ability to breathe fire, and immense size that set most dragons apart from common reptiles. This was a constant source of struggle for Snakespeare for much of his early life. It was not until Snakespeare was established within the cryptid theatre community that the vast majority of the cryptid community could see past his physical flaws. The cryptid society of 1930 was much different than the modern representation. One has to wonder if they had been as accepting of Snakespeare as the modern cryptid community likely would have been, if he would have spent so much time writing the plays that made him famous.
Snakespeare’s first one-hundred and twenty-two plays were met with indifference, if not open hatred. Admittedly, they were not his best work. They often revolved around dragon specific subject matters, and even then, ones that very few dragons could relate to. Snakespeare struck gold, metaphorically speaking, with his one-hundred and twenty-third play, A Midsummer’s Ice Cream.
The play still centered upon a dragon, but the content matter was such that other cryptids might enjoy it. The play was a comedy about a dragon who most unwisely chose to open an ice cream parlor. The dragon’s fire-breathing tendencies repeatedly melted the ice cream. The midsummer heat compounded the problem. A Midsummer’s Ice Cream was the first Snakespearean play open to a mass audience. It was broadcast over the radio and toured every major playhouse in Great Britain.
After a Midsummer’s Ice Cream, Snakespeare was an established playwright. Almost every play was accepted gladly by audiences and critics alike from then on. The play that Snakespeare is arguably most beloved for was a tragedy called Gnomeo and Werewolfiet. It was a story about a gnome and a werewolf who fell in love but were forbidden by their families to wed because they were too young, different species, and because Werewolfiet was viewed as being too dangerous. Gnomeo’s family proved to be right about the violence of the werewolf, as the play ended with Werewolfiet devouring essentially everyone in the play.
The number of cryptid plays written by Snakespeare is too long to list in a short biography such as this. If the rumors are true, the number continues to grow as Snakespeare supposedly continues to write plays as a ghost from his cave-home in Suffolk.
Dragon: Selected for Jury Duty
A secret cavern hidden far beneath the earth's surface gleamed with a thousand lifetime's worth of gold in the torchlight. A gargantuan reptilian beast slumbered amongst the piles of gold and gems and treasures. Steam and smoke rose from its nostrils, as well as the occasional spark every now and then which briefly illuminated the mottled green skin and scales of the beast. The creature was a dragon named Sheila and the cavern had been her home for many centuries.
Sheila had a pet goat named Harold that wandered freely around her cavern. It had not been her intention to keep Harold as a pet. In fact, when Harold arrived at Sheila's cavern several years previous, he had been intended as a snack. His personality and his endearing rectangular pupils proved far too charming to meet such an end however.
Harold the goat did have one particular habit that annoyed Sheila greatly. He would stand atop the tallest pile of gold and begin bleating when the mail arrived every day. He would not stop until Sheila would rise and retrieve the mail. Harold had just climbed the mound of gold, and had just started bleating.
One of the dragon's vividly yellow eyes snapped open as the goat's cries echoed off the walls of her cave. Her pupil retracted as she blinked slowly. Could the mail really have been delivered already? It felt as though she had only fallen asleep moments ago.
The only thing worse than the consistency of the goat's bleats was how shrill they were. Sheila closed her eyes and tried to ignore them, but they continued without fail. She opened her eyes again and groaned, causing a spurt of flame to issue from her nostrils and meld a gold crown with a number of gold coins lying before her face.
"Enough, Harold!" the dragon roared as it rose to its scaly clawed feet. The goat went silent and pranced down the side of the gigantic mound of gold coins it had been standing atop. Its hoofed feet clipped and clopped against the stone floor as Sheila stretched her wide leathery wings and yawned a great plume of smoke into the still air. "Let's go get the mail, you little horned brat."
Sheila the dragon and Harold the goat trudged through long labyrinthine passages over slick rocks and mountains of riches until they reached the entrance of the cave. The little red mailbox that was nestled into the rocks on the facade of the cave was stuffed to the brim with mail.
Sheila pulled the letters out of the mailbox with the small arm-like appendages just above her wing joints. She quickly glanced at each piece of mail before ceding it to the eager mouth of Harold. He loved to eat mail. Sheila was certain that was why he was so insistent on getting it as soon as it arrived.
"Junk, junk, junk," Sheila said as she handed each letter into the goat's mouth. It munched happily and continuously upon the letters as she skimmed the return addresses. "Bill, bill, postcard from Aunt Marie, junk, coupons - wait...."
Sheila paused when she came upon a letter marked 'URGENT: FINAL NOTICE'. That did not bode well... Harold bleated and shook his horned head as she tore open the letter and began to read it instead of ceding it to his insatiable stomach. The letter read:
'Dear Cryptid Citizen,
As a registered voter it is your responsibility to attend jury duty on the date of October 31, 2015 at 10 A. M. Failure to appear at jury duty will result in a fine and possible forfeiture of future voting rights. This is the final notice.
Salutations,
Senior Secretary of Cryptid Judicial Affairs - Martha S. Longfurrandtail'
Sheila felt the fire rise in her lungs. October 31 was that very day... She supposed that in the future she should read the letters a bit more thoroughly before handing them off to Harold.
"Get back in the cave, Harold. I've got to go take care of something..." Sheila said, stretching her wings wide and preparing for flight. Harold stared at her dully with his rectangular pupils. Finally, he just kind of wandered off into the cave after a few minutes.
Seventy feet long wings beat against the air and sounded like nearby thunder as Sheila took to the sky. She was soon soaring above the clouds, gliding upon a wind that could not be felt on the ground hundreds of feet beneath her. Under normal circumstances she loved to fly, but flying to jury duty, much less a surprise jury duty, sapped the therapeutic and meditative qualities from the act.
The local Cryptid Court was a fair distance away from Sheila's cave. She had never had a reason to go there before, having never been convicted of a crime and never been called upon for jury duty. Luckily, as a dragon, she possessed a keen innate sense of direction so she already knew how to get to the Cryptid Court. She glanced at her dragon wristwatch as she flew. She was going to make it just in time.
Sheila saw the courthouse in the distance and began to start her descent. She circled lower and lower until she landed directly by the courthouse. A line of other cryptids and mythological creatures stood at the doorway and did not offer Sheila a glance or any other form of greeting or acknowledgement as she landed. They all appeared severely annoyed if not outright angry. Why were there so many? Sheila was under the impression that there were only a few needed for jury duty...
Shelia took up a spot at the rear of the line and waited. She was easily the largest creature in the line, her head towering fifteen feet above the nearest creature - a sasquatch grumpily reading a newspaper and tapping its foot in agitation.
"....judicial....hogwash!...jury duty again...." the sasquatch mumbled under its breath as it noisily turned the pages of its newspaper. It sounded like a male.
Sheila lowered her horned reptilian head near the sasquatch and whispered, "Have you done this before?"
The sasquatch folded his newspaper and looked over his shoulder at Sheila before adjusting his bifocals and clearing his throat. "I have. And let me tell you, young lady, it is no fun. How my name keeps getting drawn for this nonsense I'll never know..."
"What's so bad ab
out it?" Sheila asked nervously, taking great care not to singe the sasquatch or any of the other creatures with her heated breaths.
"Where do I start?" the sasquatch groaned, pushing its spectacles back to the bridge of its nose. "It's hot in there, the court proceedings take a long time, you can't leave..."
The sasquatch continued to list the irredeemable qualities of jury duty, but Sheila lost track. She began to wonder if there was a way to get out of jury duty...
"... the chairs are uncomfortable, and it is so boring that it feels as though your mind detaches from your body," the sasquatch finished coldly.
"Yeah that sounds rough," Sheila said without emotion. "Listen, is there any way to get out of jury duty?"
The sasquatch froze. His expression looked as though he had just been smacked in the face with a brick. It quickly became evident that he had never even considered the possibility of trying to weasel his way out of jury duty. He looked from the crowd of cryptids lined up outside of the courthouse to the face of Sheila hovering a few feet above his own. He was utterly dumbstruck.
"Well, er, uh, you see... I suppose so, as all of these critters won't be selected to be on the jury, but I don't... which isn't to say..." the sasquatch's voice kind of trailed off into nothingness and he cleared his throat