Dragon Day

By Matthew Pegas

"He promised himself that the next time he found himself in a similar situation, he would really do it: really reach out and assert himself with his fist."

Meet Toby Sharpe, a naive, pimple-faced freshman studying at a stridently progressive university outside of New York City. Aimless and insecure, Toby falls under the wing of Thomas Wall

• Language: English
• Publisher: Terror House Press, LLC
• Release date: Jun 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9781951897505

Book preview

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Praise for Dragon Day

"It was funny, a sharp satire of academia, a great character study of outcast college students and how they can be radicalized, and it has a solid thriller plot. If I were to pitch this in a single line, I’d call it The Secret History if it was written by Michel Houellebecq." — Ben Arzate, author of Elaine and The Story of the Y

"Dragon Day is a deeply absorbing tale of psychological vulnerability and predatory manipulation, as well as being a scathing take on academic corruption and intellectual chicanery...it is also perhaps the first piece of contemporary fiction to grapple honestly with the rise of the ‘alt-right,’ and its manifold implications for the present and future of the West." — Andy Nowicki, author of The Columbine Pilgrim and Heart Killer

"Remember the quiet kid in class, the one you always willfully ignored? This is his story. Dragon Day is destined to become an incel classic." — James Nulick, author of Valencia and The Moon Down to Earth

Where once the ideological fate of the youth followed from the social leanings of an actual house on a college campus, Matt Pegas presents the energizing potential of the memetic Internet as launching an arms race to control political vitality. Both the virtual world to which one awakes and on-campus social hubs must stamp out any sense of beauty as fast as possible as they offer up their own visions. — Timothy Wilcox, PhD, PreCursor Poets

Copyright © 2021 Matthew Pegan.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means (whether electronic or mechanical), including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

ISBN 978-1-951897-50-5

EDITOR

Matt Forney (mattforney.com)

LAYOUT AND COVER DESIGN

Matt Lawrence (mattlawrence.net)

Excerpts of this book were published, in somewhat different form, by Terror House Magazine. The author would like to thank Terror House for their support.

TERROR HOUSE PRESS, LLC

terrorhousepress.com

Table of Contents

Introduction

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Epilogue

Jesus said, ‘If you bring forth what is within you, what you have will save you. If you do not have that within you, what you do not have within you will kill you.’ — The Gospel of Thomas, Patterson and Meyer translation

Yes, all forms of violence are quests for identity... — Marshall McLuhan, The Mike McManus Show, 1977

My violence is a dream... — Sonic Youth, Tom Violence

Introduction

One year after the bomb, Lockden University remains haunted. Ironic for me, personally, is that in my experience, Lockden has always been first-and-foremost a place of peace. Originally it was an escape from my small hometown in Michigan, and now I consider it to be the only true home I’ve ever known.

This is the primary reason why writing a history of the tragedy appeals to me. It is my opportunity to contribute to the healing of a place that has given me so much: to help it move past trauma by acknowledging that trauma to the fullest degree. My hope is that, despite recent events, Lockden will again be seen in the eyes of the public as it was seen by its founders: a verdant valley one hour west of New York City, tucked between hills of dusty Pennsylvania shale. Land never to be fracked thanks to a land-grant from the government to the university, amended more recently to be unequivocal on the matter of mineral rights. It is a place of Appalachian horizons, magnificent architecture, and over 100 years of academic tradition.

On April 17th, 2015, a bomb was placed in the neck of a huge papier-mâché dragon, the centerpiece of Lockden’s annual Dragon Day parade. It detonated after the dragon reached the crowded Arts and Sciences quadrangle, killing 23, injuring another 46. A devastatingly effective C4-ammonium-nitrate hybrid bomb constructed by a quiet undergraduate named Toby. Tobias Maxwell Sharpe: a freshman English major with whom my life was entangled that spring. Toby was himself blown to pieces on that fateful April morning. I don’t mean to be lurid, but I feel like I must say something to better convey the real terror of the tragedy: a head had to be scraped off of the side of Rivers Hall with a hand-chisel. It could be identified only with dental records, that is, through an examination of the worn-down teeth of Toby Sharpe, a chronic nocturnal grinder.

I base the following narrative on the brief but revelatory time I spent with Toby. I have also included first-person accounts where my own experience intersects with the plot. I am sure many will criticize this strange, semi-fictionalized, semi-autobiographical approach, but I simply cannot think of any other way to tell the story.

I write this book for myself and for the university to which I’m so closely attached so that it and I both might be finally free of the ghost of Toby. I hope that in doing so, future tragedies like Dragon Day 2015 might be prevented. If there is anything I have to offer for the common good—and it may well be the case that I do not—it is this book.

Charles Jason

PhD Candidate, Near Eastern Studies

Lockden University

May 2016

PART 1

Toby

Toby stood before the mirror contemplating his penis. It just wasn’t as big as he’d like it to be. His face was, he dared to admit, exquisite. His eyes were green and his hair was a rich, dark brown. His eyelashes were long and fluttery. His cheekbones were high and his jawline strong. His lips were full and pouty, as if he were perpetually nursing a punch to the mouth (a look he knew drove girls wild). But his penis struck him as pathetic. He’d caught sight of it in the mirror as he stepped out of the shower this morning; especially shriveled today, looking nothing like the manhood it was supposed to be.

Average penis he Googled on his phone for maybe the tenth time in the past month. He went to images and his screen filled with penises. All of them looked larger than his. Or were they? Maybe it was just the angle at which the pictures had been taken, or the lighting. One could never be sure. He told himself to forget it, that he was back at school now, and that he couldn’t waste time worrying about such nonsense.

***

I don’t understand why people bother eating lettuce, said Shiv. There’s literally like nothing in lettuce. An hour later, Shiv and Toby were in the dining hall. Shiv stared absently at the salad bar, where hordes of other freshmen were tonging greens onto their plates. Toby thought of his mother and the two plates of dark romaine she ate a day, the lectures on her newfound veganism, which had been such a prominent feature of the quiet existence they had led together during break. Toby had tried the diet for a day himself trying to lose belly fat, but this had ended on the kitchen floor late at night with a carton of mint chocolate chip ice cream.

Did you know that lettuce contains more protein per pound than beef? said Toby, recollecting one of the many pro-vegan facts his mother had shared with him.

Really? No way.

Well, I guess you’d have to eat a whole head of it to get as much as like, a steak, but yeah.

Who the fuck wants to do that?

Toby poked at his mac and cheese. The truth about whether it was worth eating lettuce was out there, but for the moment, he didn’t know who to trust: his well-researched mother or his gym-built suitemate, each of whom seemed as serious about their body as the other.

How was your break? Shiv asked after a moment.

It was chill, Toby said.

The same here, man.

The truth was that Toby had spent break alone, waiting for Facebook messages from Zoe. Zoe, the sophomore he’d been smitten with last semester. He’d gone out with her for a time—sort of, not technically, officially. But she’d gotten distant towards the end, somehow cold, and in December, she’d said she wanted to take some space. Her messages had come less and less frequently over break until, during the final week, they hadn’t come at all. Toby worried constantly about what she was doing, if she was thinking about him, if she was seeing anyone else.

In order to fill the empty time, he’d committed himself to a rigid schedule of self-improvement, reading books, writing, working out—trying to get smarter and stronger. He’d been moderately successful on the second count, and as he leaned his elbows onto the table, he noticed Shiv noticing his arms.

You work out over break?

I did, actually. Just pushups and sit-ups every day.

That’s what’s up! You should come lift with Dmitri and me this semester.

Toby laughed and looked down at his plate. Shiv said that no, seriously, he meant it.

Toby had had high hopes for the semester. He would submit his application to the English major, declaring a focus on poetry. He wanted to study the subject from a philosophical perspective: Yeats by way of Nietzsche, Plato through Gerard Manley Hopkins, things like that. He hoped that when Zoe saw his improved physique, she would scarcely be able to help but take him back. He intended to rush Sigma Phi Omega, the honors fraternity she was in. The fraternity had a residential house, and if he got in, then that would guarantee they’d live together for the next three years. Even if she didn’t take him back right away, there was no way they’d be able to live together for that long without her realizing how great of a guy he was deep down, how worthy he was of her affection.

But when he’d stepped off the bus to return for that semester, he’d been sideswiped by a blast of icy wind. A wind which carried with it flurries of snow, and, for Toby, the unshakable sense that all the private hopes he had for the semester would be met