Words Are Magic

Words are magic. This year, faculty and staff of CCHS have been attempting to recognize students who do above and beyond.  All the way from Mr. Love’s “Be Red” recognitions during CCR to Student of the Month and recognitions in our Red Zone assemblies, it is obvious that the buzz word this year is “recognition.”  This Issue, the Laker Review would like to continue this trend of recognition and share a magically spectacular short story from junior Samuel Hoffman. 

A short story by Samuel Hoffman: 

Warm rays of orange and yellow met gray and gold, shining back at the world for all to see. 
He lay sleeping atop his mound, black scales and blue wings now glittering in the sun, glowing like obsidian lined with sapphire. 
What a beautiful sight to see. 
Somber eyes open to see the world around him; a golden cave filled with treasures from the world. Gems and coins of gold reflected colors of all sorts; green, yellow, red, blue, purple- he saw it all in his dimly lit eyes.  
There he lay, protecting himself from the cruel world who dared to try to take his treasure, his pride and happiness, given by others as gifts of love and admiration. 
The world that now cast a shadow in his den. 
What once was a cave filled with gems and gold now lay him and the one who seeked his treasure. 

The hero. 
The hero and his followers, now drenched in silver metal and red cloth, clenching sharpened steel and wood bent into a crescent, held by plant fiber. 
He knew what was to happen all too well. 
The second he opened his mouth to greet them, the first of the sharpened flint was fired. 
Next came a tsunami of pain. 
Arrows rained on his thick scales, but no amount of armor could stop the pain. 
He released a cry loud enough to shake the cave and startle the attackers. 
Next, he stood. Gems and gold fell from his torso, clattering to the floor loudly as he charged at the army of silver and steel. 
Sharp pains soon covered his snout and legs and torso as he slammed into his opponents. Regaining his balance, he saw red steel, now carried by the hero and his standing followers. 
Cuts ran down his arms and legs. The men he had missed had made quick work slicing at his scales as arrows now hit mercilessly at the treasure that had been embedded in his softer scales that lined all down his underside, failing to hit the scales themselves. He whipped his tail back and forth at his opponents, knocking any who dared to find their way behind him to the ground. He wanted to see his fight, rather than be caught off guard by cowards who could not face him properly. 
Then, with no hesitation, he swung his claws at the silver figures, catching as many men as he could in his large claws, catching their steel in the process. Red dripped from his claws, but that did not stop him from slashing and stomping the metal they wore to protect themselves. It would never save them from his wrath. 
Groups fell at the same time, each clattering to the floor with limbs twisting and bones snapping. Blood covered the stone floor. 
Soon, all that remained was the Hero. 
A lone man with nothing but a sword to defend himself, just like always. 
“Is this all, Hero?” He asked calmly in a deep, raspy voice, “Your army falls in minutes, now only you remain, yet again.” 
The Hero frowned, but he was silent. 
“Stoic as always. I suppose this is your end now, isn’t it?” 
He seemed almost sad to say it. 
The Hero lowered his weapon, seeming surprised, “You spared me before, will you not again, dragon?” 
The scaled beast shook his head, “You are a coward. You bring so many here to die so you may bring more. You have yet to learn your lesson.” 
“Lesson? What lesson?” 
The Dragon growled softly, almost seeming disappointed. 
“You try again and again to destroy something that brings you only peace. You are no hero. You are simply a man trying to prove a point that never existed.” The dragon took a deep breath, then looked down at the man who once swore to protect his people, “You cannot bring peace with violence,” he huffed, smoke trailing from his bleeding snout to the cave ceiling, “But, you can bring silence with death.” 
The hero looked at his men that lay on the floor, broken. It seemed he was starting to understand. 
What a shame that he was too late. 
“And that, my dear hero,” the dragon continued softly, “is the most satisfying replacement for peace of all.” 
The hero looked at the dragon as he raised his claws once more. He did not try to run. He knew what the dragon meant. His attempt at violence ended with only more bloodshed than intended. A loss that could never be returned. 
And with that, the hero was no more than a story told around the village. The followers now rot outside the dragon’s lair as a reminder of the suffering caused by the lies and fiction caused by the lack of understanding and empathy of man. 
The dragon now lay in silence, waiting for peace to take its place.