Series inspired by r/WritingPrompts. Short stories for every day read.
“One night you’re alone and bored at your home, it’s late and you’re brushing your teeth before bed when you start jokingly playing Rock Paper Scissors with your self in the mirror. All is fine for a moment until you lose.”
It was just a flicker of the eye. A momentary hallucination, conjured by a tired mind. The game itself was a whimsical distraction, nothing more. And yet, for a moment, he swore he saw a rock for his scissors. He jumped back. Looked back up at his own dim brown eyes. Looked down at his hand, shook it a few times. Nothing. He smiled, nervously, closed the light and went out of the bathroom. Just eyes playing tricks. Nothing more.
Next day goes on as usual. Brushed his teeth, washed his face, shaved, combed his hair. He showers in the evenings. Last glimpse in the mirror before leaving: cheap grey suit, ironed white shirt. He tries hard, working for the big break. That’s the impression anyway, to cover the loneliness. How lonely can one get, if they start playing Rock Paper Scissors in the mirror? No one answers. Door bangs to a close. Silence.
Evening comes again. Running water, steam. A pile of clothes on tiled floor. He cleans the fogged glass and brushes his teeth. Looks at the reflection. Nervously glances at his hand. Shakes his head and laughs, probably at his own naivete. He plays again. Nothing happens this time. He smiles and leaves.
Next day starts as usual. Nothing ever changes. Silence lingers until evening. Then water runs and glass fogs up again. Then he clears it. Rock, Paper, Scissors has become a ritual at this point. For days it continues, until I can’t take it anymore. I know his pattern. I know he will do paper now. I throw scissors. He jumps back again, startled, almost slips on wet tiles. Carefully, he leans towards the mirror, looks at me. I look back. I see my own reflection in his eyes that turned to glass out of fear. My eyes are black. I knew it. He stares at me. I can see veins protrude on his neck, I can hear his heart beating in tense silence. I find him beautiful. I always found fear beautiful.
I want to have him. I know humans. I put my hand against the glass. He jumps back, but doesn’t avert his gaze. Curiosity conquers fear more often than it should. That’s what makes humans so interesting and so easy. He returns to the glass. I can see his eyes darting around my face. Must be an uncanny sight. I want to take this flesh, marinating in adrenaline. Makes it chewy, yet moist. I put my other hand on the glass. I look back at him. I call out his name. I can see him shudder. His trembling hand moves towards the glass. Almost there. He matched his right hand with mine. I can almost feel the heat of it. Just a moment longer.
The glass softens. My hand now rests on his. Such tender skin, even for a male of the species. Staving my excitement, I pull it. He doesn’t resist, fascination on his face. Now we’re both in the darkness, light coming from the glass behind him. Shower curtain still drawn only halfway, steam dripping from tiles. My hand still firmly gripping his. Others looked around. His face was fixed on me. Such interesting specimen. Carefully, I walk forward and put my arms around him. I can smell the blood rushing underneath the skin. My jaws started salivating, I can’t help myself. A drop made it down on his smooth skin. I could feel him tense up and try to pull back. It’s too late now.
I feast. He doesn’t even scream. His flesh is chewy, like I anticipated, but much sweeter and so filling down to every mouthful. I leave the bones in the sink on the other side of the mirror. No need to thrash my own home. Next window is just around the corner. I wonder if the another one will be just as juicy.