#my writing hawks
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When it came down to it you knew it was a mistake. From the moment the box open to when the black pillar candles were lit on the floor. Believing in the spiritual realm wasn’t new to you, but you weren’t entirely a believer either. Always sitting on the fence of maybe and maybe not. So, when your roommate decided to test the patience of the spiritual realm you thought nothing of it. Glass of red wine in hand you both sat criss-cross on the floor in front of a black Ouija board. One hand each on the planchette swearing neither of you were moving it when the glass began to roam over letters.
Red Hawk.
“The spirit of a bird lives here?” Your roommate had laughed it off and claimed you were the one moving it. Perhaps going along with it only irritated the presence in your apartment. Instead of disputing her you simply nodded and laughed. Sipping your wine to push away the pit that had dropped in your stomach like an anchor to the seafloor.
With your roommate gone home for the weekend, you were free to lounge carefree on the couch. Sleep till noon and blast your music. Eat take out from the container and ignore the rules of politeness by hogging the TV all to yourself. Despite the joyous occasion of having the apartment to yourself an eerie feeling continued to prod at your psyche the entire day.
A glass you swore was in the middle of the table shattered to the floor at lunch. Music would play at random from your laptop when you hadn’t touched it all weekend. The door to the closet would let out a painful groan as it inched open. Spirits didn’t enjoy daylight, you told yourself, but you kept all the lights on when you showered. Put the television on in your room and left on the lamp at your beside when the sun went down.
As you were drifting to slumber something red caught your eye. A single crimson feather floating down from above landing right on your chest. Before you could verbally question its presence to an empty apartment his clawed hands were on your shoulders. Golden eyes watching you with an intensity that kept you silent. Bright crimson horns curled out from his unruly blonde hairs.
Nothing compared to his wings, though. Brilliant red expanding the length of your room. When he brushed a clawed thumb over your collarbone you couldn’t help the shudder that escaped your mouth. “I’ve been waiting for the sun to go down. You called me, what is it you want pretty thing?” His voice doesn’t match the sharp teeth in his smirking mouth.
Red Hawk.
“I–” he puts a finger to your lips leaning his face down until you can feel his arctic breath ghost over your trembling lips.
“We don’t need to make the decision now.” He tuts, tapping your lips as he drops his body lower. Lower. Until you feel the sturdiness of him on top of you. “I won’t leave your side, not until I get what’s mine.”
His lips taste of smoke and ice, and then there is only a cold gust of where he laid on your chest accompanied by a single red feather floating overhead.
