Dream Weaver

I was in a petshop, and was told as part of my "mission" I must chose a snake and let it bite me. Not some little snake, no, it must be a large enough snake to leave nice little puncture wounds on my arm.

"Why do I have to do this?" I ask

"Because it's what has to be done!" the man says. "That one right there, he looks like a good one!"

"Well what about that one?" I ask, pointing to the little, green, 1/2 inch round one in the aquarium. Looked like a Gardner snake.

"No", he says. "It has to be able to do this. He grabs this big, white, at least 2 inch round snake, and pushes back on its mouth. Orange looking goop comes flying out of its teeth.

"Please don't make me do it!"

"Oh come on." He says

I finally grabbed the snake and watched in slow motion as it whipped it's head around, and sunk it's nasty fangs into my arm.

I screamed.

I cried.

I yelled for people to help me.

No one did.

I sunk down to the ground, all the while having this snake latched onto my arm.

In an effort to get this thing off of me, I stomped down on its body with my foot.

I was pissed.

I stomped and stomped until it released my arm.

It fell to the ground, flicking it's tongue and swishing its tail about.

I grabbed the knife from my pocket.

And chopped the bastards head off.

Then I neatly placed the head into the aquarium.

"There, I did it."

"Uhhh, you are going to have to pay for that snake mam!" the man says.

I looked up and heard..

"Mama,can I watch cartoons?"

I hate dreams.

I hate snakes.

They are not only invading my house, but now they must invade my mind.