The Beast Caged

The Dewosaurus paced the perimeter of his enclosure in the same measured fashion he had for months now.

By the far fence, a group of schoolchildren issued shrill taunts and threw stones at his slow-moving form.

"HA! Fatso, what are you going to do now huh? Come and eat me Stewy, carn, come on you fat bugger."

The sedatives his keepers ground into his feed had dulled his reflexes, slowed his wits. In better times, he would have been over the fence in a single bound, the blood of his tormentors a thick claret stain on his matted coat.

Instead, he was bound by chemical bonds.

But a spark, an ember that refused to be extinguished, still glowed deep within his vast form. Every insult, every icy pole he was forced to fetch from the dusty surface of his prison for the amusement of a snot nosed toddler, all of them, he kept them, distilled them in the soft bubbling cauldron of his undead heart.

The Dewosaurus would rise again. He would break his chains.

His day would come.

And then all Australia would tremble at his approach.