I liked to take my mornings slow. Sure, rising early every day with determination in your heart and purpose in your stride were ideals to look up to, but something could be said for just lying awake with your eyes closed. The sun was particularly gentle this morning, spreading warmth across my face as I stretched my arms out, popping a few joints, bidding fresh blood to rush through bone and sinew.
Now that I thought about it, today was a Saturday; I could sleep for just a few more hours without the folks giving me flak about it.
Not one to pass up such a chance, I turned, pulled my cover closer, and nuzzled my cheek into my pillow. A few feathers must have fallen out while I tossed and turned last night; the firm, pin-like middles grazed my flesh.
Wait.
I don't have a feather pillow.
I groaned. If this was another of Devin's pranks, I was going to kill him, or rather, get Mom to kill him. It is unwise to engage a college linebacker in glorious melee combat. Either way, trying to trigger someone's allergies was a low blow, even for him.
I cursed my brother with another groan. I had to get up before a reaction kicked in, the sooner I dealt with this, the sooner I could go back to sleep. I opened my eyes.
And through blurred vision, beheld a mass of white feathers joined with a coat of brown... fur? The bed creaked as I sat up.
And then there was a beak.
And talons, very sharp, black talons with little detailed cracks in them at odd places. Closer to the head of the bed was a closed eyelid, bunkered around a patch of darkish-purple skin.
I frowned at the sight, who leaves a life-like griffin doll in one's bed as a prank? How the heck was it so warm? Was it plugged into the wall or something? The feathers probably weren't even real, explaining why I have yet t-
"Chii!"
I caught the sneeze in my throat. Call me a neat freak, but I didn’t like leaving snot all over my sheets. The feathers, however, were authentic. A slight burning sensation spread its way across my nose and throat. Annoying, but not as bad as it could be.
I pressed my fingertip against the "griffon's" chest. A strong, steady pulse pushed back against me.
"Holy hell no, there's a live griffon in my bed."
You will note the lack of an exclamation mark there, I had sense enough to whisper. I'd played enough Heroes of Might and Magic to know what one of those things could do to fleshy, level one, corporeal beings like myself.
I had to get up slowly and exfiltrate unnoticed. If the thing woke up, I’d be bird feed.
Slowly, carefully, I inched backwards at a mere millimeter-a-minute rate. Slow is smooth, smooth is fast, fast is escaping predation.
Creak!
'Damn you, Mattressfirm!'
Before I could void my bowels, the thing opened its beak, revealing a small, slick, red tongue before turning over directly on top of me.
It was uncomfortably warm and smothered my breath, only my left leg was free of the surprisingly fluffy mass, I could feel the steady rise and fall of its chest on my stomach, it was still asleep, meaning I was still alive. For the moment at least.
I tried to move. My knee was pressed against a firm pad that reminded me of our cat's. The claw at the end dragged down my shin as it shifted over me, a considerable amount of its bulk bore down on my shoulders and chest. The pad halted against my ankle just as one of the griffon's talons wrapped its way around my waist. I was faintly aware of a warm glob of drool penetrating the thin layer of hair on my head.
That was when God decided to let Murphy have his way with me.
A familiar pressure built up at the back of my throat. Panicking, I tried to shimmy away, but only succeeded in tangling my limbs with the griffon's own. There was no way to cover my face, and amount of clamping down that would hold the coming monsoon at bay.
I sneezed loud and hard, and in the span of a single moment, signed my own death warrant.
There was a squawk, and the talons around me snagged at my shirt a bit as they came loose, the pressure on my waist was nigh-instantly relieved and I could once again breath easily, though that was the least of my worries.
Its eyes, great dark things rimmed with yellow, bored into me. Its beak shut and it brushed an errant trail of saliva away with a talon.
'Let us pray'
'Dear Lord, I am sorry for only coming to you when Murphy has me under his putrid armpit in a strangle hold, but hear your servant out this one last time. If you deliver me from the accused one's hand, I promise to never sneak bites in while the family is praying over dinner, even on macaroni and cheese nights. I promise to make no more Hitler jokes. I promise to always change Oreo's water bowl in a timely manner. I promise to cease my efforts in weaponize my little sister's chemistry set in my crusade against the ants. Furthermore, I-'
"What are you doing in my bed?!"
My eyes snapped open, 'Did it just?'
'No, couldn't be. This is just my mind playing tricks on me,' I thought, this time squeezing my eyes shut hard enough to feel veins pulsating under the lids. I bit at my tongue about four times as hard. 'In fact, there is a good chance that I am already dead. Or in the throughs of a bad dream. I’ll just wait until I wake up or pass on.’
"Well?" The same grouchy voice struck my ears. A cold, sharp thing pressed against my nose. With a very unmasculine squeal I stared cross-eyed at its curved yellow beak while my brain took a moment to reboot.
"Please don't eat me!"
I threw myself backwards, managing to grab the pillow on the way. I grunted, slamming the back of my head into the wall, which was much closer to the bed than I remember, through the red dots in my vision and the sickening throbs racking their way through my spine, I raised my only means of defense against the hulking beast of war in front of my face. It was torn away in a second.
"I'm not gonna eat you, dweeb! Just answer me!"
"You... You're not going to eat me?" My voice was barely above a whisper, my heart hammered against my chest.
The griffin grabbed my shoulders in its talons, tight, but not enough to cause lacerations; "No, but I might just gut you if you don't speak up."
Its voice was deadpan, I had no idea if it was serious or not, but I knew that it couldn't hurt me, even if it tried.
If griffins could both exist and talk, surely, answering my prayers would be a simple matter.
I lightly brushed its talons aside, stood up, walked a few paces and kneeled, facing the window. Gilda, to this day, still laughs at me, saying that I wept like a chick at that moment. To be honest though, all I can remember was how ecstatic I felt.
I stared straight into the sun peaking out from the clouds, casting its brilliant rays on my raised hands, palms face up.
"Praise God."