The Trapped Dragon
Prima Jirauangkiat, Group 3: Fiction, British International School Puxi, Shanghai
s I gradually opened my eyes glaring at the ray of sunshine bursting through a window above me, I
could hear whispering of the wind through a wooden framed window. I saw the dragon paintings my
grandfather had painted on the walls. He loved dragons, in which he believed in them, but I didn’t; I
never really thought they’d really existed. As I looked up to the ceiling above me, I stared at another
dragon which looked special. It had silver sparkly scales made from emeralds and golden spikes on
its back. The grey eyes looked dull but in that miniscule spot I saw a sparkle, and its tail wrapped around its
body making you see only its head. Behind the dragon was a black semi oval which somehow looked like a
tunnel; above was one of the towers on the Great Wall. It looked just like the one outside my window, 26,560
chi long. I could smell the breakfast my mum had made me, like usual it would be fried rice and jasmine tea, my
favourite. I kept staring at the window then at the dragon on the ceiling but this time my head felt dazzled, for a
minute I thought could this dragon be real? Could it really exist?
Finally I slowly got up from bed, lifting my head and trying to forget the dragon paintings. By then my
head felt better, I rushed putting on my old black cotton shoes and ran to the kitchen table where my breakfast
was. As soon as I got there, the first thing that caught my eyes was the wooden table that my mum had bought
when she was collecting legend stories of dragons. The side of the table was craved like the dragon I saw up in
the ceiling. I felt my finger skimming over them and I could smell the rare oak wood, feeling like it’s going to
jump out. I tried my best to ignore the dragon on my ceiling and headed outside of my house. Then I saw my
friend Fiona
Li. She was standing on the front door steps of her house turning around and looking at her dad. The
house was made of wood and the roof made with layers of bamboo leaves, all of our houses were made the same
way. Fiona had dark brown eyes and curly hair, sometimes I even thought I was going to strangle me.
“
Good morning Fiona, what’s wrong with your dad?”
She and her dad turned around at me looking disappointed, and then she walked up to me.
“
My dad lost most of the seeds that he’s collected last autumn”.
“
How?”
“
I’m not quite sure but he told me that ever since the Great Wall started its construction, nothing ever
grew, all of the villagers’ crops that was beside the wall die, but now it’s more upsetting because there’s only
one more set of seeds to grow and if it dies again the all of us is over”
“
Oh, how could we help?”
“
Um….nobody knows what’s happening, so why don’t we try finding it out?”
“
Sure, I’ll ask my grandfather and mum if she knows anything about it.”
“
So what you want to do today?”
“
Um how about a walk around the Great Wall.”
“
Ok. Lets go.”
After walking for a few hours, we stopped for a break at one of the curved on the Great Wall, and then
we saw a gigantic amount of people walking towards our village. They had armour and weapons. I could hear
them shouting in a language that both of us couldn’t understand. I asked Fiona if she knew who they were but
she didn’t. Later on I saw a mist appearing a few 100 meters away from the soldiers, the leader shouted
something which meant march forwards or keep going because the soldiers did as they were told and walked
into the mist and disappeared.
“
Are they Mongolians”, she asked
“
I think so.”
Meanwhile we panicked, and ran back to the village as fast as possible.
“
Tomorrow we’ll find out what’s wrong with the Great Wall. I shall meet you in front of your house;
tomorrow morning bring a shovel with you”
“
Ok”, said Fiona
That night I told my grandfather what had happened and he told me one of the rarest legend stories my
mum had found. My grandfather said it was about a silver dragon under the Great Wall. He was there for
thousands of years, and he protected us from the evil spirits. He was the same one my grandfather had drawn on
the ceiling in my bedroom. I also told him about the Mongolians attack.
“
Could it be possible that the dragon made the mist?” I asked.
“
It is possible but I am not sure” he replied.
“
I’m tired; I’ll be in my bedroom if you need me” he said wearily.
A