The morning began in quiet routine — soft light, half-formed thoughts, the slow shuffle toward the bathroom. Everything felt ordinary until the moment the lid lifted.
For a heartbeat, confusion reigned — that strange pause when the brain refuses to believe what the eyes are seeing. There, resting in the bowl, was a dark shape. Still, yet unmistakably alive.
A ripple disturbed the water, then another. The movement was deliberate, graceful even. As the light caught the surface, a shimmer revealed itself — black scales, sleek and glinting. Realization hit like a shock: a snake.
The familiar turned foreign. The safe space of morning became a place of instinct and adrenaline. Frozen between horror and wonder, the narrator stepped back, heart hammering. The snake didn’t strike or stir — it simply existed, calm and composed, coiled within porcelain confines. In that stillness, the water reflected both creature and human — two worlds meeting for an instant, the line between them rippling softly in the morning light.
