Lost in a World Too Big

A Terrible Injustice

The first thing Fizzlebop noticed upon hatching was that the world was entirely too loud, too bright, and too full of things that did not immediately cater to his needs. A terrible injustice, really.

He blinked his enormous blue eyes, stretching his stubby wings with an exasperated sigh. The nest was empty. His siblings had hatched before him, leaving behind only cracked eggshells and a lingering warmth. How typical. They never waited for him.

"Ugh," he muttered, dragging his tiny tail across the soft moss. "Abandoned at birth. Tragic."

Fizzlebop attempted to stand, only to topple forward, his little claws scrabbling against the ground. "Oh yes, very majestic. Future ruler of the skies, right here," he grumbled, rolling onto his back. "Might as well leave me here to perish."

The sky above him was a swirl of pastels, stars twinkling like they had something to be smug about. "Don't just sit there looking all mysterious," he huffed at them. "Help me!"

The stars, as expected, did not assist.

With a great effort, he managed to sit upright, his wings flaring dramatically for balance. He squinted toward the nearby firelight, where the rest of his nestmates were already feasting with their mother. One of her gold eyes stayed on the nest. Fizzlebop, busy glaring at the universe, failed to notice.

"Of course they started without me," he muttered. "Because why wouldn't they?"

Then, just to test if life was truly out to get him, Fizzlebop attempted to take a single confident step forward. His foot met a particularly devious rock, and he promptly face-planted.

"Oh, I see how it is," he growled, flopping onto his side. "Fine. I'll just stay here. Alone. Forever. Probably get eaten by something big and toothy."

A Force of Nature, Briefly

Something rustled nearby.

Fizzlebop froze.

Slowly, carefully, he turned his head—only to come face to face with a fox.

A very hungry-looking fox.

The fox tilted its head, clearly confused by the sight of a baby dragon glaring up at it with an expression of profound irritation.

Fizzlebop narrowed his eyes. "Listen here, overgrown rodent," he said, voice full of bratty confidence. "I am a dragon. A creature of legend. A force of nature." He puffed up his chest. "I will breathe fire upon you."

Silence.

The fox remained unimpressed.

Fizzlebop inhaled deeply, ready to unleash his terrifying flame… and promptly sneezed.

A pathetic little spark fizzled into the air.

The fox blinked.

Fizzlebop blinked.

Then, with a sigh, he flopped onto his back and groaned. "Fine. Just eat me and get it over with."

Instead of attacking, the fox sniffed him once. A low rumble rolled over from the firelight, and a silver tail shifted across the ground behind the little dragon. The fox let out an unimpressed huff and trotted away. Fizzlebop saw only the retreat.

"Yeah, that's right," Fizzlebop called after it. "Run, coward!" He lay there for a moment longer before muttering, "I didn't want to be eaten anyway."

Then, grumbling to himself, he got back onto his feet and stomped toward the firelight, ready to make a dramatic entrance and demand his rightful place at the feast.

Because if he was going to suffer in this unfair world, the least he could do was make everyone else suffer with him.

The Family Must Answer

Fizzlebop marched—well, wobbled—toward the glow of the firelight, muttering under his breath about betrayal, neglect, and the sheer injustice of being the last to hatch. His tiny claws crunched against the frost-covered ground, his tail flicking dramatically with each exaggerated step.

“Oh yes, just leave the baby behind,” he grumbled. “Forget about poor, defenseless Fizzlebop. Not like I could have been eaten or anything.” He paused and shuddered. “By a fox. A fox, of all things.”

The campfire flickered ahead, surrounded by his siblings, who were rolling around in a pile of meat scraps like the uncultured beasts they were. Their mother, a great silver dragon with molten gold eyes, lay nearby, preening her wings, looking—for lack of a better word—smug.

Fizzlebop narrowed his eyes.

They had noticed his absence. They just hadn’t cared. This was Fizzlebop’s official conclusion, reached without considering the watchful gold eye, the warning rumble, or the warm space beside his mother that nobody else had been allowed to occupy.

Well.

That would not stand.

He inhaled deeply, summoning every ounce of injustice and rage within his tiny frame, and let out a battle cry:

“HOW DARE YOU.”

The entire nest froze.

His siblings blinked at him, meat dangling from their stupid little jaws. His mother arched an elegant brow.

Fizzlebop stomped forward. “Do you have ANY idea what I have been through?” he demanded, wings flaring. “Do you know the STRUGGLES I have faced?”

Silence.

Fizzlebop did not care. He was going to tell them anyway.

“First of all, I was abandoned,” he declared. “Cast out, left to suffer, forced to hatch in solitude like some tragic hero in a forgotten legend.” He placed a claw against his chest, looking to the heavens. “And then! As if that weren’t bad enough—”

His mother exhaled loudly through her nose. “Fizzlebop, you hatched twenty minutes late.”

Fizzlebop gasped. “Twenty minutes? Oh, I see. So I should just be grateful that my own family left me to perish in the cruel, unfeeling wilds?!”

His mother stared at him.

His siblings stared at him.

One of them, a chubby dragon named Soot, licked his eyeball.

Fizzlebop groaned. “You absolute buffoons.” He marched straight to the pile of meat, sat his tiny, chilly rear down, and grabbed the largest scrap he could find. “You’re all terrible, and I hate you,” he declared before stuffing his face.

His mother sighed and stretched her wings. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Fizzlebop waved a dismissive claw. “Yes, yes, I’m adorable, I’m a delight, I’m a gift to this family.” He took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. “But also, you should all suffer for your crimes.”

His mother huffed a plume of smoke, which he chose to interpret as deep shame and regret.

His belly now full, Fizzlebop curled into the warm pile of his siblings, who accepted his presence with the kind of easygoing obliviousness only dragons (and very stupid people) could manage.

And as he drifted off to sleep, his mother’s tail curling around them for warmth, Fizzlebop allowed himself a tiny, satisfied smirk.

For all his righteous suffering… being part of a family wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

Probably.