So, Clouded, what are you good at drawing? I thought there might be a prompt, but since there's not, I was thinking that maybe I could and complete my story I sent to the mag. It's not that bad, and with a little work I could probably make it better. This is just a thought, so if you have any ideas, that would be awesome! Here's the story (it had to be 350, so It's a little..... cut down.)

A long time ago, when the Earth was young and fresh, the human race had a problem. 

These early men and women had food and shelter but these things were acquired by some primitive animal instinct. For, in those dark days, our ancestors had no imagination. 

This prevented them from thinking of ideas such as tools, weapons, or houses. They did not think to harness fire to their will, and so, without cooked meat, many died of starvation. 

Humans would have continued like this, eventually dying out from hunger, if it were not for a young boy.

He had no name; indeed, how could a people without words give names? Instead, he was known by his deep blue eyes, and the hawk feather that hung from his glossy black hair. One day, the boy was running through the forest, when he felt a soft breeze blowing through his hair. It seemed to beckon him and so, intrigued, he softly stepped after it, heart beating with a strange and wild excitement. 

He walked for days. His feet grew red and sore, and his body became tired and hungry. Yet when he finally broke through the trees into a sunny clearing, the sight that met his eyes took away his discomfort.

Perched on a branch was a bird too beautiful for words. Its feathers glimmered brighter than any rainbow, its beak gleamed gold, and its eyes were chips of obsidian. It fixed the boy in its hypnotic gaze, and spoke. "Greetings, human. Don't stand there like I am some wild beast about to pounce on you, for indeed, I have called you here to give you a gift. I shall tell you a great secret." The bird flapped its wings and, flying to the boy's shoulder, whispered its secret in his ear. The boy's eyes widened, for his mind was suddenly clear and full of possibilities. He jumped up, and ran away into the forest. The bird smiled, and flew back to its perch. For it knew that now, men would grow and flourish. Because now, the human race had an imagination.  

Is it too late to join?

Have you decided what you're going to write yet?

Will teams be eliminated? 

What do you think?  

It was nearly midnight, and Michaela stood at the end of a long line, behind a loud group of (annoying, in her opinion) teenage girls. She tapped her foot impatiently. Why, oh why, couldn’t the line move faster? She could have sworn that the moon moved faster, but after 5 excruciating minutes and 27 seconds (she counted), the line moved an inch.

And suddenly, she froze.
She could swear that she had heard something, something that disappeared as soon as it had come. It was too dark for her to see, but she could hear it. She was sure now.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
She shivered, despite the sweltering summer air. She knew it was nothing, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something, imaginary or not was following her.
An hour passed, and she stood stone-still, moving ever so slowly with the line.
The noise continued.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Finally, she reached the box office, paid for her ticket, and rushed into the theater as fast as humanly possible. She had read enough to know the vampire rule. Spirits can’t follow you into a building unless you invite them.
She felt better now, the familiar sounds of teenage squealing and stomping footsteps filling her ears. She bought popcorn, found a seat, and enjoyed the previews.
She could feel the ice thawing now, the frozen fear that had gripped her was slowly melting away.
Tap.Tap. Tap.
She sat up, ramrod straight in her seat. It was part of the movie, she repeated. She was paranoid. There was nothing to fear.
And then, something brushed up against her leg.
She stood up. People grumbled around her, but she didn’t care. She needed to get out, before her heart jumped out of her chest.
In the hallway, she leaned against the wall, her pulse at an alarming rate, and her breathing labored. Then she felt it again. She closed her eyes, preparing for the worst, then looked at the thing that had been haunting her.
A tiny
Black
Cat.
 

Bluebird? You still here?