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Snake Eyes

Rex Riley was an Irish king snake who lived in the woods in Southern Indiana in the United States of America. His ancestors had come over from the Old Country when St. Patrick drove the snakes out of Ireland and had been there to welcome the human immigrants centuries later.

At any rate, there he was, lurking about in the woods, eating vermin and poisonous snakes like the good creature he was, minding his own business and bothering nobody.

Then, one day, a couple of people had walked into his woods, pointing here and pointing there and wrapping their arms around each other as if they were made of anacondas.

Next thing Rex knew, there were machines and things tearing up the patch with enough stink and noise to satisfy the devil himself. Trees were cut down and their roots dug out. Dirt was scooped and dumped down the hill.

“Will ye be gone, the lot of ye?” Rex shouted, although it was nothing but a hiss. “You’re eejits, so ye are!” He crossed his eyes to demonstrate how desperately idiotic the people and machines were and, just as his mam had warned him, they stuck that way.

After that, he left the busy spot alone, as he had to concentrate all his attention to hunting with his eyes crossed, an exercise that he wouldn’t have wished on his worst enemy, assuming he ever had one.

By and by, the machines left and the people went inside to shake the ground, hammering and sawing and whatnot. An old dog who lived nearby told Rex that they were doing interior finishing, and that people would move in to live before long.

Winter came, and Rex snuggled down into a burrow and only came out to grab a bite when the hunger struck him. When the weather warmed, he went back for a look at the thing made of dead trees which the dog had called a house, and saw that a machine was pulled up to it and people were carrying boxes in.

When the machine drove away, Rex decided to have as good a look as his crossed eyes could get. He crawled onto the porch (now I’m using the human words for things Rex didn’t know) and through the open door into the vestibule, which is a little room between the front door and the inner door. The vestibule was full of boxes. Rex moved around among and betwixt them, sticking his tongue out into the air for a bit of a taste, and wondering if there were anything good to eat inside.

The inner door opened and a person — I’ll tell you now, it was the woman of the house — came into the little room of boxes.

She saw Rex and sucked in so much air Rex’s ears would have popped if he’d had any.

She yelled — not screamed, but yelled, like a mighty call to battle — “SNAKE!!!!”

Rex couldn’t hear, but the vibration of the cry bounced him off the floor and knocked his eyes back straight. He would have given five years of shed skin if he could have grown legs to run, but he clearly demonstrated what humans mean when they say get a wiggle on, and he was off and into the woods before the woman drew another breath.

Now he lives at the edge of the woods and preys on vermin who think “pantry” means “free meal”. The people don’t know how they can live in the country yet not have trouble with mice.

Rex knows, but he’ll never get near enough to tell.

MY PROMPT FOR TODAY: Toss of the dice, snake eyes, true story