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Somewhere, in the darkness, there isn't a dragon. Where the yellow lights of lamp posts feel like distant stars a galaxy away. Where the breeze is cold, and there's only you, and the sound of your feet. There's no dragon. There isn't a dragon here. He's not there to stop, when you stop. And he isn't there to move when you start walking again, always matching your pace, making the shadow behind you feel a little longer. There's nothing to fear. There's no dragons here.
They used to print faces on the cartons of milk. Faces of lost people, missing children. Do they still do that? If you were swallowed by a dragon, would you be one more of those anonymous faces, frozen in a static smile from an old photograph, waiting to be found? Would your family members appear on television, begging for anyone with information to come forward? No. Those are the wrong questions. The wrong perspective to be had. The people that ask those questions, are scared. Fear shifts the mind. Fear, makes you ask the wrong questions. Are you scared?
You've stopped walking. You've known the answer since you were young. There are no dragons here. They wanted to instill something deep inside you, an instinctive fear, of the wolf that eats children that take the wrong paths, of the highway man that'll take away your life for whatever pickings they can get. Don't let fear trick you. There's no stranger danger. There's no dragon in your path. He'll not swallow you whole. And even if there was, do you really dread it?
There's no dragons here. "Did you know," says the man behind you. The night breeze flutters against his hat. Your shadow was hiding him away, but he's tall, he's long. His eyes gleam. He's the predator that the herd warns you against. "That the worst fear, is the fear of the unknown?" You do not need to look back, to know what he looks like. He's the stranger. You know this.
You have no reply to him. Or maybe you do. It does not matter. It wasn't really a question, and your silence is its own kind of answer. An answer that means everything he wants to hear.
"I'm a friend of your mother." He says smugly, confidently. "Or the friend of a friend." He touches your shoulder, as his neck lowers and his head tilts, the better for him to see you. "So, in a way, we're already acquaintances, wouldn't you agree? No need for introductions.". At any other person, you know he'd have a better pitch. He'd have prepared the perfect worm on the hook to make you fall for his words. You're different, though. Those are formalities. He doesn't need to soften you up.
"Well, regardless of our relationship, I'll say though, do you agree with what I said?" He straightens, but his grip at your shoulder grows stronger. It doesn't matter, you're not running away. You could, if you wanted. He knows that. "The unknown is very scary, I suppose. But we're all a part of it, in a sense, no? We're all strangers from birth. Are we, as people, forced to be scared of each other and ourselves?" He fakes a tone of sadness. He's not even trying to convince you.
And yet, you have no refutal. He takes your hand, and he starts walking somewhere else. "Some people never see the stranger in the others, some people don't even consider the stranger in themselves, you know? But we all have strange little lives, with strange little desires, and little strangers even inside ourselves." You're walking roads you've never walked before. Sights that you never saw before, despite living in this city your whole life. "By the way, this is a dangerous place. You shouldn't walk alone at night. You know better, don't you?" He jokes. His hands are long, and with each passing moment, more of them grasp at you.
His monologue continues. "Some people know they want something, but are so terribly scared to find out what it is. Some people are so sure of themselves, of that mask they call identity." He stops by an alley. We're truly lonely. If he wanted, he could swallow me whole, and who'd notice?
"I'm not a biter." He replies. "I just noticed you've been walking alone, and decided to help a fellow stranger out." He unbuttons his jacket as he says this and slowly opens it. A mass of arms reside within. "People say you should be scared, of the unknown. And maybe I agree with it. But sometimes, we should love the unknown. Are you capable of loving the stranger, the same way I love you?"
There's no dragons here to swallow me whole. There's no highway man to steal my life from me. There's nobody expecting me back home. There's nothing at all in front of me. There's nothing but strangers, in this hallway. Where's the fear when one needs it?
I step forward. I step and I am held by nothing in particular. And I'm rent apart into nobody in particular.