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Weekly Contest #241
The cold sweat on her palm threatened her grip on the knife. Still, she crept forward. The boy sat unawares, crouched on his knees, his hands and face pressed against the terrarium glass. The snake inside slithered toward the fresh mouse. He’d always been fascinated by snakes. It was his father who’d finally relented and bought him one as a pet. The boy never forgot to feed it, or check its water. She would often find him with hands splayed against the glass, hoping to catch the rare uncoiling. Fresh food was always the most effective method...
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