She was taking a bath. Gazing at her feet and the body leading down to them. Breasts like small islands, pale against her tanned skin. Beyond her stomach, too, (bellybutton filled with water like a small pool), a triangle of white from her bikini bottoms. Hair dark against the porcelain white. She doubted the skin there had ever seen sunlight. Her legs looked strange, foreshortened by the viewpoint, magnified by the water. Her toes were wrinkled. She wriggled them.
Then suddenly small creatures began to pour out of the taps.
Not insects. Larger. Tiny animals she'd never seen before, some humanoid, some not. All different colours, all different shapes. A lurid assortment of fins and feathers, scales and skin. They trickled down and swam or floated or floundered around her feet. She froze. She tried to blink them away but they wouldn't go. She tried to wake up but she was already awake. She drew her feet back up towards her, and reached for the plug.
They all got sucked, spinning and screaming, down the drain, and she was left in the empty bath, sitting naked in a puddle of guilt with beads of confusion on her brow.
I am going to write a story of some variety, long or short, fictitious or factual, every single day for a year. Wish me luck.
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