I was extremely excited and confused; I know that the fear of snakes is an innate thing, and that the prey always knows its predator, even at an early age. But in that moment, I wasn’t sure. All I could do was take deep breaths and hold on, as tight as I possibly could.
Shylock heard all the commotion and barged into the bathroom just as I felt the beast gripping hold my flesh and hypodermically injecting its venom into me. This made me let go of the creature quite suddenly and it recoiled back into an even darker, and wetter position behind the toilet.
It was then I realized I was kneeling on the slippery floor, hands pressed into my crotch, doubled over from this intensely powerful and slightly painful sensation flashing through my body.
Portia was a small woman, but she always seemed big to be then. She towered of me, arms folded, an expression that can only be described as hateful, etched upon her face. Her attention flickered back and forth between the garden hose and me. Water was still pouring out of its mouth but at a languishing pace, its coils restricting the velocity of the flow.
