Snake bite

IMPORTANT: this is probably a story for middle schoolers. If you aren’t interested in books made for younger people, this is most likely not the book for you. However, this is not a story to read to your 2 year old. Also, I accept and encourage constructive criticism, the key word in that sentence being constructive. If you want to trash talk a story, do it elsewhere or not at all.

Thank you and enjoy

It wasn’t a particularly nice day, with angry clouds rolling in from the east, but I don’t mind. One of the few times I can actually think is when I’m in the rain. Today, however, I’m not just out here for pleasure. I’m also using the rain as an excuse to get out of the house and away from people. Especially my mom. In case it isn’t obvious, we had just got into ANOTHER argument about how I spend my time.

Beacause we don’t have a pool, and there was no way I would be allowed to go to the town pool, the rain is the closest I can get to being in water right now. Not that I’m complaining. Sometimes all I want is to be pelted with rain while the wind tries to lift me off my feet.

Most days when I’m in the rain, I’ll walk around or try to train the squirrels, but today I just want to stand in the rain and exist. Existing is the easiest thing. Socializing, however, is not. Because if this, I don’t have any friends, but I don’t mind. Talking is great and all, but I prefer to talk to different parts of my brain rather than people.

Today I only spend a few minutes outside, but it’s enough to clear the swirling storm of thoughts in my head.

I carefully walk towards the back door and open it when the smell of spicy chicken smacks me in the face. Great I think to myself, Mom’s really pissed off at me if she is making spicy chicken. I quietly tiptoe to my room, carefull to avoid the creaky stairs, and shut the door.

Now, most people decorate their room with things they like and things they are interested in. I also decorate my room with things I like, but my room still isn’t like most people’s.

The walls are painted a deep blue with purple highlights and yellow fish. Instead of a bed, there is a hammock in the corner, decorated with blue and purple blankets. A small desk sits in a different corner, right underneath a huge poster of a hurricane. The last two corners only have a few beanbags, a small wardrobe, and lava lamp, leaving the floor in the middle of the room open.

Most people say that a room reflects who a person is, but I can only partailly agree with that. While my room reflects my personality, by looks are not that eccentric.

I have chocolate brown hair that looks to have gold strands in it when I’m in the sun. My eyes are also brown with gold flecks, and I’m pretty much the average height for a girl my age. I’m not too pretty, but I’m not ugly, which mostly means I’m invisible, for better or for worse. And I’m certainly not a prim and proper as many popular girls.

I flop onto my hammock and listen to the sound of rain pelting the roof above me. However, I only get a few moments of peace before my Dad is knocking on my door, telling me to come down for dinner. Begrudgingly, I stomp downstairs and find my dad setting table and my mom still in the kitchen. I flop into my chair and immediately start to space out.

If there was a documentary based on the most normal and boring families in Connecticut, my parents would be the first people they cast. My mom’s the average height for a woman, and my dad’s the average height for men. Both of them have brown hair and brown eyes, thoguh my mom’s is speckled with gold. Neither of them are drop dead gorgeous, but they aren’t ugly either. And both of them love making small talk, something I clearly didn’t inherit.

“How was school today, Cas?” Ugh. There goes Dad trying to make me have human interaction. I’ve had enough of that today.

“ It was fine” I reply.

“ Any tests?”

“Nope, just a normal school day”

“Did you talk to anyone other than your teachers?”

I stay silent for a second before whispering, “No.”

He sighs and closes his eyes. “Caspia” he starts, but I cut him off.

“I don’t need friends, okay? I’m perfectly fine without them and frankly? I don’t want them. I would rather be alone then with other people. That is just the way I am. I can’t change.” He stays silent and only says thank you once Mom brings over the food. We eat in a cold silence.

Once I’m done with dinner, I put my plate in the sink and head up to my room. This is how most of our dinners end. In a deafening silence.

Once in my room, I sit on one of the beanbags and ask my Alexa to play my likes. Naturally, she starts playing random music that i have never heard, so I turn her off and listen to the rain.

I don’t understand why they can’t just except me the way I am. I’m not that different. I just don’t like people. I don’t get why they want me to be different. I just want to be me. Is that really too much to ask? I ask myself for the thousandth time this month

And its not like they will let me go to the pool either, so all I have thats interesting is the woods. I may as well go for a walk tomorrow, since there is nothing else for me to do. I start subconciously making plans for where to go and what paths to take. Before I know it, it’s 10 o’clock and my Dad is knocking on my door reminding me tomorrow is a school day. I get ready for bed and drift off to the slightly pleasant thought of walking through the woods tomorrow.

The sound of my sharp alarm bell is enough to make me fall out of my hammock. Another day another headache, I silently complain as I turn off my alarm and start getting ready for school.

After eating a quick breakfast, oatmeal and sausage, and saying good bye to my parents, I run to the bus stop to catch my bus.

The day is normal, with me sitting in the back for the entire day, and everybody else ignoring me.

Throughout all of my classes I can’t wait to get back home so I can go on my walk. I don’t normaly have something to look forward to other than the pool, so its strange when I finally get off the bus in the afternoon and feel . . . excitement. Its very unusual to me, which I suppose just shows off my weirdness even more. Most days I feel monotone or miserable, but rarely excited.

As I walk through the front door, I notice my dad’s shoes in the corner, but don’t think much of it. He’s probably in the kitchen or the office or something. Not that it matters.

I head straight for my room and plop my bag on the floor. I quickly search through my wardrobe for a mucky shirt, shorts, and a small bag to carry my water bottle and supplies.

I quickly change and I am halfway through the door when I remeber my phone. I grab it from my backpack, slip it inot my pocket, and head downstairs.

“Hey Cas! How was school?” I see Dad washing dishes and studying me out of the corner of my eye as I pull on my shoes.

“ It was good. I’m just going for a walk in the woods. I should be back in a hour.” I say, not turning to look at him, and head out the back door.

I barely hear him reply with a simple, “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything!”

My yard in big with two oak trees in the middle an armslength apart. The grass is short and mostly green apart from a few yellow patches. Beyond the yard is a really dense forest full with trees, leaves, and shrubbery. However, on the side there is a wide trail leading into the forest, with berry plants on the sides and the ocasional mossy rock.

Beacuse of our location, the trail makes for a beautiful walk and has many different paths looping around and weaving through the woods.

I’m halfway down the steps of the porch when I stop in my tracks.

About 4 feet in front of me is a snake. It’s mostly blue with streaks of purple and yellow in its pattern, just like the paint on my walls. It’s eyes are pure black, like a moonless night. It’s staring at me like it’s waiting for me to move. I don’t.

When I was little, about 5 or 6, my Mom gave me unofficial advice for what to do if I ever saw a snake, as our town is full of them.

“Don’t panic,” she had said. “Slowly back away from it if it isn’t moving away and don’t turn your back. Remember, it’s more afraid of you than you are of it.” Her words echo in my mind.

I take a cautious step backwards. The snake doesn’t move. I take another. The snake just watches me. I slowly back up onto the deck and start walking towards the side steps. The snake still hasn’t moved. I walk down the side steps and walk around the snakes area, giving it a good 8 feet, and finally make it to the trail. The snake is just staring at the stairs. For a moment I wonder if it’s dead, but then I see a purple tongue flick out of it’s mouth. Definetly not dead.

I turn my back towards the snake and start on the trail, trying to listen for any slithering, but I am quickly distracted by the trees.

It’s only late August, but some of the leaves have already started to change from green to golden orange and firery red. There is also a good amount of leaves on the ground.

As I start my walk, I keep turning my head this way and that, trying to get a good look at all of the nature and animals without slowing down.

In the stream the trail follows, there are tiny frogs and minnows swimming in the water. Underneath rocks there are brghtly colored salamanders and beetles. Flying throug the air are bees, dragonflies, and birds. Theres a gentle wind blowing through the trees, taking the smell of fresh soil with it.

The path is well walked on and used frequently, but all of the animals quickly hide when they hear me coming. I suppose they aren’t used to seeing me as much as they are used to seeing my parents and neighbors.

I walk peacfully until I come to a fork in the road. I know the way I planned is to the left, but I hear some rustling on the path to the right. Curiosity wins as I quietly walk towards the right, careful not to alert anything of my presence. As I get closer, I realize that the rustling isn’t from an animal, but my neighbor Tom.

Tom is a middle aged man who lives right next door by himself. He is bald with a thick gray beard. Because he is in the woods a lot, cutting down trees, he has strong arms and a burly frame.

Today he is dragging a good sized tree trunk when he sees me.

“‘Ello Caspia. Nice day for a walk.” He says while continuing to drag the tree trunk.

I reply with a simple, “Hi Tom. Yeah, I was going to go to the left when I heard something in the bushes. I guess that was you. I’ll be on my way now,” and start back where I came from.

Suddenly Tom is a lot more interested in me. He drops the tree trunk and responds, “The left trail? Oh no, you shouldn’t go there. I was just on that trail when I heard gunshots. It appears some people are hunting near the trail. If you were to go there, you might get hit.”

I freeze. Hunting? Why did there have to be hunting on the one day I want to go for a walk in the woods. I cant even go the other way because all of the trails lead to the same thing: hunting. And who the heck hunts in august? I turn back towards Tom and thank him, even though I just want to groan and go anyways.

Begrudgingly, I start back towards my house at a snails pace. At least I got to walk a little bit. I think to myself, trying to be optimistic. And there is always tomorrow or the next day or the next day or the next day . . .

I am so focused on wallowing in self pity that I don’t realize I’m already on my lawn. I don’t realize that I’m walking towards the snake. I don’t realize the snake is slithering towards me.

Finally I look up. The snake is about 6 feet away and still coming. I stop. The snake keeps coming. I take a step back. The snake keeps coming. I take another step back. At this point the snake is about 1 1/2 feet away from me. It stops. I let out a sigh of relief. Then I notice it’s body tensing up. I try to move out of the way but I am too late.

The snake lunges and it’s jaws clamp down on my leg. Suddenly, I can’t see. I can’t hear. All I feel is fiery venom coursing through my veins. It’s like my insides are melting. I try to curl up into a ball but I can’t feel my body. All I feel is pain.

The pain seems to go on forever. I don’t know what’s happening, but I just want the pain to stop. Then, the pain starts fading. I start to see a light up above. The closer the light gets the more the pain fades. I’m almost to the light when what feels like a hurricane slams into me. The light starts fading as I fall farther and farther. The hurricane is cool and melts away the remainder of the pain. My vision starts getting darker. Everything goes numb as I fall into an inky darkness and sleep closes in on me . . .