The story of Dorian
By Julieta Mondragón
Dorian is a ferret who was born in a cage, grew up in a cage, and when someone finally bought him and took him home, they put him in a cage. He was always locked up; the walls kept him isolated from the world. He saw the cats and dogs when their new owners carried them in their arms. His siblings were carried in cardboard boxes, never in arms. Dorian saw the children pressing their faces against the glass, begging their parents to buy them one.
When Ryan brought him home, they put him in a cardboard box; it was suffocating. The car smelled of potato chips, and everyone was talking too loudly. The box only had a few small holes, and Dorian couldn't see a thing, not a single thing. Caging was normal; after all, ferrets aren't usually domesticated animals, but it bothered Dorian. Glass, cardboard, metal—he'd been in all kinds of cages. He scratched and scratched, but he couldn't break them.
Ryan, a six-year-old boy, loved a book called "The Mysteries Hidden Behind the Scales." He read it day and night. At bedtime, he would turn on a lamp and read until he fell asleep. When he finished the book, he would start it again. Behind bars, Dorian would see the book and hear his owner whisper the passages he was reading. The word he heard most often, the one Dorian knew by heart, the one that made his owner smile, was "dragon." Dorian knew everything about them: all the myths, all the versions, everything. They were his inspiration, his happiness, and what kept him sane when the cage became too suffocating. His happy place was among the dragons.
Dragons didn't live in cages; if anyone tried to put them in one, they'd burn it down without hesitation. If Dorian were a dragon, he'd never have to see another box again, no more metal plates, no more water that tasted like limescale, no more dry pellets of "food." The little ferret saw dragons in his dreams, with their wings and claws, flames leaping from their mouths—they were majestic. They could eat whenever they wanted; no one told them what to do, no one tamed them, no one deprived them of their freedom. That was what Dorian wanted most: freedom.
Ryan took him out of his cage once a week. During this time, the little ferret ran wild, feeling the wooden floor beneath his paws, the softness of the pillows, the scent of every room, but it didn't last long. The human boy would chase him and grab him. Dorian wanted to bite him, but he knew that if he did, they'd never let him out again. Like that time he knocked over a very expensive bottle of wine. Ryan's father had been furious and had returned him to his cage. The contents of the bottle had spilled onto his fur, staining it a bright red. The color faded over time, but it never fully returned to normal. The white parts of his chest, head, and paws were now light pink.
Dorian's life went on. His owner turned seven, and many children came to see him in his cage, saying he was cute. "Cute? You'd never call a dragon cute, ferocious, yes, but cute, never! It's impossible," Dorian thought. "I've had enough! I'm leaving here, even if it takes me a thousand years, I'm going." While everyone was distracted with the cake, Dorian bit and scratched the cage. One of his claws broke, and his little paw began to bleed slightly. Dorian shook the cage like crazy until finally the plastic door gave way. The ferret ran, leaving bloody trails wherever he went. He ran out the door when someone opened it. The hot concrete burned his paws, but at last he was free, at last he could leave the cages.
Dorian's paws ached from running so much on the sun-baked street. His claws were broken, he was tired, and his heart pounded in his throat. Dorian kept running and running, until he realized he wasn't running anymore, he was flying. Beautiful, furry wings had sprouted from his back, which was covered in iridescent pink scales. The little creature looked down; his legs, once swollen and red, were now enormous claws. To his astonishment, Dorian discovered he had become a pink dragon, with white whiskers and tough scales. He breathed a blazing fire into the air and began to rise, rise, and rise.
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