"Ello loves, well, in English class we had to come up with a myth of how something happened and I chose this. I hope you like it, comments are welcome.
How the Polar Bear turned white.
In the place called the wondrous woods, a black bear was roaming around, quite belligerent, as most bears usually are. He had been in a fight with the grizzly bear on the other side of the Wondrous woods, and many of the curious animals had come and stuck their snouts into the fight, the chipmunks and squirrels had even take bets for acorns! The grizzly bear had won paws down (much to the chipmunks delight) and had sent the black bear into misery. The grizzly’s razor sharp claws, glinting like stainless steel in the sunlight, had torn a nasty gash in the black bear’s right shoulder, halfway down his leg. The possums had mocked the poor black bear relentlessly, so he had started trudging home, blood oozing from the wound, drying on his matted fur. He prodded along at a slow pace, limping slightly from his injury.
“I wish I had won that stupid fight.” He grumbled to himself, “In fact, I wish I had never taken place in it at all.” He stated. All of a sudden, he came to a mighty river. He stopped right in front of it and watched as the water rushed by him.
“It looks like the current is awfully strong.” He mumbled. The wounded bear had just decided to turn back when the edge of the riverbank crumbled from beneath his giant paws and sent him toppling into the icy cold river. The river tugged him and pushed him along with so much ferocity that even his strong legs could not carry him back up to the surface. He fought with all he had in him, digging his paws into the river bottom, the rocks scraping against the sensitive underside of his claws. He came to a slower spot in the river and broke the surface, dragging himself out of the seemingly angry waters and collapsing onto the rocky dirt. He stared at the few blades of grass next to his snout before closing his eyes and falling asleep.
When the bear awoke again, day was fading. The sky was turning a deep purple, staining into the lighter pink area, the very top sprinkled with stars like diamonds on a lady’s skirt. He hauled himself up and looked around, trying to recompose himself. He looked down at the river, the water rushing by so fast that it seemed almost white. He was about to carry on back home when he noticed that the pulsing throbbing pain in his shoulder was completely gone. He looked down to the spot where the wound had been and gasped. He was white. As white as the purest snow. He spun around in a confused circle before reaching up to scratch his immensely large head with a single claw. White. Black to white, to be exact. He did not know exactly what to make of the whole situation, so he rushed back over to the river. White. There was only one possible solution; the white water river had turned him completely white as well. He let out a chuckle and then a beastly roar of laughter, only one thought filled his mind:
It was a good color on him.
