Medieval Lego
Knowing there was a dragon whose claws had to be clipped, the whole village trembled and postponed the task. It required gigantic precision so instead they let the fires burn a little longer that evening: the fires of error. The dragon’s forked tongue of (in)decision hadn’t made up its mind yet as to whether or not it would consume all the villagers or perhaps spare the few who had stroked its scales.
It would be a moment of joyful oblivion. The medieval ramifications of my mind warned me not to delay with the doing of what needed to be done. Everyone knows the dangers of not attending to the dragon’s talons in time. But it was a perverse thrill to take the risk - I could already see all those thatched roofs ablaze just because we had procrastinated.