I’ll Huff And Puff And Achooo You Away

The most overpowering smell on Rakovska Street was that of hair burning. The stench of a million singed dead cells from a hundred and twelve heads rose up in the air as mortals with defenseless noses whipped out their handkerchief and protected their olfactory senses.

In shop windows, people watched their beautiful hairdos scalded into uglinesss and cursed Zmey Gorynych. He was the most frustrating of creatures and they wished fervently his three heads would fall off and they would be left in peace once more.

Zmey Gorynych cackled loudly. His multiple heads flung themselves back on a single neck and his laughter boomed into the clouds. He didn’t want to kill people but to annoy them with minor inconveniences was the most entertaining thing to do. It was even better than kidnapping sniffling princesses.

When people were sitting in front of a gigantic cake he would breathe his fire and call it cake flambé. Nobody could eat it now. Or if a bride was walking up to church he would scorch her with precision. Her white dress would turn black and the pastor would wring his hands and ask god to forgive this spawn of Satan.

The populace was inflamed up but what do you with a dragon who is a pyromaniac? They were no dragon slayers around. Anyways these days they thought being wall street bankers was more lucrative. Also, the town didn’t want to kill him. He was quite sweet actually, only a pest when he began blazing things to the ground.

One day Zmey Gorynych was bored of torching people and their precious wares. He looked around and spotted a big, fat, puffy, billowing cloud. He flew up and tried to burn it. He thought like cotton it would disappear in seconds. The cloud held her own and got very, very angry.

She focused and became a dark, black cloud of concentrated water. Then she flew over him and let go of her contents. He was completely drenched, poor thing. He skulked back to his cave and the next morning woke-up with the most horrendous cold.

To cheer himself up he flew to the bakery and tried to set the new loaves on fire. He had even thought of a joke. He’d tell the baker he was making instant toast. Snigger. He huffed and puffed, nothing came out except for a week dribble of snot. He tried again with all his might and a gigantic blob of mucous hit the walls of the bakery, splashing the street light and leaking down to the ground like the sludge of a snail.

There was no hope, he would have to wait for the cold to run its course. Just then the baker came and eeeked. What was that disgusting grey, slimy, slippery thing on his walls and his front door? He quickly took a mop, dipped it in disinfect and cleaned it up.

Zmey Gorynych cheered up. Oh what fun! People hated mucous as much fire. He went around spreading his nose drippings on every single resident. 86.4% of the town got a cold and their achooos would reverberate for miles around making the neighbouring kingdoms a bit nervous wondering if they were preparing a new kind of nuclear weapon.

When finally after seven days Zmey Gorynych’s cold was cured and he got back to his pyromaniacal ways, the townsfolk breathed a sigh of relief through their blocked nose. They preferred his fire to his germs.

Moral: If you are healthy, don’t complain about anything.

Zmey Gorynych is drawn by the fabulous Bijoy Venugopal. You can find more of his wonderful stuff here bijoyvenugopal.com