Snakes - Writing Challenge Piece

photo by terry ross


Most people don't think it matters how you die, once you're dead. There are some ways that are eternal, though. I died looking for a gun in the desert. I buried it a month ago. He came home with it, reeling and tripping all over the place in the dirt. When he passed out in a puddle of his own urine, turning the dust to mud, I took it.

There were snakes asleep on the rocks, the night I died. I startled them, pushing through the brittle brush and flipping things over. He would have killed me. He may have even been planning to bite me, too.

I could have followed the light back to the trailer. I thought for a moment that I might skirt his attention by sticking to the dark and leaving my shoes. I could call for a ride into town, for somebody who might suck out the poison.

I laid down and felt my calf getting hot, instead. I felt the muscle clench and my teeth chattered. The first thing the coyotes ate were my fingers. They came at me gently, curiously, taking little nips of flesh with the tips of their teeth.

My eyes were closed, but I saw everything under the moon. Morning wouldn't come, not for me. There were snakes guarding my weapon. There were snakes keeping watch over everything. They traveled the length of me, slid their tongues between my clenched teeth and over the drying membrane of my eyes. I was one of them now and grateful. I would be forever.


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This post is an entry at Trifecta Writing Challenge. The deal is that you have to write a piece using the third definition of a given word in 33 -333 words. It's fun. You should give it a try, too and link up here. This week's word was skirt.

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For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, Lilu challenged me with "The day I lost my finger," and I challenged Tara with "The third one was just right".

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