Darkness behind the curtain
You hum
Scrubbing your scalp
Strands of wet hair clings to your perfect face
Shampoo bubbles your hair
Hot water shoots out of the nozzle
Suddenly
The bathroom lights flicker
Then shine again.
You glance around:
The lights flicker again
And this time
You are plunged into utter darkness.
The water turns cold
You inhale sharply
Panic rising in your chest
Blocking up your throat
A low voice hisses,
"Hello."
A laugh
A deep
Chilling
Laugh
The sound is like tendrils of darkness
Like fingers grasping at you
Hands wrapped around your throat
Like shifting shadows
Darkness laced with a malevolent contempt
The lights turn back on again
Trembling,
You rinse out your hair
Afraid to move the curtain aside
Afraid
Of what you might see.
The eagle and the hunter
It was not so long ago that bald eagles were hunted, yet the tradition had stretched back centuries. This myth comes from imagination, yet I wonder if it had the slightest gleam of truth. I can only believe.
When bald eagles were hunted, only their snow-white head gave them away to the hunters prowling restlessly on the ground below them, armed with bows, arrows and a sense of alertness ever in the air.
In an unbelievable stroke of luck, one tiny eaglet's head was not white, but brown, the same dark hue as it's wings and body. Once he was old enough to fly, he flapped his wings and took off into the endless stretch of sky. He felt warm currents of air billowing up under his wings as he felt the incredible, glorious feeling of flight coursing through him. He glanced down at the ground miles away, and his wings almost froze mid-flight.
A hunter was starting up right at him.
He had heard about these strange creatures, stories told to him. There would be a whooshing sound and in seconds a sharp stick called an arrow would be protruding from his side, and he would spiral down, down, down, plummeting out of the crystal sky and crash to the earth. He would shudder in pain, lying there helplessly as the creature approached, and it would be over.
He looked down at the hunter, waiting for that dreadful moment.
And the hunter turned and walked away.
All the other watching eagles knew why.
So they swooped upon the young eagle, tearing madly at his feathers, ripping them out with a fury. Talons full with his precious plumage, they covered their white heads with them, disguising themselves as not birds to be hunted but as innocents.
Without his feathers, the bird started falling to the ground. He closed his eyes, and it was just like the stories, except he had no deadly arrows protruding from his side. He had the even deadlier earth below him, and he waited for the bone-crunching impact...
And the hunter caught him. "What a strange bird," he remarked. "Not a feather anywhere!" He stared down at the eagle, and a feeling of pity swept over him. He gently laid the eagle in a blanket and started for home.
Now, the all-too-confident eagles who had torn out his plumage started to soar overhead, thinking, "The hunter will never know it's us."
However, a slight gust of wind picked up, and it grew in strength. It roared towards the cocky eagles in the sky and their brown feathers that once covered their white heads fluttered to the ground. The hunter glanced up at the sky and saw the eagles now truly exposed. He nocked an arrow.
Never try to be someone else-- it might backfire fast.
Myth by ZoeT
©2017
Six impossible things I believe in
1. My book series will get published.
2. After my book series is published, it will be turned into a movie.
3. After the movie is released, it will win an award.
4. I will inherit a jacuzzi.
5. Someone will make an AI that every family will have installed in their home for $15.
6. All of the above will happen.
Ingrid- Character description
Her name was Ingrid, a skinny, short girl with a small frame. Yet with her zealous personality and ever-present smile, you'd wonder how such joy could be crammed inside such a tiny child. Her rich, brown eyes would sparkle with such delight at even the simplest things, and she had a habit of tugging on a strand of her close-cropped, dark, curly hair. Her fingernails would usually be dusted with dirt or caked with mud, the same color as her mahogany skin that seemed to glow as radiant as the sun. And Ingrid was indeed like her very own sun, with her infectious grin. When she smiled, a small dimple would appear in her left cheek, giving her a mischevious look. Her good-natured, outgoing, uninhibited personality and confidence made her a charming girl. Her perfect, sweet face with a pointed chin, her captivating, vivid doe-like eyes, and even the grime and dust on her hands was the perfect picture of a free child-- watching the world through wide eyes and a merry soul. Someone... just like Ingrid.