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>* No AI-generated reponses 🤖 >* Stories 100 words+. Poems 30+ but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* [RF] and [SP] for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

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To be king is to bear the burdens of the people.

I've grown old. I've seen my people through both plague and famine, through banditry and corruption. I've borne and raised heirs; watched one succumb to greed, the other blossom into a flower of hope for the future. I've taught lessons, purged evils, and taken the burdens of my people upon myself as my father had. As his father before him. But, times change. As times change, so too must the rulers.

But I am old, and I am no longer what my people need.

"You're the best person I've ever known, sweet daughter," I said to her in the arena as I drew my blade.

I see a profound sadness in her eyes as she tells me that she'll regret my death more than any other in the world and can only shake my head as she draws her own blade. "No, Robali, not more. I'll only be the first. I may even be the most painful regret for a time, but there will be others. There must be others."
One last lesson, dear girl.

I kneel with my head bowed, blade presented on the backs of gauntlets battered by war and wait for her to take it from me. "The Heralds have spun the last of their tales of me and my exploits and I am too old now to be what the people need." My eyes open to see pristine sabatons on the sands of the arena before me. "It's time to end my story, Robali. Yours begins today, and I have one final lesson to impart to you."

Death is light as a feather. Duty, a mountain.

I feel the four-hundred year old sword leave the backs of my hands and lean back to sit on my heels, head held high. "Duty is ever the mountain you will bear on your shoulders, Robali. Nothing can be done to lighten its weight." A memory crosses my mind; an old once-friend I'd discovered had been unfairly taxing his people and skimming from the kingdom to line his own pockets. The feel of bloodied hair in my fingers as I held his head up for the people to see Justice done. "Show care in whom you trust to share the load." I can feel my voice break as tears roll down leathered and scarred cheeks.

My eyes are closed, but I can feel the tears in her gaze as she considers the space along my neck and the blade that's known the blood of every king and queen to bear it. "Death is the feather of release. Only in your death is your duty to your people over."

I let the silence linger, listening carefully to the repressed sob of a daughter about to lose her father by her own hand.

"It's time for my story to end, Robali. Set me free."

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Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

Reminders:

>* No AI-generated reponses 🤖 >* Stories 100 words+. Poems 30+ but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* [RF] and [SP] for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

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Amphetamines have entered the chat

Yann suddenly opens his eyes, woken up by a chilling sensation all over his body. The shock left him unable to move, but his heart was still beating at a fast rate, and he could feel his pajamas stuck to his torso by sweat. His breathing was erratic but mostly silent, and his sleeping position on the back made him look like a plank of wood on a carpenter’s desk.

The young boy took deep breaths as he stared at the room’s ceiling. It is still nighttime. This is the room he slept in. It’s darker than usual. The old bed is damaging his back. There is a slight air current coming from somewhere. His body is not restrained in any way. After assessing the situation, Yann could feel his heartbeat and breathing slowly adjusting their paces. Not fully relaxed, he slowly turned his head to the side to check the rest of the room, only for his heart rate to ramp up again.

The smaller bed across the room, lit up by a nearby lamp for children, was loomed over by a tall, slim, unmoving figure draped up in floating clothes. From his position, Yann could not see much of the apparition, let alone its face, but he could recognize it nonetheless, and the thought of being correct made him even more anxious. Slowly getting up from his bed, Yann called out in a weak voice.

“Mom ?”

The figure did not seem to react. Only the wind blowing from the open window responded with a gust. More chills ran across Yann, but instead of paralysis, agitation was overtaking him. He had to move. But he did not fully recover yet. His breathing started to accelerate again. His attempts at moving were too slow and messy. But there was no time to waste.

“Mom ? When did you get here ?”

Yann was now almost up from his bed, but his legs refused to move immediately. He kept looking at the apparition, expecting it to move, fearing its next action.

“Please… Get out of our room.”

As if to answer Yann’s anticipation, the figure slowly got closer to the infant’s bed it was guarding. Thin arms moved from the apparition and, in delicate gestures, reached out to the still sleeping boy inside the bed.

“No… Get away…”

Yann’s legs were still numb. The poor boy could only call out from across the room in a trembling voice, as the figure was now right above the infant. No expression to see. No feelings to percieve. No love to sense. White cold fingers softly caressed the toddler's cheeks, before moving toward the hips for a pick-up motion.

“Get away from my brother !”

Yann suddenly jolts from his bed and recklessly leaps towards the figure. The lamp turned off and left the room in complete darkness.

Soon after, the lamp turns back on again. Yann was resting awkwardly upon the side of the infant’s bed, watching his little brother sound asleep. With no energy left, the big brother stayed in his uncomfortable position, close to his precious sibling. No matter what, he promised. To keep his brother safe from scary monsters. After all, this is what their mother would have wanted.

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WC : 540

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Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

Reminders:

>* No AI-generated reponses 🤖 >* Stories 100 words+. Poems 30+ but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* [RF] and [SP] for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

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Various dignitaries kept watch over the gathering to make sure things went peacefully, a think tank of two different species' first meeting. Several translators were nearby to ensure multiple interpretations were available at any time to limit misunderstanding, a brilliant idea from one of the human interns, as difficult as it is to find humans fluent in all seven Faytrang languages.

The scientists were discussing the different approach to discovering the secrets of the universe they'd both taken, a gaggle of military leaders puffed up their chests in front of each other to show how tough they were (funny how that of all things was one of the first similarities between our cultures), and a few representatives of a couple religious orders were hovering around the two buffet spreads, sampling what cuisine they safely could while recounting the stories and beliefs of their people. One of the Faytrang priests must've gotten bored, because a shout of terrified outrage blew up from near where the engineers had flocked.

"YOU DID WHAT TO CROSS THE GAP OF SPACE?!" was the closest human translators could say had been shouted, sounding like a mix of a kookaburra and thunder. The next one was much easier: "THEY HAVE ENSLAVED FIRE!"

What nobody at the conference had realized before this point was that "fire" had one definition for humans, but Faytrang had several, and besides the shared one they were all of religious significance equivalent to God. It was quickly apparent that something wasn't translating properly, and the dignitaries were struggling to keep everyone calm while things were explained.

"Fire is the creator! The Carer, the Warmer, the Father and Mother, the Beacon!" The priest who said this looked torn between throwing himself out the window and strangling the humans nearest his six clawed hands. "Fire is NOT A TOOL! Fire is... it's sacred!"

One of the engineers was quoted after the meeting as saying, "It was like we told them we'd knocked out God and chained him to a hamster wheel to power our ships because it was easier than bending space, which we kinda did, I guess."

The conference was saved from devolving into a fistfight (which would have been lost badly by the humans) by one of the human priests teaming up with a historian to explain how important fire was to humans in a slightly different way, and being extra careful to exclude the word "tool" or mention of anything close to it from the entire speech.

"Fire was the reason humans became what we are today," the historian began. "You call fire the Carer, the Beacon, the Warmer. For us, fire began as a danger on our world, spreading through forests and plains of grass as unstoppable death. Light striking down from the sky was a source of fire, and our ancestors likely attributed it to the wrath of a god they couldn't comprehend. When the fire passed, however, the things that burned nourished the soil and gave life back to the devastated areas."

The next part was tricky to word, because the Faytrang had only made mention of starting fires for warmth and worship. An archaeologist stepped in with a nervous gulp. "So much as we can tell, because in this time writing did not exist, ancient humans treated fire similarly to the Faytrang, as a powerful entity which gave light and heat. They had learned fear first, and so were wary of being near fire. But they knew that the animals around them feared it more, and tried to learn how they could gain the favor of fire, how to survive with fire.

"They learned that animals burned in the fire were easier to eat and did not give parasites," he continued. "They learned how to burn the plains regularly to lure in their prey with fresh grass. They learned how fire could help them become more than a somewhat intelligent animal. We were less reverential of fire, perhaps, but we respect it just as much for what it has done for us."

"To make no mention of the stories where fire has helped man, or been a way to speak with God," a priest interjected. "I can only speak on the religion I myself have studied and believe, but fire universally appears in every culture that is at least somewhat divine and ancient. Our legends tell how fire has helped man slay monsters, protected us while escaping from grave danger, and taken sacrifices of animals and grain to our gods. Fire is not as revered to us, but do not mistake that we mean disrespect to it."

Just when things were beginning to calm down and conversation was picking back up, one of the Faytrang priests spotted a security guard using a lighter for his cigarette and lost his shit, quickly followed by the rest of the delegation. This is how the war started.

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

Reminders:

>* No AI-generated reponses 🤖 >* Stories 100 words+. Poems 30+ but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* [RF] and [SP] for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

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Everyone was at the edge of their seats that day. This meeting was being planned for months now, sure, but all the preparation in the world could not quell the anxiety rising within me. We had encountered a few sapient alien species before, but none were keen on becoming anything more than, let's say, long distance friends. As such, the chance to see these new creatures, emerged from the stardust, was one any exozoologist, such as myself, would kill for. Humans, they called themselves.

It was a secret, of course. A crowd of millions of curious eyes and excited voices was not exactly safe or easy to manage. That's what we were all there for. A group of experts in a variety of fields, from spokespeople to engineers (they even got a theologist), for the sole purpose of ensuring this first contact would go smoothly.

As we headed to the secluded canyon the meeting would take place in, the murmurs in the crowded transport grew.

In my hazy cloud of anxious thoughts I didn't catch much, just the theologist discussing the appropriate methods of worship with one of the linguists. Talking about something familiar helps with the anxiety, I guess.

"No, no, you're thinking of it wrong, young miss. The Twin Suns do not need our fires. They are the fire. To pray before the flames, it is simply a way to extend their beings, to bring them closer to us..."

My mind raced. There was so much to be know about these "humans" still. We knew they lived in a distant system, with only one star and their planet was a lot colder than ours. Biology wise, things were... weird. The descriptions were scarce, or rather, difficult to understand, but we managed to make a few educated guesses. They had only four limbs, and used two for locomotion, and two for tool manipulation. They also said something about having hair? And they talked about something they called endothermy, we have frankly no idea how it works, but it seems to make it difficult for them to endure the temperatures here? They communicate through sound, like us, so at least there' some common ground.

"...because long ago the Third Sun withered. But in the universe, nothing disappears, miss. A spark from the dying star landed on this very planet, and from it our kind made the first pyre. We took the spark and cared for it, tending and giving it life. The Suns had always shown us compassion, so it is natural that when the time came, we did, too. Fascinating isn't it? Such mutual kindness, between such fundamentally different beings.... truly a miracle..."

But part of me was still concerned they would turn out to be hostile... a friendly alien race just sounded to good to be true. Or maybe worse, maybe they were playing nice, waiting for the time to strike? I really shouldn't... I didn't have to concern myself with that. I wasn't a diplomat, I was just there to look at some cool aliens. Yes, that's it.

"It's like I said. Nothing ever truly disappears. We must only wait. The Third will not be gone forever. Likely not in my lifetime, nor in yours or you children's, but it will return. The little, humble spark we once fought to keep alive? It will grow. It will burn brighter and brighter. Through our will, our love, through the thousands of little flames within ourselves, The Third shall be set alight. And then we may once more bask in the radiance of the Three Siblings. Complete, unadultered light."

Just as I was done with that vain attempt to calm myself, the transport came to a halt. The priest's voice died, and the linguist quickly gave up on the answer she was about to mutter. The air grew heavy. It was the kind of fragile silence that blooms from uncertainty, and that no one dares to break. When the doors opened and light poured in, I was just relieved to get out of there. I looked up, said a prayer, and glanced ahead...

There they were.

Oddly intriguing, I think is the best I could describe them. Well, I couldn't actually see much of the creatures beneath all the fabric and equipment they had to wear. But the figure was odd. They stood tall, I guess we had been right about the limb thing.

Our group started walking forward, theirs did the same.

And soon we all stood face to face. The representatives from each side stepped forward. Ours was doing an honestly outstanding job at pretending to be calm and seeming professional. The human on the other side was too, i think? I had studied their body language as best as I could, but without actual field experience that wasn't much good. They exchanged some awkward greetings, and the conversation began.

If you asked me what they talked about, I really couldn't tell you. As interesting as intergalactic politics were, it wasn't really my concern. I just tried to make sense of these creatures the best I could, and note it all down. And to be fair, their anatomy is fascinating. We seemed to be getting along okay, though.

When we expressed interest in their engineering, namely their space travel technology, they were more than happy to explain it, even offered to give us a look. After all, if our calculations were right, they had come from several light years away. We didn't even think that was possible. And so we made our way to the place they kept the ships.

That's when things started feeling... wrong.

Even now, I just don't know why. I don't know why I felt that dread creeping upon me. And I don't know why everyone else felt it too. Everyone tried to hide it, brush it off, but everybody knew.

The humans seemed to notice, too. Silence was an universal sign of discomfort, apparently.

They asked what was wrong, if they could do anything to help, if...

I don't remeber what we answered. I don't remember if we answered.

Because then we saw it.

A metal colossus.

It hovered, glinting in the light of the Two Suns above us. The synthetic beast was larger than anything my kind had ever conceived.

At first I didn't understand what about the sight made me want to run.

Why wasn't it wonder? Wasn't it supposed to be awe that you feel in the presence of the technological marvel of the century? Wasn't...

No, no, it was none of that.

The metal was useless. An accessory. A husk to house what laid in its core.

"So" one of the humans spoke through the translator device, pointing. "that right there is the engine..." I saw it show it's teeth... a smile? This was fun to them? "It works on internal combustion, I'm sure you..."

It was smaller, weaker than it should have been, but... there it was. Bound in chains.

"...that, simply put, is how we harness its energy." The thing, the human just kept smiling. Was it... mocking us?

I didn't stay to find out. Most didn't. We just ran back.

They had brought us the Sun.

Most people don't know what the war is about. They think they do, of course, but they don't really. I think they made up some stuff about and attack to a village or something, I'm not sure.

But I'm glad. The truth getting out... I don't think that would be a good thing. That light... shackled and forced to serve a will other than its own, I... we can't just do nothing.

I still see that smile sometimes.

When I do, I don't just pray to the Suns. I pray for them.

It had been everything I had ever dreamed. Power, fame and fortune.

I controlled each and every cog in the machine. Everything was perfectly planned and executed by the click of a button. I had full access to anything that happened in the world, and could manipulate it to my whims.My whole day revolved around each manufactured move. Public speeches, regular announcements and fabricated news. It has been such a dream.

I opened my eyes, blinking into the blinding sunlight. I was standing on the same platform that I had been one year ago, where I had tried the VR system. It had been faulty, and I took them off after a few moments in darkness. And yet here I was, one year ago, standing in front of the same crowd once again.

The technicians on the stage looked horrified, working quickly on their fancy computers. Their fingers flew across the key board as I turned around to see the screen behind me. My past year was displayed in a montage on the screen, all the manipulation and deception exposed for them all to see. The mob grew rowdy and many people were shouting angrily.

I realized all too quickly what had happened. They faked the failure of the VR test, to trick me into believing that it was real. They had seen what I had done. They saw what I stood for, what I believed in. And now it was all gone, ripped away from me.

The security guards surrounded me, bringing me below the stage in handcuff that were unpleasantly tight. They took no precautions in ensure my comfort, dragging me down the stairs. I was a traitor to my country and an enemy of the people.

I could only imagine what punishment was in store for me after they had reviewed everything I had done.

You ever wonder if an entire alien race can be autistic or something?

The next chapter has arrived. If you are interested of course :)

The next chapter has arrived.

I tried to tag people in my latest chapter but I’m not sure if it worked or not.

If you happened to get a mention notification can you let me know? 😅

The next chapter has arrived.

Indeed. 😂

"Si non confectus, non reficiat"?

I have worked at the Hell House for 22 years. Sounds scary doesn’t it... It terrifies me, I have spent half my life working here.

Hell House is a fun fair attraction at Happy Land Park. In it’s hey day it was a belter, with brand new animatronics and a whole cast of actors. Now the Day-Glo paint is flaking off in great big chunks and the only actors left are me, Peter and Patsy a 40 a day habit ex-glamour model.

I am the vampire. My costume has not exactly stood the test of time. You could say my body has outgrown the garb somewhat. My stomach protrudes over the belt of my black trousers and the buttons on my red waistcoat are straining. My hair is not what it once was, I have a bald spot where once was a mop of curly brown hair.

Since Julie left me, I do not have much and stay in a caravan on the grounds of the fun fair.

Today we have a bus load of kids coming in on a school trip. I am not the best with kids to be honest, the youth of today are unruly and have no respect.

12.30pm comes and the kids have exhausted the other attractions and the last one on their list is Hell House.

I stand at my appointed spot behind the coffin suspended from the ceiling. I am meant to jump out and shout “I want to suck your blood”. The tracks rattle as the cart containing the teenagers makes it way.

I hear a crash and see Patsy stumbling towards me. She is dressed in her usual nurse’s uniform, as the assistant to the animatronic crazy doctor. I notice some thing is off, she has fake blood spattered across her throat. “You have gone all out today, Patsy!” I shout to her. She tries to reply but all I can hear are wet gurgles. Patsy falls at my feet. I notice this is no sfx make up. Her throat has been slashed, the blood spurts in an arc onto my trousers. Patsy’s nicotine-stained fingers claw desperately at her throat to try and stem the flow of blood but there is no stopping it. Her breathing sounds like she is blowing bubbles under water, then it stops and her head drops. Her bleach blond hair falls across her face, it looks as if she has dyed some parts crimson.

I scream and scrabble away from Patsy’s body. Patsy’s stage was the one before mine, that means whoever did this must be coming my way and will kill me too. I do not want to die in a crumbling old fake haunted house.

I have to get out of here. I turn to run towards the safety of the lit-up sign of freedom, when I pause. The voices of the children still in their carriage carries to me over the creaking of hydraulics.

I cannot leave the children here, can I? There is a murderer...but Julie always said I was good for nothing so maybe I should just mind my own business.

“Oh, for effs sake” I whisper and go in search of the kids. I climb over the terrain of cardboard werewolves and under some real and artificial cobwebs. The children’s car is in front of me. There is a man in an overall, armed with an axe. I curse my bad luck, I have no weapon, no way out so I scream for the kids to run.

I see them escape just before the axe splits my head in two.

  600 words

If your hero/detective is supposed to be legendary [like Sherlock or Hercule Poirot] then the ending has to be extremely gratifying. Each of the clues needs to fit into the punchline. A lot of writers do this by making clues to pieces of the mystery, for example, a messed up floor is at first something that seems like a clue to the main mystery, but instead is a clue to how somebody got to a window, which they then had access to frame another person. Something like that. You can also keep clues to other things, such as character development. An interesting thing you've likely seen a lot is a piece of knowledge that someone would only know if they were a doctor, or a soldier, or what-have-you. That's a really cool way to allow your hero to make a guess as to a murderer, without making it obvious for your readers. It also lets your readers from that world gratified, because "who could know this! I'm special and good at solving mysteries". And that's a feeling you want. It's like a hard crossword. If you can solve a really difficult crossword or you're watching jeopardy and get every question right, that feels way more gratifying than completing anything easy.

Other commentors are saying you should write the story after a full plan, which is fine, but that's not the only way to do things. You can create your points of interest in the story—you have a basic idea: A person [or more] dies, a killer [or killers] kills, and you have a horror element 2/3 way through, there's the setting for the first 15 minutes, person 7 gets a past event explained at this point, etc. Then you can mess around with the story until everyone is the murderer. Like in the other commentor's teded video, Agatha christie often switched who the killer was midway through. This allowed her to keep it fresh and also let her make sure that the novel is completely indecipherable until the very end. You're likely to give it away as you go just by adding the clues you're already adding. I don't think you're just going to create a random story and then magically solve it at the end. It's a lot harder to give it away if you don't even know who the killer is though.

If you go this route you might spend a lot of time rewriting and adding; meaning your book is going to be good.

If you like you can also add a neat twist, such as maybe your mystery knows who the killer is but not who the victim[s] are. People might like that, but if you aren't up to it you don't need it.

Make your characters captivating

I live to set the story back! Wait... Would that make me an anonymous antagonist?

For cosmic horror, never work out what exactly you are dealing with,

It doesn't matter who khasamanu is, we just have to put him back

For mystery, map out a "birds eye view" of the situation, then only tell it from one perspective