Taylor Wolf
My friends call me Dragon, but I really don’t think that fits me. I’ve always been a pretty average guy, and the name Dragon is much too extravagant for me. I think something like Tod, or Rob, or Bob would honestly be better. I want to be an artist. I haven’t always wanted to be an artist. I used to want to travel the world and see everything that it has to offer. In general, do anything to get away from home. First, I thought that I would be really good at weightlifting. I wanted to get huge like all my friends and then I would be really happy. Only the biggest and strongest individuals were taken away to bigger and better things. So I worked hard every day doing bicep curls, you know, for the ladies. Anything to make me bigger and fuller. My calorie intake was through the roof. The bigger I got, the closer I got to that clique of weight lifters, and the more rumors I heard. Apparently, the future ahead of us weightlifters was not as good as it sounded. Yes, we were carted away and got to travel to many other places, but the irrefutable end was gruesome. According to my new friends, our arms would be ripped off and our bodies thrown into a giant mixer to be crushed to a pulp. When mixed with other ingredients, our bodily fluids were very enjoyable to drink. This did not sound like the future I wanted, and tomorrow was competition day. Only the biggest and the strongest would be carted away. My very large problem was that I was a very good candidate. I needed to find a way to lose weight, and I needed to do it quickly. I went around to every vine, searching for the group that was, on average, the smallest. After just a couple of minutes, I had found the obvious winner. They were all very small, and some of them were actually starting to wrinkle in order to have even less surface area. Apparently, that was the goal or something. Tanning beds were my solution. I learned from them that the process didn’t take very long in the beginning. After only one session in the tanning bed, I had lost a third of my weight. I was no longer one of the biggest and the strongest, and there was no way I could be chosen during the competition. I was safe.
Tanning beds are addictive. I was enjoying the color change, the size change, and not a single worry of being carted off and crushed. However, the longer I hung out on this vine, the less inviting the final product sounded. I mean, these were individuals who wanted to basically shrink away into nothing. Then I found out that once they were small enough, they were being placed in an enclosed bag of some sort and sent all over the world. Many of my friends expected that they would get to see some very cool things during that time. But I wanted to be free, not stuck in a bag with a bunch of wrinkly girls or, worse, something by the name of “peanut” or “m&m.” That sounded like bad news. So I started to wean myself out of the tanning beds and started consuming a lot more fluids. Soon I returned to my original size, my size before the weight lifting phase. I decided that I would become an artist and give up my dream of traveling. I became very average. So, imagine my surprise when I heard through the grapevine that I was being chosen to leave. I was afraid and didn’t know what to expect. I assumed I was going to die. Me and all my average buddies were placed in the bed of a truck, and we waved goodbye to the only home we had ever known. The truck made many stops in various small towns, and I was seeing more of the world than I ever thought possible. Buildings were getting taller and streets were getting busier. By the time the buildings had reached what I thought must be the maximum height, I had only said goodbye to about half of my friends. Where were we going?
Soon the tailgate of the truck was let down, and I saw the most beautiful thing ever. The sign read “Farmers Market,” and there were so many colors and new faces. My friends and I were placed right next to the green apples in the corner. I spent my day watching all the most amazing things; all I had ever wanted in life had been achieved, and it turned out all I had to be was average. Finally, I had to let out a yelp of happiness. This must be something that grapes don’t do often because the woman above me whipped around with the most confused and disgusted face. I didn’t think my voice had been that bad, but I guess it was. With a shrug the woman turned all the way around and started perusing us grapes. Then my worst nightmare. This woman reached out and ripped me right from my comfortable vine, she squeezed me a little. Confirming that I was average enough, she plopped me into her mouth.
Taylor Wolf is graduating with a double major in psychology and sociology in the spring. She plans on getting a job in a helping profession post-graduation.
The Rocky Mountain Review 