someone new will come, always, and take your sliver. So grovel, or die unknown." "Never." "Not your choice. Go ahead then, kill yourself then. I'm sure the world would praise your work if you died. Go ahead, slit your throat, I'm sure the world would be joyous if you lost your vocal cords." "That's it then. A fight, and you want me dead?" "I'm signing Edward. You can go to hell." "Bye then. And f*ck you."

James stormed out, out of the office, out of the building, out of a past life, out of life. He was sick of it. He was irritated, annoyed and finally sure of something. He would make Michael regret his words, and WILL show the peasants that only giants shall turn to heroes. The unremarkables didn't matter, so it didn't matter what they thought of giants. The very world shall rue the day it spat at the feet of gods, and the next world shall be grateful to have the blessing of his godly grace's presence. He was sick of this world. If they spat at the feet of giants, showering spears at their betters, then let them do the same when the dragon wakes. The dragon sleeps, but when it wakes, the flames shall encircle the peasants, and their necks shall be cut. The useless sacks of meat they named their material selves will be hanged, quartered and burned. For James, the god they spat at, the god they disgraced, the god they laughed at, was the bringer of tears, the bringer of nooses. Yet he was filled with regret. His hotheadedness, while justified, was overexaggerated. He would not apologize, for it was not his mistake to apologized for. The world spat at his feet, and it's beauty had been exhausted. It was a dim, grey hell, useless to him, even if it was once his home. Why, It's colour had finally seeped out, as it had always been fated to do, even if it did bring a sad tear to James' eye. Yet he was sure, wasn't he? And with a sad heart, he opened the door to his empty apartment, where Arthur was nowhere to be seen.

While the walk back was filled with remorse, James was sure when he opened the desk drawer. He took it, and encircled it around his neck, and pulled. As his neck reddened, his face went completely numb, and he couldn't move any of the muscles on his face. As his senses dulled, he closed his eyes.

When James opened his eyes again, the world was a dim grey.