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The Dragon's Eulogy
by D C White

“Well,” asked the boy, “don’t you have anything to say?”

The dragon felt slightly embarrassed. “Not really, no,” he said.

“I thought you might like to say something.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Something.”

The dragon looked at the boy. “I really don’t think I should have to say anything,” he declared, “I’m sure it’s not really the done thing you know, eulogising someone whom you’re currently digesting. Not really cricket, and all that.”

The boy put his hands on his hips and glared at the dragon. “Look, Sir Michael is dead,” he stated.

“I know,” replied the dragon, “I ate him, remember?”

“Well, you can bloody well say a few kind words then, can’t you?”

The dragon sighed, a tricky operation for a creature who breathed fire. “I suppose so,” he replied, then stopped to gather his thoughts. When he looked down again, the boy was standing with his head bowed.
“Right. Well, I suppose I never knew Sir Michael as a man,” the dragon declared somewhat self-consciously, “I only ever really knew him…as an hors d’oevre. However, um…well look, I wasn’t going to say this but what he hell, spirit of the moment and all that, I mean to say that frankly, as an hors d’oevre, he was jolly good.
“Now, I’m not one who is overly given to eating humans, as a general rule. There’s the clothing for a start. Sticks in your teeth. And don’t get me started on the shoes! I mean, you’ve got no idea what the mucky sods might have trodden in.”
The dragon paused to collect his thoughts. His stomach rumbled ominously. “In any case,” he continued, “I really don’t know what it was that made Sir Michael so, um, delicious. Perhaps it was his courage in the face of adversity which, I must admit, didn’t do him a whole lot of good; or perhaps it was the fact that he tasted a bit like horseradish. Who can say? I know I can’t, and I count myself as something of an expert.”

He paused, right at the wrong moment, and the boy was treated to the sound of genuine dragon flatulence.

“I say!” the dragon declared, blushing, “I do beg your pardon. Although, perhaps I should really end this here. I’m sure we would all like to remember good old Sir Michael like that, er, going out on a high note, as it were.” He lapsed into silence.
“How was that?” he asked the boy after a few moments.

“To be honest,” replied the boy, “I’ve heard better.”