I look at your cold, empty eyes

And your lifeless, mangled body covered with blood and gore

The people surrounding you are heralding you as their hero

Who met this fate while saving a woman's dignity

So brave were you that you didn't mind being stricken down by swords and die for that lady

While ensuring that the goons were all dead and she was protected from all harm

But little do they know that you cowered behind me

When the goons attacked me

Of course you had to meet the same fate as them

But your cowardice won't be forgotten

Your nonexistent deeds will be sung

And I will remain the unsung hero

Everyday feels like the best day of my life.

I have God, my family and my friends.

But I find myself thinking, is there something missing?

Do I need a man? 

A man that will love me as much as I will love him?

Do I have to find him?

Or wait until destiny help us meet each other?

Or do nothing and live my life the way it is?

Loud, obnoxious shouts arose from the center of the village. Whoops and cheers encouraged the others to join in. Breaths smelling of alcohol poisoned the sense of smell. Everyone was happy. They were having fun. Until the candles blew out and everything went dark. Panicked shouts traveled through the air. Some people cried out, terrified. A split second later, everything went silent. Deadly silent. Then the lights flickered on. Not a single living human stood before me.

I was alone.

I am the last of my kind. Nobody believes anymore in the magic that hides within reality. Sunlit doorways through hedges and pixie dust on the children. I hone my skills alone in the forest, under the deep green canopy, shaded from prying eyes. That shadow that chills you, casting shapes across your sunlit path, is me. I alone ride the skies, astride this last survivor, tamed, and as my steed, still mighty. Iridescent shimmering light reflects off his black scales, the sun blocked by leathery wings. Wings large enough to cover that orb as they beat furiously, keeping us aloft. I am the last dragonslayer. They call me in their dreams, for they doubt my true existence. But I hold the famed blue sword, and the legacy is mine alone. Dragons are only graceful in flight, and oh how we fly!  Soaring to the sun like Icarus, and falling in circular tumbles until we hit the atmosphere. You see us, and rub your eyes in disbelief. That's alright. We'll  remain hidden, away from rabid, prying eyes. We are mythical; he is legend, and he is the last dragon.