not ominous, more like sad and tired lol. this is kind of my twist on the prompt, so not exactly what it’s asking for.

Time seems to pass much faster on a full stomach than it does when I’m starving. I blink and it’s already dusk, the sunlight shrinking away more and more with every passing second. Has food always made me this tired? Heavy?

I am shown to the bathroom once my sister is done. I turn on the bath water, wiping the fog off of the mirror from my sister’s shower. There’s a small cut near my hairline that I hadn’t noticed before. And I have a small bruise on my jaw. I frown, running my fingers over my face. When did my skin get so pale? Since when were my cheekbones this pronounced? Have my eye bags always been this dark and round?

Turning away from the stranger in the glass, I strip my clothes off and fold them neatly on the tank of the toilet. Carefully, I step over the wall of the tub into the streams of the shower, my whole body relaxing as the water, hot and steady, rains against my chest and beads down my arms and legs.

I close my eyes, turning so that the water pours down my back. Deep breath in. Out. Deep breath in. And out.

On the wall next to me is a small ledge where a bottle of standard soap and a handmade scrubber sit quietly. I wrap my hand around the scrubber, lathering it with the liquid soap and water. Slowly, I rub it across my skin, starting with my arms, then my chest and back, then my legs. Every now and then I’ll find a hidden rash or scrape irritated by the rough brush, but for the most part, the sensation of scrubbing the soap across my grimy body for the first time in weeks is as if I’m shedding an old layer of skin. By the time I’ve rubbed away any remaining remnants of the forest, my body is already swaying with fatigue. I want to stay here forever, to have this hot, steaming rain pattering across my raw skin until I can’t stay awake anymore. And although at the moment that idea seems reasonable, I know I can’t.

So, with a squeak and the twist of a handle, I’m left shivering and wet, the wooden floor cold against my bare feet. A fluffy white towel has been left out for me on a small hanger, and I grab it, grateful for its warmth. Rubbing away the fog with the palm of my hand, I take one last look at the girl in the mirror, studying her dripping hair and tired brown eyes. She deserves so much better.

At last, I open the bathroom door, and a sharp gust of air saps all of the warmth from the shower out of my body.

For a moment, it’s the coldest I’ve ever felt.