Imagination

Author's note: Just a short story I had to write for school. Tell me what you guys think :P.

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In a little room, alone, there was a girl; no older than twelve years. Fiery red curls soared as she whirled around swiftly, prepared to shoot a lethal stare at whoever was watching her. Once her blue eyes had pierced every corner of the room, she was relieved to see that no one was present. However, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the stuffed animals that lined floral-printed walls were glowering at her. It was as if they somehow knew what she was about to do.

Ignoring the maliciously staring playthings, she turned back around to the item of her previous attention. In front of her was a mirror, embedded in antiquated, twisted cherry wood. It smelled of mothballs and rosemary, an odd combination to say the least.

As the young redhead stared into the aged-old looking glass, she felt a sudden swoosh behind her, as though someone had just bolted past at record speeds. Suddenly, the girl realized she’d had her eyes closed, and reopened them, expecting to see herself staring back pleasantly in the mirror.

She was shocked when the blue orbs had reopened themselves, and saw not the cheval glass, but a dark, cloaked figure, standing directly ahead of her. Rather than the small bedroom, she was surrounded by a lush, green, tropical jungle. The caws of birds and the incessant chatter of monkey rang throughout the area.

Quite noticeable was the good two hundred fifty foot tall waterfall to her side, which looked altogether menacing. One wrong step could mean the end of her short life.

“Zahari,” Her name was uttered in an eerie, raspy voice by the cloaked one. From what she could see of the unusually small head, it looked as though it had saber-toothed fangs.

“H-How do you know my name?” Zahari stammered, vaguely surveying the encompassing terrain for any sort of defensive weapon. Much to her dismay, and the creature’s enjoyment, she could find no such object.

“Oh, Zahari, you mean you don’t know?” The horrible thing sounded as though it were mocking her. “This is your imagination.”

“My imagination?” Zahari scoffed. “Yeah, right; if this was my imagination, I’d have a pink unicorn named Sparky.”

“It’s odd,” the voice started, “How our imaginations can be quite different from how we perceive them to be. One, such as yourself, might think she has a wonderful sense of creativity, when in reality, all it is, is me.” The voice became more unearthly with every word.

“How are you, Mister, part of my imagination?” This whole thing had her confused, not to mention freaked out.

“I’m everything negative can possibly comprehend. Mostly, however, I am your fear.” A ghostly, rattling breath followed the last word. The word that Zahari dreaded.

“Fear, you say? I’m not afraid of anything.” She lifted up her head proudly, as though it would prove her unsound statement correct.

“You are not invincible, you arrogant little child. If you believe that, you will surely lose all.”

“Why are you telling me this if you’re my fear?”

“Because,” the cloak hobbled closer. “It’s a warning.”

All of the sudden, pallid, claw-like hands shot out from under the cloak, giving Zahari a sound shove over the jagged edge of the towering cliff. The music of the rushing waterfall filled her ears as she fell. Abruptly, she hit the ground, and saw no more.