That was my life before I got canned. Now I live in Astrakane, that's the name of our world. My name is Eim. I'm half dragon. I don't really have a backstory at all, but that doesn't matter. Not everyone down here does. I've been in Asktrakane for a couple of years now. But not much of that is important, so here's where our story begins, on the weekend.
I jump out of my bed and grab my favorite pair of black shiny rain boots. I run down the stairs and out the door. I stop myself at the railing. I look out onto the world, the world I have come to love. I see the lake below my stilted house, I feel the slight breeze of the morning wind. Everything is peaceful.
I shut my eyes, letting all my senses heighten. I take a step back, placing one foot behind the other ,stretching out the wings on my back. I open my eyes, I run and jump.
I feel the air around me as I flap my wings. The air pushes me up, telling me to go higher and higher. I open my eyes to see the colors colliding around me. Light blue dominates the sky, but hints of pink can still be seen from the early sunrise. Yellow sunlight shines above me, each ray hitting a cloud and spreading its light. I can feel the warm air spreading around the sky, bringing in light and warmth. A glowing sun, but not too bright, it's almost a dim golden orange. It's a beautiful morning. A perfect morning for flying. I can feel the arch of my wings relax into the sunlight.
But I don't have time to enjoy the sky. I have somewhere to be.
I head over to the main part of the city. Cars move, lights blink. What can I say, it's the city. This specific city is called Skyline. And Skyline certainly has its personality; it's known for its investors and bankers yelling and bleating, calling stocks; it's known for musicians to have their start here, from heavy metal to bubblegum pop, constant sound; it's known for the big families and the wailing kids, the laughing kids and the parents trying to keep everything under control. It's a city of constant sound, and everyone likes it that way.
I dive just enough to reach the city's skylines, passing windows that reflect my figure. I wave at the buildings, hoping I can catch someone's eye from the inside. I don't care who, just trying to make someone's day. A small smile graces my lips. And even from this high up you can hear the city, like it's trying to talk to you.
I glide through the buildings, taking sharp turns here and there. Getting closer and closer to the ground. People move out of my way, already being used to this kind of sight.
Street urchins with giant spikes, sit in the corners of the street. With pale blue faces and sharp spikes, they may look scary, but they don't want any trouble. They're just trying to get by. Trotting by are some greedy goats, dressed up in their fancy suits. They basically feed off of money. Metaphorically and physically. They run the banks. Us common folk call them herders. They basically control this economy, which constitutes of gold and tin coins—tin being the most valuable of course. I heard that they can take bribes, hand them a nice silk cloth and you might be set for life.
Fish, giant golden and yellow, hover above my head. Blue, red, and green fish of all other colors swim through the air above me. Fins glimmer and reflect color, and the occasional bubble comes out of a fish's gaping mouth. Some of us use them as transportation, cartoons rest on top of the bright glittering scales, or they retire to the inside, peaking through small windows.
As the city smells fade away I'm greeted with a new scent: flowers. I pass into Flower Woods. These flowers can go on for miles and miles without a trace of ending. Cartoons tended to get lost, so we created notable paths.
Flowers just as big as the skyscrapers, maybe even bigger, tower over me. From roses to tiger lilies, we have them all. Petunias stand straight up, jasmine's sweet smell grace my nose, and the bluebells drop down to greet me. What a place to be. The path slowly but surely turns from concrete to dirt under my feet. Tall grass gets thicker and thicker. Delicate monstrous petals lie on the path ahead of me. Each has an individual color, so unique I wish I can take my time. I quicken my pace further. Colors begin to blur together as I make my way through the vibrant scenery. And then I'm there.
YOU ARE READING
Not a Graphic NovelFantasy
Not a Graphic Novel is a story about cartoons that have been abandoned by their creator and live in their own world in a trash can. The story takes place when their creator begins to take the abandoned ideas and change them, creating chaos in their...