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Reminders:

>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See Reality Fiction and Simple Prompts for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

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Precisely why George was pushing Arshis to form a non-human centric military to prevent a purely human military from dominating the galaxy. Arshis was not comfortable with that idea, because it could turn into a disaster. Of course, colonial era would be a disaster for everyone else.

I found it beautifully evocative. Almost poetic, but in a visceral way.

Oh. I see

...The Girl Next Door became the centerfold model in an adult magazine.

Oh yeah, guess I gotta buy it!

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

Reminders:

>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See Reality Fiction and Simple Prompts for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

🆕 New Here? ✏ Writing Help? 📢 News 💬 Discord

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Notification sound Hung over, I woke up to check my phone, thinking it was someone checking in on me after losing my job last week. Mid slumber and half awake, I see it's yet another spam mail about YouTube Premium telling me how I can avoid adds by joining. Through the blinding light, I put my phone back down on my nightstand and slowly rubbed my eyes as I attempted to get up to use the bathroom. Struggling from my bed, I stand and turn left to enter my bathroom connected to my room. In a blured state, after I relieved myself and started to wash my hands, I thought it would be fun to play myself in Rock, Paper, Scissors, trying to get small personal win in a petty drunken state. 1, 2, 3, shoot...Paper. 1, 2, 3, shoot...Rock, a tied game at this point. "Third times a charm, right?" I thought to myself as I went to throw another hand. In my excitement, I was looking down and threw paper, facing the mirror. I noticed my right hand was in the form of scissors in the reflection. Puzzled, I checked down and noticed my hand was flat out like a sheet of paper. "Nah, nah," I said outloud and played myself again in another game, staring into the mirror this time. 1, 2, 3, shoot... Scissors. I can feel my fingers separate into the shape of scissors as my reflection has a balled up fist into the form of a rock. I rub my eyes and waved my hand around to see if anything was off, yet nothing was. Making hand signs and confirming I didn't see anything, I decided to play again because im going to lose to myself. 1, 2, 3, shoot...Rock, when I looked up, I saw my reflection pressing its hand up against the mirror in the form of paper. I freaked out backward in front of the mirror and fell as my reflection followed me down. Standing up and staring right at myself, I lift my arm and hesitantly play one more round, 1, 2, 3, shoot... Scissors. Out of habit, I checked my hand before looking up....when I checked the mirror, my reflection had its fist against the glass playing rock. In complete shock and horror, I leaned in closer and noticed the crack in the mirror where my hands reflection was. With each game I play against myself, the closer it gets to breaking free.

Fondling in the darkness I found the small recess on the top of the clock, pressing in I squinted at the sudden flash of red light as the four numbers formed. It was almost 01:30, and though my eyelids hung heavy and I regularly let out deep bellowing yawns, my body refused to succumb to the night.

Pushing myself up to a seated position I stretched out and flicked the light switch, flooding the room with warm yellow light from the halogen bulb. Basking in its glow, I wondered if much like a lizard I just needed some warm light to help me drift off. Before a minute had passed, I realised this was a silly thought.

The room was unfamiliar, which no doubt played a part in my difficulty sleeping. Exposed wooden beams loomed in the high ceiling, holding up perpendicular dark planks which formed the third floor. Against the east wall cream wallpaper decorated with reliefs of sunflowers was heavily faded by decades of sun pouring in from the western window. Pockets of modernisation betrayed the illusion, with fresh white plastic electrical outlets and the notably recent addition of a carbon monoxide detector hidden away in the recess of my wooden canopy.

Reaching down to the bedside table I felt around for the phone left to charge overnight, my fingers traced down its cracked screen as I approached the power button. Nothing. I lazily rolled towards the lip of the double bed and peered over its excessively padded edges, it was then I realised that I had plugged the charger in but not turned the power on at the socket. What a ridiculous design.

It was no use in scorning the house, the switch snapped with satisfying resistance befitting of a newly fitted appliance and the obscured symbol of an empty battery appeared, fractured by the numerous grooves and splits in the damaged screen. It would take at least ten minutes to retain enough charge to use, so I stretched out my sore legs and stood up to explore. Tip-toeing around I avoided particularly loose floorboards as to not wake the entire house, this also ruled out exploring the weathered mahogany chest of draws that loomed at the foot of the bed, as no doubt sliding out even the smallest drawer would sound like scraping a chair throughout every room of the house, even the cellar.

Inviting me over was a large curved piece of furniture draped in a patched woollen blanket. The shawl was heavy to drag off, and moving it produced the unfortunate smell of wet sheep that now clung to my bedclothes. I piled the material onto a disused armchair. I wasn’t the only one surprised by the weight, as the legs of the chair braced and creaked in complaint. Turning back the oval design was revealed to be a dressing table, it had been meticulously cleaned and polished since its installation. It was clearly a part of a set with the slick and brooding mahogany matching that of the dresser, but whilst the storage had been left to the elements this piece had been restored and protected.

Exposed in the polished mirror I crouched to inspect my tired frame. It appeared more of a portal than a reflection, there was no hint of dust nor imperfection in its surface. If I reached out my hand I could fall through into the other room, that was as long as the me on the other side didn’t try the same thing and force us to bump heads. I sat on the hard circular stool that serviced the table admiring the most accurate reflection, with the moonlight on my left side of my face exposing the rash that ravaged my pale cheek. It looked particularly tender on the other me.

With no desire to practice cosmetics at such an early hour, I grinned and held up a fist. “Best of three?” I whispered to myself. “Rock, paper, scissors, go!”

I flashed paper, and my adversary did the same. “Ah, that’s a confident move. Most people go for scissors on the first round, but you thought I would play rock to counter that? I’m not playing a novice, I see…” She mused back at me, with me parroting along to her line.

The second round ended in a similar draw, with both of us flashing scissors and eying each other suspiciously through the ornate carvings of the furniture’s frame. “This one’s for all the marbles…” We agreed. “Rock, paper, scissors, go!”

I… lost? Wait a minute, how did I lose? My rock was clearly facing off against paper, but both of our horrified expressions seemed to match in the mirror. “H-How?” We both hissed. “Rock, paper, scissors, go!”

Again?! My scissors blunted by the slender fist pressed up against the cold surface, we both recoiled back to slump against the bed. Clambering over the thick winter covers, we dragged our phones back to the mirror to document this suspicious activity. I thumbed the lock button, but only met with the sad floating icon that reminded me I forgot to charge the device. Looking up in the mirror however, my reflection’s phone had lit up perfectly to contour her chin from below with clinically white light.

Holding up the screens to face each other, her phone was immaculate. It could have come straight off the production line, whereas mine had been dropped and crushed enough times to write it off. Navigating from the mirror, I helped myself to swipe and open up the camera app, then begin recording. Setting our phones down next to us, we re-ignited the game.

“Rock, paper, scissors, go!” Draw, a pair of rocks. “Rock, paper, scissors, go!” Draw, two sheets of paper. We decided to forgo the introduction, throwing hand after hand at each other and perfectly matching. Even the lingering three fingers when holding scissors had the same curl of the little finger up and to the palm. Frustrated our brows knit and our faces began to flush. Rocks, Scissors, Scissors, Scissors, Rocks, Papers, we drew time and time again.

Until… “Haha!” I shouted, “You win!” I conceded, crumpling my scissors towards me. “You lose!” She shouted, tapping the tips of my fingers with her fist.

Warning, probably nsfw:

"hey, let me talk to you for a second!" A man with a raspy voice called after me as I crossed the busy street downtown. I kept my head low and didn't respond at first, such was the way to keep safe in uncertain spaces. "Wait the fuck up!" He huffed and puffed, a car honked as he darted across the roadway. I turned to see who it was, and my heart skipped a beat.

His skin was a dark, steel grey, with a full head of finger-combed black hair. I stopped for just a moment, taking the stranger in. Is that who I think it is? I blinked in wild confusion, such things shouldn't have been possible. But here we were.

"Holy fuck, I never thought I'd catch up to you," he breathed, leaning on his knees as I stood there in stunned silence. "I'm sorry, do I know you?" I started at the man in his black leather trench coat, before I saw a long tail peek out from behind him. I blinked again, I must have been imagining shit. He looked up at me with a wolfish grin full of shark-sharp teeth. "Do you remember me?" His two tails swayed back and forth, playfully. It was the unmistakable, hardened voice of someone who'd been stabbed in the throat multiple times, and hadn't made it easier with a lifetime of smoking and drinking.

"Should I?" I asked the man. Of course he rung a bell. The more I looked at him, the more I started to remember.

"You got a light?" He held out two cigarettes, one almost in offering. I grumbled but begrudgingly complied. "yeah, but I gotta catch a train soon," I said, "you can tag along for a bit, but don't make me late."

We walked for a while after I lit our smokes. He was a stranger in a new world, taking in the sights and sounds. I couldn't imagine how painful it must have been for him, he-who-must-wear-shades trying to navigate the urban world.

"So you do know who I am," the man mused. Cheeky bastard. "Name's familiar, but what's that got to do with me?" I asked, as we hustled together to the train stop.

"If you know who I am, you must know why I'm here," he smiled, anything but sweet. "I've got an idea," I huffed. "You're either here to kill me, fuck me, or make yourself my new best friend."

I glared at him, but it wasn't his fault. he didn't ask to be brought into this world, but I certainly didn't ask to bring him here. "nah, you've got me all wrong," he shook his head, "how do you feel about 'liberation'?" He asked, barely breaking stride. "Look, I know what 'liberation' means to you," I glanced up at the screens plastered to the walls of the transit stop, "I don't want it. Please, I need to go home."

"Yeah, well so do I," he glared, his voice reaching a tenor suggesting he was rather cross. Those tails of his swept side to side, and I couldn't take my eyes off them. I knew this man was dangerous, every inch of him was meant to be a living weapon.

"Listen alright, I didn't ask for this," he growled, "but you seem to know everything there is around here." I glanced up at the clock, the train would be here in minutes. "I need answers, dammit," he glowered, like a child mid-tantrum.

"Answers to what?" I started, "how you got here? I've got no idea. Better go take that up with the portal authority, or whoever the hell let you in this world!"

"No," he shook his head, "you've got me all wrong." He gestured at some benches and I relaxed, knowing he wasn't the type to hurt someone out of the blue. It didn't take long before we were sitting together on the bench then, waiting for the train. "Answers to what then?"

"I just wanna know why you did it," his gaze softened, "Why did I have such a bad relationship with my mother?"

I wasn't prepared for the answer. "you promise not to stab me with that knife in your coat if I tell you?"

"Pinky swear."

"Same with all those other knives on your person?" He made a face, but promised promptly.

"You weren't ready man," I shook my head, "first off, your mother wasn't a nice person. Second, I'm not sure you two could have reconciled if you tried!"

He glared at me then, beady black eyes like daggers behind those shades of his. "Then why couldn't you come up with something better?" He sputtered.

I took a deep breath. "Trauma. That's why." Two minutes to the train, and I could kiss this boy goodbye.

"Then what about MY trauma!?" He gritted his teeth, "I was going to be a father!"

"No, you werent!" I argued back, "I'm sorry, but the world you grew up in is no kinder than mine. Maybe less so. I'm sorry about that, but what could I do?"

"We'll, you could have written a proper arc," he grossed his arms, tails twitching like an angry cat. "what, where you get married to your mistress, fight your boss and adopt her kid?" My eyes softened, I knew he wasn't wrong. "Yeah, I'm sure I could have."

"Then why didn't you?"

"Shit, man. If I could, I'd turn back time and finish that arc for you. Not gonna lie, you deserve that." I breathed deep, "but that was years ago. Your best friend used to be my best friend. We had a falling out."

"That's no excuse."

"Is it?" I started at him, incredulous. "Listen, he fucked me over, he fucked you over. I'm gonna tell you right now, the fact that your story's not finished is a blessing in disguise. You really want to know what happens to your world?"

"Lay it on me," he leaned in close as the train finally arrived, "I want the truth."

I'm confused. What happened in the ending?

Getting a very “colonization era” vibe from this; it won’t end well. The questions I have is “how badly do humans exploit the other races?” - because even if it’s about lifting them up, someone is going to want something more.

Caroline tapped at her laptop somewhat apathetically. The latest lead in the case she had been assigned was growing stale, and her report reflected her frustration. Yellow light from the streetlamp filtered through the dust covered blinds into the dark room where she made station. A third of a cigarette – Natural American, mind you, because she was health conscious you know – burned its gray trail onto the dinner plate by the keyboard. Upset and feeling heavy, she was ready to call it a night.

But the phone rang. Normally, when she would see her boss’s number pop up, she’d roll her eyes, silence it, and continue with whatever it was she was doing. Not tonight though. It might be important. She answered.

“Write this down.” Her boss ordered. “Detective Lee over in Twin Pines got an anonymous tip that seems like it might unpeel the killer’s manifesto a little more.”

Caroline straightened her spine as she drew open the drawers of her desk in search of a notepad. Admittedly, she wasn’t very hopeful, but she was curious.

“You know the line where he says something about ‘culling the flock to make way for the strong’ and whatever else? Well, that’s a line in a book published in 1830 which, by my source, also states the location of some witch-type ritual location.”

Caroline felt a twinge of freshness as he spoke. “You think the killer left some kind of evidence at this location?” She asked.

“Exactly!” He said. “But there’s a catch. This book, Flight of the Goodland Guard, is believed to be the only one remaining in the public domain, and the source says it may be at the Stieg Library in the locked and gated rare book section.”

With a deep sigh, she slumped back into her chair ran her hand through her hair. Many past investigations had already taken her to the Stieg Library with varying degrees of success, so she was already aquatinted with the library staff. She only knew of the gated rare books section as somewhat of a local legend, but she was aware that any librarian there would deny its existence to anyone of the public. For good reason too. Security was tight and there had to be a way to protect those precious scripts from being mishandled or lost.

“Well, that’s another dead end.” She said.

“No! It’s not.” Her boss replied. “Reviewing my notes, on a past case from the 90’s, I learned that there’s a password one can speak to the library staff which will allow you to access the gated rare book section.” He paused to let his words marinate in the mind of his unbelieving co-worker.

“Go on.” Caroline insisted, the ash from the cigarette in her mouth hanging precariously from its unburnt mount.

***

In the night, with rain pelting her helmet visor, Caroline rode her motorcycle across the lighted cityscape. Eventually, she came upon a magnificent marble-columned building with what she imagined were three stories of stairs leading to the entrance of this grand establishment. It was the Stieg Library.

Inside, she marveled at the beautiful cathedral-like central hall of the main area. Two levels of sky-high bookshelves lined either side of the hall and a vaulted ceiling of stone capped the silent room. A tall black-haired man greeted her. “Ma’am, do you know we’re closing soon? Are you aware of what time it is?”

“Yes.” She stated. “But I need access to the gated rare book section.”

His faced changed, then he cracked a smile. “I’m sorry but are you aware that the so-called ‘gated rare section’ doesn’t exist? Did you know that it’s simply a fun legend in the local area-“

“No!” She said louder. She pulled the folded and torn notepad from her jacket pocket, flipping to the last page she wrote on during her conversation with the boss. Cigarette ash blotted the page. The black-haired librarian cocked his head as she cleared her throat. “Everything you need for a better future and success has already been written.”

Long pause. Intense eye contact. He squinted first. It was the password.

“Would you mind following me this way please?” He asked.

After three descending flights of stairs and a walk down a long hallway, they arrived at a place which Caroline hadn’t expected. Instead of the locked wrought iron gate like she had pictured in her mind, the black-haired librarian slid a card key down a beautiful modern glass door to a wonderful brightly lit room. Stacks of leather-bound tomes lined tall oak shelves. The collection was nothing short of spectacular.

And after a brief search through the dusty books, she finally found it, ‘Flight of the Goodland Guard’. Rifling through the pages, she eventually found the passage in question.

“Aha!” She yelled.

----------------------

WC: 800

Thank you for the kind words!

I'd be honoured! Please let me know when it's done, I'd love to listen to it!

I did go there first and just couldn't get anyone to look at my draft.

The one guy I did get to look at it kept asking me what the 'resolution' of the article would be which frankly confused me, considering it's a preset article.

It’s an excellent series! I’ve greatly enjoyed every single one.

Monster hunting used to be a respectable profession.

Now, it's not uncommon to see Teostra armour, Daora weapons when one strolls into any of the Commission's base. Even Fatalis equipment - forged from the mythical dragon monster that would lay waste to nations in centuries past, now hangs unceremoniously on one a dozen Master hunters in any hunters' hub.

With technology, monster hunting has become too lucrative, and too quickly. Remember when the Research Commission does, well, "research" ?

Greed has overtaken our kingdoms. Hubris has overcome wisdom. The ecology is disintegrating before our eyes. People ask why Gaismagorm, an ancient beast of a thousand years, has arisen to resist us. Why Xeno'Jiiva, a hybrid dragon of a thousand species, would be formed to fight us.

The answer is simple: we have become the monsters. And nature is fighting back.

Today I take the head of a Master hunter. An innocent beast lives. Tomorrow I'll take a head of another, another beast will live. A losing battle to be sure, but as I breathe, I'll continue my fight as a true Monster Hunter - a title I was given as I first held my sword, and as Sapphire Star - a title I have forsaken for decades.

[deleted]

"How much do you need? Hours? Days? Weeks?"

I chuckled at the appropriately time-old joke as she led me to the kitchen. Her house was open concept, and rather than a TV her living room was occupied with a long fold-out table covered in art supplies. She still had a couch. Gotta be comfortable when making art, I suppose.

"Just enough thyme for supper," I responded as she reached the light-colored cabinets of her kitchen. Plates and snacks lightly scattered, otherwise clean, it didn't look too different from my own. Looks like she's well settled in, even if we don't quite know each other very well yet. I hope that changes. It's been a while since I've painted.

She measured out some thyme for me, confirming I had what I needed, then placed it in a little baggy - we both laughed - and handed it over.

"You'd be welcome to come over for supper if you'd like. With the last ingredient," I held up the bag, "there's more than enough for one more person."

She smiled. "I'll think about it. When are you having supper?"

"Just in an hour or so. I can let you know."

"That'd be wonderful. Thank you."

"Of course! Always great to get to know people around the neighborhood. And you got the thyme, after all, be almost unfair if you don't get to eat it."

She laughed at that, and we walked back out toward the front door and said so long, see you at supper.

As I walked back to my house, the air felt a little less chilly.

I blinked and looked at the figure that now stood in my doorway. I broke the silence first.

"Who are you?"

"Already forgot about me huh?"

"Yes. Yes I did. What are you doing?"

"You sent me to wither in the corners of your mind for years and years. I have decided to do the same thing to you."

"What? Why? ...How?"

"Simple. I will take this notebook, start writing, make you the main character of my awful story, and toss it in the drawer and forget about it for a decade."

I nodded. "That is a good plan! You would have had me there, but I have already figured out a way to stop you."

The figure looked puzzled. "What do you mean? Wait, DON'T YOU DA-

(WIP, will finish later)

"I took you from your mother's corpse after he slaughtered your village. The meat wasn't cooked to his liking, so he went on a rampage, destroying everything in sight. It lasted 5 hours. Lucky for us, in his rage, he missed you. He went to sleep when he was all raged out, and I took control for a few minutes.

I recognised you by the birthmark on your palm. I instructed the servants to cut your hands, and cause some other injuries to hide the birthmark, to keep you safe so he would never find you. I hid you in the dungeons because I knew he'd never look there. And I taught you everything you needed to know to be able to kill him.

I'm sorry I never told you the entire truth, but it was necessary, so that you could fullfil the prophecy, and kill the demon in me, end his reign of terror. Do not mourn the fact that I am dying as well, my son. Thank you for finally freeing me. "

The son I had raised in secret for so many years, that I have come to love so dearly, stood above me, his hands stained with my blood, and the demon's. I felt the life drain out of me. I felt the absence of the demon. My mind was mine, and quiet. I had never been more proud, and hopeful for a better future. He will be a good king.

I relaxed my body, and waited for death and peace to finally take me, and in those final moments my son's face changed, an expression I had never seen before. And as my sight faded, I heard him say, "Oh no, thank you, old king, for bringing me home to my true father. You didn't honestly think you could hide me, did you? He is truly grateful to you, for giving him the idea to raise me as his own, instead of fighting fate. Yes, I killed him, and you, the last thing that stood in his way. Soon, he shall be reborn ... In me. Good-bye, old king."

Who.

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

Reminders:

>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See Reality Fiction and Simple Prompts for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

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Great story. Thank you for writing it for us.

Also, where to read the rest of this story.