Free At Least He's Not On Fire: A Tour of the Things That Escape My Head by Chris Philbrook Page B

is the way of my kind.
    I sense that I have been dreaming this dream a very long time. More than a night, or a week, or even a year. Centuries have passed, maybe a millennia since I last lay open eyes on the waking world. The castle I am soaring towards in my dream is certainly gone, buried underneath centuries of revolution and crumbled empires.
    These thoughts do not cause me alarm. Nor do I fear what the world will be like when I open my eyes soon.  
    I am beyond mortal fears.
    Those that wear two skins are but a nuisance to me.
    My skin breaks the teeth of those that drink blood and stalk the night.
    Were it not for the teachings and lineage of my kind, the magi would be ordinary, not the wielders of primordial might that they are.
    Goblins, monsters, and fae are my kind and they pay me the respect that is my due.
    I am the bringer of death from high above.
    I am the giver and shaper of life in so many forms.
    I am the bringer of light that illuminates all darkness.
    I am the stone that cannot be broken and the blade that cannot dull.
    I am the legend your grandfathers were told by their grandfathers.
    My footsteps shake the ground like the war march of a hundred legions.
    My heart beats as the thunder shakes the sky.  
    If this body does not suit me, I will change it and become whatever will thrive in the soil of the times in which I awake.
    I am Tesser, and I am a Dragon.
    And as I arc my wings once more to soar above the clouds, my mind elevates me away from my slumber; my fear finally makes itself known. A question, a single nagging lost memory, occurs to me.
    Why did I allow myself to be pacified in sleep for so long?
    Long slumbers are not my way.
    Acquiescing is not my way.
    I think I'll find out why I have slept so long now that this dream, this long, long dream, is over. And those that have seen to my sleep had best have had good reason for my time lost.
    Because I am Tesser, and I am Dragon.

Chapter One
    Abraham "Abe" Fellows

    BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
    Is that a car?
    BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
    Nah, it sounds too electric.
    BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
    God, I hate technology.
    BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
    Ha! “God,” that's a good one. I don't think Mr. Doyle would approve of me referring to God.
    BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
    Why am I sitting in the coffee shop? Where is that infernal beeping coming from? Why does this latte taste like old chewed meat? Or is that a sock I taste?
    BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
    Oh Hell, that's my alarm clock. Coffee shop is just a dream. Oh Hell, it's bright out. Damn it, my hand is asleep again. Fingers are number than ever. I'll be fumbling with this shut off button for five minutes now. That Indian asshole in the apartment above me is going to start screaming again.
    BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
    I'll cast a spell. I know that cantrip well enough, and my fingers can be as numb as they want.
    BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
    Abe sat up on the edge of his worn mattress and addressed the phone sitting on the milk crate he used as a bed stand. The air stirred slightly as the young man gathered his thoughts to cast the spell. There was some magic in the air here in his apartment, his sanctum. On the mantle of the nonfunctional fireplace, he'd organized semi-precious stones that had mystical powers. There was always the scent of incense on the nose. Scents had power.  
    I'm ready. Abe gestured with his tingly, stiff fingers at the touch screen of his cell phone, still sitting a couple of feet from his hands on the plastic crate. He slid his finger in the air and spoke a word laced with arcane power: "Commoveo."
    Abe watched as the image on the phone glitched. The LCD screen didn't feel the touch of his spell in the same way it would've felt a finger made of flesh and blood. He sighed at his newest failed attempt to mix technology and magic. The tingling in his fingers had abated, but he couldn't abandon the spell.
    BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
    Fucking thing. "Commoveo," he said again, sliding his fingers through the air, this time with more emphasis and focus. Abe