Flash Fiction VII

Flash Fiction September

This is the last of the flash fiction from September and it's mine.

The Snake by Karen Bellamy

The old man stared at the snake in the fish tank.  Its tail rattled ominously.  We're both getting old he thought pulling the dead mouse from the battered fridge on which the snake resided.  Maybe it was time to go.  He slipped the mouse into the tank and turned away.  He never could bear to watch the snake eat.

Shuffling over to the smaller tanks he lifted one of the lids and Oscar slid up his arm.  The pearlised scales shone despite the solitary bulb which hung in the middle of the room.
'There's my boy.'  He sat down in the battered leather armchair and allowed the snake to slide across his shoulders and settle in a curled up pile at the back of his neck. The old man hit the TV remote and noise exploded into the room.  He shifted in his seat and lifted his arthritic fingers to stroke the snake's head while he stared blankly at the screen and wondered - how long?  His eyes began to close and he drifted, his tired brain jerking and spluttering like a worn out car until he reached that place that always brought him peace - the vast plains of white sand where he'd grown up.

The old man woke to the sound of the snake's menacing rattle.  He felt it inch its way over his worn out shoes, he smiled - it was over.