I put my diary in the lower cabinet of the sink and stepped out of bathroom, approaching the entrance of my bedroom. "Hey." Flare said. "Hi." I replied. I observed him biting his nails. "You've got a habit?" I asked in curiosity. "Oh, no. I just have blood on them." He said. I had a terrified feeling inside and on my face. "Oh don't worry! It was there before I got here." He said. 'It's just not that. It's the fact that you're-" I got cut off. "It tastes good. Sure. Call me a vampire, whatever." He interrupted and continued scraping the blood off with his sharp, sharp fangs.
I was just too curious to ask, "What did you.. uh... kill?" I was a weird kid. Not that I was obsessed over knowing. "Um, nothing..." He said. "It wasn't other dragons, was it?" I asked. He didn't say anything.
I guess another way of entertainment at their plant was fighting to the death. Huh.
YOU ARE READING
Spirit
RandomTHIS IS MY CHILDHOOD FAIRY TALE THAT I WROTE WHEN I WAS 9 =D SO THIS IS WHAT "IF 9-YEAR OLD TYPH WROTE A STORY" LOOKS LIKE AND OF COURSE IT'S ABOUT DREAGONS BECAUSE WHAT ELSE AM I RIGHT. PLEASE ENJOY A HORRIBLE PLOT LINE AND TERRIBLE GRAMMAR. THANK...
