Heartbroken Dragon-Personal Narrative

The ink rolled off the steel tip of the pen, threading its way through paper fibers and weaving a vivid image of a heartbroken dragon. Anguish exploded and thundered in his chest, echoing with hot nails like knives in the expanse of his mind.
With another flick of my finger, I silenced it. Still rolling the scene through my thoughts, I mulled over which idea to pull next from the crevices of my creativity. I could feel his soft mane (yes, some dragons have manes) and met the gaze of his aging eyes with a familiar stare; his humble personality was tangible and I knew every bit of dialogue he was capable of, as if it were my own. In a way, it was. The letters that captured him were dipped from the inkwell of my mind and stained with my memories--a manifestation of my life distorted by a secondary name and re-organized within a line of words. He embodied many of my traits and many of the virtues I strive for. Afterall, it is
not possible to fully form a character without intertwining and fully understanding oneself. And as I found him, I found myself. A name is the crux of any character.
I spent hours with each letter. Pulling out dictionaries, flipping through baby name thesauruses and catalogs of historical figures, I searched for a title that could perfectly capture his character and complexity in a single word: Theodore. The name is simple, but just under the serif of the trailing ‘e’ is a hidden personality. His name captures our ordinary appearance and humbled vibe, our hidden passion and mindful humanity. A soft jumble of black and white fur punctuated by steel-rimmed glasses, Theodore inherited my curiosity, creativity, and compassion as well as my knack for timid silence. He is always with me, on my long walks through autumn trees and in the moments of hysteria when I need a friend. We often talk about books and discuss different tea blends--a few of our intentionally mutual interests--before divulging in dialogues discussing nature, aviation, the scent of grass and the infrastructure of social culture. Through Theodore I learned to shift into the perspectives of others, to
empathize.
But his likeness was first captured by an image 350 pixels wide and 350 pixels tall generated for a website dedicated to dragons. He is one among thousands of similar figures paraded around forums bursting with art and canon culture. Nevertheless, I wrote his history from scratch and penciled in his finer features. What we have is special. Like the other personified anecdotes under his care, his existence is braided with mine and our experiences overlap. Theodore came with me on humanitarian trips to Ethiopia, where I painted his watercolor portrait with a young school girl, and to classes and seminars where he dances between my sloppy notes. No matter where I am, I can touch my pen to the next line and begin our next chapter.