Consequences

Consequences

A pounding from within beats like a

drum made of snakeskin. Every movement is

shaking with the chilling rattle. Warning

me, I hear a hiss. “Bad choice,” it seems to

say. My feeble cage vibrates against its

will, shivering from the drum’s relentless

metronome. Every hollow thud seems to

send flashes of neon scales up into

my pulsating brain—too swollen, and now

covered by the cape a snake once wore. Thump,

Thud, thump, thud. The poison slithers through

my veins. It’s weakening my copper cage,

bending and molding it into its own

toxic image. “You did this to yourself,”

I hear it hiss. I drink the words in. They

burn as they slide down. “You did this to you.”

 

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