Disclaimer: I do not own American Dragon: Jake Long, or Charles Dickens's A Tale of Two Cities.
Author's Note: Rated for a reason! Not for the faint of heart. Read Warning please. Warning: Contains blood, dead people, gore, and a dragon on a flagpole. Do not read if you can't handle it.
Author's Note: Not for the faint of heart! Wow, I am on a roll here, writing these darker stories…. Also, just to clear this up, the ending of 'Professor Rotwood's Thesis' never occurred. Trixie and Spud never learned about Jake being a dragon, and, well, just read. It'll be gradually explained.
'It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…' I shook my head. This was not the best of times, only the worst. '…it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness…' Wisdom could be argued. Foolishness was something without doubt. '…it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity…' Both would fit here, in today's state. '…it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness…' Light had dispersed. Darkness now reigned here. '…it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair…' Despair indeed. Hope was gone, having fled for warmer climates. '…we had everything before us, we had nothing before us…' I nodded; both of these were true, in greater measures than anyone would hope for. Hope. '…we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct in the other way…' I doubted that almost anyone was going to heaven, not in a time like this, not with what people were getting away with. '… - in short, the period so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.' For good or evil, this age was being received. And what it brought was darkness and blood.
I walked to school, the sky a reddish orange, rather than its usual blue. It seemed to be bleeding, a sort of cry for what the world has come to. Trust was hard to find; neighbor fought neighbor, brother turned against brother, father plotted against son. That was how it could be best described. People were turning on one another, turning New York into a battleground. The whole world was degrading into a battleground, with Rotwood to blame for it all. I couldn't even trust my best friends; how would they react to the truth? What about Dad? I shook my head. Thinking like that would only get me into trouble. Acting upon those thoughts would make the rest of my short existence a living nightmare.
It would have been better if it never happened, if I didn't turn to Rotwood and his reward money, to get a new vase. Why, why? I allowed myself to get captured (by my best friends, no less) and given to Rotwood for that stupid vase! Well, actually the money for the vase, but still.
I gave up hope and slumped my shoulders. I slid against the back of the cage. That's what it was now; a steel trap, and I was the animal trapped inside. I could hear Rotwood's voice, slightly muffled from the thick metal. He seemed to be talking to a group of people. Scientists, probably, trying to prove that he wasn't crazy. I lifted my wings and let them fall, creating a small draft. Too bad he wasn't.
I narrowed my eyes. Perhaps I could barge through the door, and fly out of there. But that would depend on Rotwood opening the door. He may be an idiot when it comes to magical creatures, but I doubted that even he was that stupid. I sighed and perked my ears as Rotwood became clearer. The back of his head filled the space between the bars, so that I could only see his hair. I tensed myself, ready to spring out of here as soon as possible.
An official sounding voice said "Really?" He sounded bored, like he wanted to get away and do some real work. "Then open the door and let us see."
Rotwood's accent filtered through the bars, muffled slightly by his head. "I can't do that; he might escape."
"Then let us see," the voice said. I cot an idea; I let myself fall swiftly but silently to the floor, acting like I was dead. Or a parade float. "All I see is some papier-mâché float," the bored voice said.
"No, no!" Rotwood cried. "I can prove it to you-" the door creaked open and I sprang to action. I dove for the door, landing among the stunned scientists. I then rocketed out of there, heading for Rotwood's garage. I couldn't undo the damage I just caused, but I could destroy the pictures and all of the other evidence I gave to Rotwood. "I told you!" said teacher shrieked.
That day was a mistake. I managed to destroy the evidence, but I caused an all out war between the human world and the magical world. It was, and still is, every dragon's nightmare. People and creatures were fighting each other, killing each other. Mom had to drive Hayley to school everyday so she wouldn't see the violence on the streets. Gramps, while he wouldn't say so, was disappointed in me. He thought I could do better than this, and I had let him down. Fu Dog would try to console me occasionally, telling me that it hadn't truly been my fault. Hayley acted as though nothing had really changed, but she was scared too. Mom was scared, but let it show. Dad was confused; he knew nothing of the magical world before this, and wasn't violent or hateful by nature. So he was confused more than anything by what the world had come to.
A glance down an alleyway afforded me with a gruesome sight. Someone had nailed up a disemboweled leprechaun to a wall. It was too gruesome to describe, but before I turned away, I read the scrawled message left in the leprechaun's blood. It read: Get out of here you freaks!
I walked away, and despite the blood, I found myself suppressing a grin, which grew into a chuckle. That grew into laughter, and progressively harder to control. I wasn't sure if I was losing my mind; why would I be laughing at such a thing? Or keeping myself from doing so, at least. Then it hit me: the funny (not) thing about it was that magical creatures existed before humans. They long outdated humans, by ten-thousand years, if I remembered correctly.
The humans were trying to remove that that existed first; that was what was funny. Well, what it quickly escalated to wasn't funny, and the thought deflated the laughter that was struggling to break free. I grew sober, and what I saw next made my blood grow cold.
Hanging from the school flagpole was a dragon skin. Whoever had done the skinning hadn't washed the skin. It still looked warm, as blood freely dripped off the carcass. There was a large rip down the stomach, but since it was only the skin, the unfortunates that saw it weren't afforded a view of a dragon's anatomy. I found a pain inside of me, and I knew why.
The dragons were meant to keep peace, before the war. They made sure that the magical community wasn't ripping itself apart at the hinges, being police, peacekeepers, and judges, all in one. They were meant to keep the magical world secret (and look at what I did.) Even now, those that were able to were hiding as many of the magical community as possible. They never attacked the humans, and avoided confrontation, except with the Huntsclan.
In fact, most dragons were leaving to Draco Island, trying to wait the war out. I hadn't gone, nor Mom or Hayley or Gramps. Mom, despite not being able to turn into a dragon, could have left. But she didn't; she wouldn't leave Dad. Hayley could have gone. But she wouldn't leave her family. Gramps could have gone. But he wouldn't leave his daughter or grand-kids, no matter how disappointed he was in me. I could have left. But this war was my fault, my mess. And I was going to clean it up as best as I could.