The talking snake


#FlashFictionFeb Day 23

Build a flash around a random word. (Semiotic) 570 words

This was it. This was Monty’s ticket out and he’d be damned before he lost it. He’d been watching the hole for three hours
to make sure he was seeing what he thought he saw. Granted, his vision wasn’t what it used to be. Age was a bitch, especially with a physical job like cleaning showers at a truck stop. His knees were shot but his ears worked just fine.

Monty still couldn’t believe the phrase ‘cleaning showers at a truck stop’ pertained to him at all. He was cock-of-the-walk, king of the road, Mo Better Trucker with the slickest rig around until…the accident. Bitter thoughts of someone who called themselves a “semiotics” expert crushing his weak defense of unreadable signage in a construction zone flooded his memories. Lawyers would do anything to fuck with a small businessman. Well, he’d show em.’

He’d show em’ good when the talking snake came back.

A loud knock at the door broke his concentration. “Boldwiener? Are you still in shower five? What the hell happened in there? We’ve got people lined up!” Brian, the shower manager, continued to knock while he fumbled for his master key.

Monty cracked the door, “Man, it’s bad in here. Someone had diarrhea all over the shower,” he said.

“Those fucking people,” Brian spit, “did you see who it was so I can ban them?”

“I’m pretty sure it was a brown guy,”said Monty, knowing full well it wasn’t. No one had been in the shower at all, besides Monty. Taking a private shit in the shower toilet was the only perk the job had. “I’ll be finished soon. Put the ‘out of order’ sign out for me.” He closed and locked the door. Monty didn’t plan on opening it again until he was good and ready. He sat with his back against the cold aluminum and stared at the uncovered drain hole.

He didn’t have to wait long. The drain gurgled ominously as grayish-green sludge bubbled up and out of it like molten snot. Monty watched, fascinated, as the blob slowly took on a huge snake-form. It was bigger than before. It was much scarier than before, too. The snake had human eyes, giving it a startling anthropomorphic quality that was distinctly unsettling and something Monty Boldwiener hadn’t noticed when he saw it the first time.

“Hello, Monteeee,” the giant snake whispered, “I knew you would wait for meeee.” The serpent’s forked tongue darted lightly against Monte’s foot. “Do you know why I’m bigger and stronger now?” It asked.

Ever the smart-ass, Monty answered, “I don’t know, GMO’s?” He giggled nervously. The snake did not look amused. Its human eyes flashed as they locked on to Monty’s own very wide, very scared eyes.

“No Monty,” the snake hissed, “I am bigger because your hatred for people who don’t look like you is stronger than ever. Your inability to see that all are equal, Monty, even the brown people, makes me huge and powerful enough to show you that almost every living thing is pink on the inside. Even talking snakes.”

Before Monty realized what was happening, the snake devoured everything about him except for one orthopedic shoe and a Confederate flag belt buckle. The talking snake retreated down the drain and waited for the next hater to notice it.

Monty Boldwiener was never heard from again.
##

Published by

@MrsAhpahkah

As a former transportation industry writer, I learned that a regular paycheck is nice, but writing about something you're no longer interested in is miserable. Apparently, I like writing more than money - so I'm back to freelancing at 52. It's not as altruistic as it sounds, I'm also cranky and difficult and refuse to fit in anymore, making steady employment pesky and potentially dangerous to my psyche.

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