“Don’t play with the sword!”
“Just a minute!”
Dragon Little, four and a half years old, was never good at listening to her father when he told her what not to do.
It was one of the first times she was able to lift her father’s sword. All she wanted to do now was swing it around on the deck.
Dragon Father waited a minute, “Joy, a minute just passed,” then another, “Come on, you’ve played enough,” then another, “Joy!”, and another “Joy! Are you listening to me?!”
“Just a minute. I’m allllmost done!”
He waited five more minutes, sighing audibly. And then: “Joy! Someone could get hurt! You could get hurt! Stop!”
“In a minute! I’m almost done!”
He started walking angrily towards her, hand outstretched. “All right! That’s it! You’re done!”
He bent down to take it from her hand, just as she swung it back.
The sword sliced his right eye and he yelled and fell to his knees.
“Dad!” The sword fell to the deck.
He grabbed his eye as blood was coming out in geysers.
“Dad! Dad!”
“Oh my god…” he whispered in pain.
It pains me to even remember this incident. I will tell you tomorrow what happens to a dreamer who loses an eye in the dream.
—Told by The Red Dragon
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