AWESOME! I love it. Gimme more! Lol

I stare at my great-grandson, who looks back at me in exasperation.

Handsome lad, but oh! So inexperienced, so young and stupid, still! After all. He's only seventeen. Or twenty-seven. I can't very well remeber. Either way, he's young. Too young to be telling me what to do.

"Gammie, please listen to me this once! If you do this, you'll be buried by next Monday." Charles huffed, clearly upset.

I readjust my pince-nez, golden framed glasses and meet his stern glower with a severity I believe he didn't expect.

"Charles Cassian Chill!"

He snorts, and I supress a smile. He hates being called by his full name.

"I'm going, and that's it. Call Darla. And no backchatting me, young man!"

I hear him fiercely dialling a number and smile to myself. I haven't seen Charles this upset in a long time. He had better not attempt some sort of trick to stop me.

I'm only one-hundred-and-one. And even though I probably have thrice as many wrinkles, I know there's nothing stopping me from making my dream a reality.

I'm going to see what is lurking in those long-forgotten dungeons, even if it means I'm buried by Monday.

I thought so 😂

I rummage through the countless loose papers, all carelessly discarded into a large drawer, muttering a selection of my finest curses under my breath. I pull out a single paper, hoping that it is the correct document. My eye falls on the date, and I stuff it back into the drawer with agitation.

"The new accountant had fucking be better than..." my sentence bluntly cuts off when I turn around to see a skinny young man comfortably leaning against the desk. He's clearly been watching me with deep interest for quite a while.

The amazement must be plastered across my face. What is this...not-so-very-average lad, whom I clearly recognize, doing in the Rhythm Perfect Accounting offices - more specifically, what is he doing here, in the workspace?

I take his eagerly held out hand.

"Hey, nice to meet you. You gotta be the boss man 'round here? I'm Steve. Steve Cayman." he enthusiastically presents himself.

I shake his hand and introduce myself as formally as I can manage, under the circumstances.

Steve Cayman. The latest addition to Rhythm Perfect Accounting - his position? The new accountant.

His motive?

Murder.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Comment/vote if you want a Part 2! Don't forget to drop your thoughts over there too!

It all started in middle school.

At over one tonne in weight at birth, I believe most people would classify me as heavy. However, I was a skinny whelp. My parents didn't mind, they reckoned that a modified diet would quickly turn me into the finest specimen of my species.

Here, I'd like to insert a little fact. Most parents are terribly biased, and mine was no exception.

Although the greatest majority of my community gossiped about me at the time I was born, and they all went on to later distance-diagnose me with a range of possible and impossible illnesses as I grew heavier by the day, without gaining the muscled, sculpted look of everyone else around me, my parents included, I didn't have a unhappy early whelphood. Kids that age don't know the difference, and my parents were very protective.

During my first year in Young Excellency, a small, expensive private school where my dream of becoming a teacher started, my mother tragically passed away, leaving my clumsy, dear old dad and I alone in this world. At my mother's funeral, I remember cuddling against his giant foot, watching a huge puddle forming as his tears silently fell to the ground.

At that moment, through the cracks of my young, broken dragon's heart, I realised that my life will never be the same again, and pressed my head tighter against my dad's polished, but slightly faded, carmine red scales...

Comment/vote if you want a Part 2, and don't forget to drop your thoughts over there too!

BONUS: Suggest names for the young dragon and his parents portrayed in the story, and see them possibly reflected in the next part!

In that case, you can look forward to it! 😁

Hi! I am Ava-PROTO-01, and I was the first human successfully grown in an artificial womb.

The interesting thing is that I wasn't meant to be a success. At least, nobody involved thought the far-fetched experiment conducted by two brilliant but eccentric, middle aged scientists would actually work. Had Blaine and William been honest with themselves, not even they expected the wild idea to turn out so astonishingly fortunate.

Nineteen years ago, at a finely set breakfast table, two definitely handsome gentlemen sat down to enjoy their rather delicious-looking meal.

William smiled at Blaine as his knife slipped through the buttery meat.

"You never seize to amaze me, my love." he complimented genuinely. Blaine winked.

"I know!" he teased, before his sparkling eyes darkened to a deep, somber galaxy blue. "You seem a little depressed, dear." he placed his hand on William's.

William avoided his husband's sharp, inspecting stare.

"You and I both know it's not going to happen, Blaine." he sighed.

Blaine didn't answer immediately. Between him and William, he was always the most optimistic, but not even he could deny the very obvious fact.

"Will, perhaps she won't mind!" he said, nevertheless. William couldn't suppress a smile.

"Love, you don't sound remotely hopeful."

Blaine laughed as he took William's plate, and planted a kiss on his cheek.

"I'm not. But perhaps last time's faith will reward today!" he joked, and William chuckled. At least Blaine will never fail to bring an atmosphere of cheer and spirit into this half dead mansion, even if they remain childless.

Later that day, both men looked up, quite startled at the sudden knock.

"Now whoever could that be? It is Sunday, for GOODNESS sake!" William blurted. Blaine burst out laughing.

"You simpleton! It's Tuesday, and that would be Dorothy." he said, amused. William looked confused. "Dorothy Seams, our possible surrogate." Blaine clarified, and William blushed a little, laughing.

They opened the door to quite a sight. Dorothy Seams stepped inside without invitation, looking around. Her cruel, amber eyes darted over the couple.

"Where is Mr. and Mrs. Lovett?" she inquired in a harsh tone.

Blaine and William glanced at one another. Is this the right Dorothy Seams? For if it is...

"I am Mr. William Lovett, and this is my dear husband, Blaine Lovett." he said, and Blaine gave a little wave.

The woman frowned, confused.

"What?"

Neither Blaine nor William were quite inclined to explain. Why should they have?

Then, something seemed to puzzle together in the mind of this unexpected creature of a woman.

"You're fucking gay!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide.

"You're fucking rude!" Blaine said, imitating her screech.

William smiled at the woman.

"Both you and Blaine happens to be correct. And it seems neither you nor us are very inclined to further a discussion. Thank you for your time, Miss Seams."

When the woman leaves, the two stand in the doorway clutching one another with laughter. Wiping their tears, Blaine's eyes meet those of William.

"Dear, I may have an idea..."

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Comment/vote if you want a Part 2 and don't forget to drop your thoughts over there too!

Thank you so much! I'm currently working on the other prompts, hope there's something else you'll like!

What do you think? It just rolled into my mind 😂

Taylor Fields. At 28, there is little in life that she has not yet accomplished. With her conformed beauty, brilliant mind for business affairs, and nimble touch for any sport, nearly all came easy to her, including first place at every beauty pageant she competed in, ownership of countless prestigious companies, and a wall dedicated solely to her glistening gold medals and polished aurulent trophies, all placed by her own hand, in her meticulously precise personal fashion.

Besides all these accolades, Taylor had a real lucky tap to everything she set her mind to, whether it was baking or science.

However. One skill, one almost essential for living, Taylor lacked grotesquely.

Honesty. For in reality, she was best in nothing but tall tales.