They’re saying I killed the man. Poison in his drink, knife in his chest when it took too long for the life to drain from his eyes. I’d confess to it if I thought people would understand. See, he was going to die anyway. He was weeks out at most, failing organs and jelly limbs, he could barely sit up in bed. Every day he saw only the empty white of the palace ceiling and the rim of the porcelain bowl I used to feed him sad brown porridge. What is life in a state like that? When you’re young like me, at least people tell hopeful lies—they’ll say your aching joints could mend themselves one day, that you might become more than a lowly servant if you serve your monarch well. But for a man like him who had seen all there was to see, everyone was waiting for him to die. If he had been able to speak in those last moments, he would’ve begged me to finish him off. They’re saying I killed the man. But I know. I showed him compassion.

She is a perfect reflection of me. Her hazel eyes stare back at mine from the other side of the mirror, and she mimics my every move. Most of the time, I can't tell that she's there. Other times, something seems...off. I see a dark gleam in her eye, or a touch of wickedness behind her smile. The uncanny valley consumes me, and I try to trick her into showing herself, but she is far more clever than I. Even when I turn my back to the glass, I know that she remains.

Every night, once I've slipped deeply into a hard-earned slumber, the doppelganger creeps from within the frame. First an arm, then a head. Her torso and legs follow closely behind and finally, cold bare feet take their place upon the hardwood. She hovers over me, tangled hair mere inches from my face and sees that I am far away, much too far to interfere with her plans. Pleased, the apparition moves throughout my home to see what seeds of chaos she can sow before the sunlight comes creeping in.

She comes across my journals, and scrawls half thoughts and untruths. She rips pages from the spines of my favorite books and throws the carcasses to the wind, amused by my struggle for linear thought. She sends whispers out into the night air, inviting the ghosts of my past to join in her deviancy. They gleefully accept, and together they rampage through the house, knocking every trinket from its shelf and every picture from the wall.

As daylight approaches, the imposter loses fervor. The new rays of the rising sun are likely to engulf her, and she must make haste toward her reflective encasing, lest she be wiped from this realm altogether. Before she departs, she leans into my ear and softly speaks of her actions. She tells me that I am powerless to stop her, and promises a swift return. She leaves my side and walks toward the mirror, footsteps dragging across the floor. First she inserts her arm, then her head. Her torso follows and finally, a cold bare foot slips into the glass surface.

I awake to find the wreckage around me. I am dismayed, but unsurprised and dutifully begin to clean up the mess that has been made. I do all I can to prevent these nightly attacks, but no amount of prayer or protection stops her from entering. She is part of me, and goes wherever I go. Everything that is mine, she claims as her own. Even my lovers are not safe from her wicked deeds.

Every morning, as I pick up the torn books and broken keepsakes, I try to think of ways to rid her from my life. An answer never comes, at least not in the way that I want it to.

Our hearts pounding rhythmically at a mesmerizing hypnotic cadence. A race against the clock ticking, winding, tocking. Rolling thunder chasing us. Lighting crashing. Sky growing fierce. Sweat dripping into lashes and blinding glacier blues. Cherry gloss smearing into a luscious cupids bow as decadence and aromatic whipped toppings and cherry jubilee slide down into unspeakable places. Smoldering hot mid -summers day. Sheets ripped by ropes, tape and glass. A metal rod and whip end the finale.

A walk in the park led me to a soulful glance at the broken pieces of bench where I was catapulted into its shattered remains

once more. As they led straight into my heart in a kaleidoscope of cognac merlot, empty promises and paramount nights. I stood alone. Wandering, meandering into broken paths. And it made me think of you.

#fastfiction #fiction #shortstory #lust #love #hot

It was hopeful.

It's the colour of her hair and the laughter in her eyes. The rims of her glasses and the joy crackling in her soul. The beads on her camp bracelet, the sky at that one perfect moment, the way she could describe feeling happy.

It's a little too close to the bleakness she felt daily, the watered down light in the winter, and colour of her ex's favourite sweatshirt. The drink she drank when she didn't let herself eat. Little too close.

But it was bright, it was kind, it was unique. It was a good reminder.

It was hopeful.