A chick, I am. A chick that enters consciousness to the itching feeling of being cramped, only then soothed by the weightless perception of floating and the delicious sensation of warmth. All 7 of my hypothetically chick-like appendages twisting together in a complex braid that follows a pattern with neither rhyme nor reason. Both light and sound are blurred by the vessel of which I am cradled within. A viscous, yet at the same time jelly-like substance softens each potential blow of the walls against my weak body.

A chick I am not though. For instead of the theoretical hen laying the egg in which houses me, there was only the spark of imagination within a human youngling’s mind that sired me. For when a story was born, a story of the complex nature with twisting plots and unimaginable but still human characters was created, I was brought up from the depths of imaginative thoughts. My appendages have, not feathers but, scales of the darkest coloration- somewhat like a midnight black, yet with deeper, richer tones of other colors. My eyes are not the dark brown windows into a baby- bird’s soul, but pale mirrors of the colorless world surrounding me. The viscous, jelly-like substance that cuddles me are the dreams of my young human creator. Neither light nor sound can reach the depth of thought of which I am cradled in, and my 7 appendages include a tail and two wings along with the usual package of 4 legs.

A chick I am, for when I stretch, within my shell of another's thoughts, cracks form, revealing a world other than the only one I have ever known. The cracks between imagination and reality begin to widen quickly transforming into holes. Holes where I my firmly shut eyes can glimpse the harsh light of what is real. Cracks that allow breezes to brush against my shivering limbs. Those cracks, those holes cross planes of figment and fact blurring the lines until I am simply there.

-A newly- hatched dragon, standing in a moonlit field. Surrounded by night, solitude, and the freedom of an endless starry night.