“An Unexpected Visitor”
A short story I wrote as an idea for a college essay. It's not based on a true story. .o.
“Nicole.”
“Huh?” I lifted my eyes from the heavy book I was perusing. A small, tense voice, softer than before, replied, “Come. Over. Here. “
Concerned, my body rolled off the couch and I padded over to the kitchen.
I froze.
The warm light from the backyard porch door rested onto two-and-a-half feet of scales belonging to a lazy pale green snake. Its head hovered an inch above the tile floor, its tongue scanning the dust below it. On the opposite side of the small kitchen, against the tan cabinets, stood my younger friend Sarah, still as a rod, eying the intruder. I didn’t move, but whispered for fear of getting the snake’s attention, “Do you know how he got in here?” Her eyes shifted onto me. Equally quiet, she replied, “Through there.” Her hand rose and stopped, her pointer finger facing the porch door, slightly ajar. Oh, I remembered, we left that open to let the dog out earlier.
I motioned for Sarah to stay perfectly still, and she willingly obliged. I needed something with a long reach, something that could safely push the creature out of the house. My mind wandered to the broom behind me.
Yes! The broom!
As carefully and slowly as I could possibly manage, I reached behind me until my fingers brushed against the smooth plastic of the broom’s handle. Firmly grasping it, I pulled the bristles in front of me. The gaze of my friend followed the extended broom to my arm, to the serious expression I wore as I trained my eyes on the calm serpent. Her eyes widened in shock, watching my bare feet shuffle across the cold tile. Closer. Closer now. My sight bounced from the snake to the door and back, planning its trajectory.
My muscles tightened.
My throat turned dry.
With one fell swoop, I took a deep breath and lunged my arm out and sideways. The bristles caught most of the snake, gently shoving it across the floor and out a few feet onto the porch. The broom fell from my hand to the floor and clattered; Sarah leaped, slamming the glass door shut.
We both pressed our noses to the sun-warmed glass to watch the confused and startled serpent slither into the uneven blades of grass of my backyard. Our sighs of relief rolled into laughter, leaving pale clouds on the glass.
“Nicole.”
“Huh?” I lifted my eyes from the heavy book I was perusing. A small, tense voice, softer than before, replied, “Come. Over. Here. “
Concerned, my body rolled off the couch and I padded over to the kitchen.
I froze.
The warm light from the backyard porch door rested onto two-and-a-half feet of scales belonging to a lazy pale green snake. Its head hovered an inch above the tile floor, its tongue scanning the dust below it. On the opposite side of the small kitchen, against the tan cabinets, stood my younger friend Sarah, still as a rod, eying the intruder. I didn’t move, but whispered for fear of getting the snake’s attention, “Do you know how he got in here?” Her eyes shifted onto me. Equally quiet, she replied, “Through there.” Her hand rose and stopped, her pointer finger facing the porch door, slightly ajar. Oh, I remembered, we left that open to let the dog out earlier.
I motioned for Sarah to stay perfectly still, and she willingly obliged. I needed something with a long reach, something that could safely push the creature out of the house. My mind wandered to the broom behind me.
Yes! The broom!
As carefully and slowly as I could possibly manage, I reached behind me until my fingers brushed against the smooth plastic of the broom’s handle. Firmly grasping it, I pulled the bristles in front of me. The gaze of my friend followed the extended broom to my arm, to the serious expression I wore as I trained my eyes on the calm serpent. Her eyes widened in shock, watching my bare feet shuffle across the cold tile. Closer. Closer now. My sight bounced from the snake to the door and back, planning its trajectory.
My muscles tightened.
My throat turned dry.
With one fell swoop, I took a deep breath and lunged my arm out and sideways. The bristles caught most of the snake, gently shoving it across the floor and out a few feet onto the porch. The broom fell from my hand to the floor and clattered; Sarah leaped, slamming the glass door shut.
We both pressed our noses to the sun-warmed glass to watch the confused and startled serpent slither into the uneven blades of grass of my backyard. Our sighs of relief rolled into laughter, leaving pale clouds on the glass.