What if your imagination had power?
Not metaphorical power—the real kind. The kind that calls lightning when you expect rain. That conjures monsters when you picture danger. That makes the world tremble at the sound of your worst-case scenarios.

That’s the idea behind today’s short story: The Boy Who Cried Dragons.

It’s a tale I told in one go—no script, no editing, just my imagination and a microphone. And yet, it may be one of the most personal stories I’ve ever told.

Why?

Because Glenn, the main character, isn’t just a scared kid on a bad day.
He’s every one of us on a bad day.

You know that feeling. When anxiety spirals. When you overthink something into the ground. When your mind runs simulations of everything that could go wrong—and it starts to feel real.
That’s Glenn. Except in his world, the more he fears something… the more likely it is to show up.

It starts small: a storm, a little rejection, a shadow on the horizon.
But as his fear grows, so do the consequences. Until one day, he whispers the word “dragon”—and the sky hears him.

What I love about this story isn’t just the dragons, or the monastery drama, or the mysterious island (though all of that’s in there).
It’s the twist.
Not the twist in the plot—but the twist in the soul.

The realization that maybe what’s haunting us isn’t fate or punishment… but our own voice, echoing louder than we thought.

And the cure?
Well, I won’t spoil it. But it might involve butterflies.