Freda the Dragon Slayer pushed a screwdriver into the ignition. Her arthritic hand shook and ached as she twisted the handle. The old farm truck sputtered but started. Every day the same thing, Franko the truck would moan and complain but he always came alive.
The morning was crisp and dark. The distant mountains were the purple of a ripe plumb. Freda the Dragon Slayer sat in the blowing heat, rubbed her knobby fingers and talked to Franko, “Aren’t we a lovely bunch of coconuts? Old and rusty and stiffer than a double-edged sword. But we’re still kickin. That’s the main thing.” A shooting star arched over them like a giant eyebrow. It was there until it wasn’t. “What do you think Franko? You think it was a dragon?” Freda placed her hand on the old truck’s dashboard. “Do we go find out or take the garbage to the dump?”
The engine stuttered then growled a hungry sound. “That a boy.” Freda the Dragon Slayer pulled the bench seat forward as much as she could and checked that her sword was still there.
“Let’s go get us some dragon meat, Franco. Tonight we eat like kings!” And so they did.
once upon a time...
2 Replies to “Freda the Dragon Slayer”
For me this story was just a sweet smile. One bigger than life character doin’ her “thang”. I don’t know why it was such a feel good postcard but it was.
Michelle, I totally agree with you. Freda is one character I wouldn’t mind exploring more. She sounds like a feisty chick like someone else I know:)
Word of the Year-2025
For my 2025 word of the year, I chose COURAGE. I know, it’s not the most original pick—but hear me out. Something about courage stuck with me this time, especially after watching a documentary on The Tragically Hip. For those unfamiliar, they’re kind of a Canadian thing. A band that
Hinterland is Real
They say seeing is believing. I didn’t know what that meant until that night. I was coming home late, later than I should, and I knew I was going to catch heck. Momma didn’t even pretend to be patient when me or my sister wasn’t home in time for dinner.
Deadly Mist
The mist crept closer, slithering across the boot prints she left behind on the soft, moist ground. She urged her legs to go faster over the uneven path. A leafless tree grabbed at the flying strands of her long silver hair as she ran past. They hung like shiny tinsel