"The Dragon"

Max tiredly walked through his front door, wholly exhausted from the long and hectic day he just suffered. Perhaps the day would not have seemed so long if he had not dreamed events and become confused as to what was dream and what was reality. As this notion passed through his mind, he realized his stomach was quite empty. He remembered eating several times throughout the day, but was unable to place whether these meals had really happened or if they were events contrived by his sleeping mind.
As Max’s brain wandered to the sort of psychological drugs his overbearing sleep-world warranted, he began to boil water to make a massive plate of spaghetti. Even though he could not remember if his injuries occurred in sleeping or waking, Max limped to the cupboard to procure a box of spaghetti.
In a short time the spaghetti was finished and Max slathered it with sauce, all the while thinking about events that may or may not have taken place throughout the day.
The crazy science teacher, the whale man, the thief, the old man, and that one chick I liked – what was her name... Max thought.
When Max raised a fork full of spaghetti to his mouth, he realized he had forgotten the cheese, one of his favorite parts of the meal. Max stood and hobbled to the fridge, grabbing a shaker of powdery white cheese.
Max turned to walk back to his table, but suddenly felt a sharp pain jabbing in his left foot. He yelled out in anguish as he went falling forward, spilling out onto the table and into a saucy platter of steaming spaghetti.
“Yaaaaahhg!” Max screamed again, trying to escape the fiery hell of noodles.
Finally, after a short struggle and a flailing of limbs, Max recovered and stood. His face covered in fragments of spaghetti and reddened by the sauce and mild burns, Max searched the floor frantically to find the object of his demise. Eyes grazing madly upon the speckled linoleum, he finally stopped upon a small ceramic dragon, which had appeared in the center of the kitchen floor out of some form of ungodly magic. The dragon stared back at Max, his poorly painted eyes ridden with a look of devilish malice.
“You,” Max yelled to the inanimate object, “I always hated you, ‘Oh, take it, it’ll be good luck, Max,’ like hell. Who gives someone a damn dragon anyway?”
Max snatched up the dragon with a death grip, striding frantically about the kitchen. He had a look of madness in his eyes.
“ ‘Good luck,’ you have got to be kidding me. Every time I look at you my day is chockfull of physical and psychological harm. ‘Good luck,’ ph,” Max muttered loudly, cursing the girl who had decided to give him the ridiculous gift.
In the heat of rage, Max stormed toward the window overlooking the street, and threw the ceramic dragon out onto the pavement of its doom.