The constricting snake had had many victims as of late. In particular he liked to wrap around hapless pieces of fruit. His favourite, of course, was the tomato (yes, that’s a fruit!), wrapping tighter and tighter until: EXPLODE! Its shape capput!
The seeds and mess would be splattered on the roof, wall, floor, sofa, kitchen chairs, and how satisfying it was to Snake that he, giggled and twisted and further contorted because he knew it was everywhere. But he never ate his fruit victims, they were simply game for his amusing, he wanted to find more, for this game was worth further pursuing.
One day Snake came upon a red apple, how gloriously shiny did it appear, that Snake immediately set upon it with a wry grin and wicked curl tactic, constrict, CONSTRICT, but it would not become broken in a manner that he felt would be so fantastic.
Growing irritated and growly, Snake set his fangs upon it, biting and biting, deeply and rapidly until nothing but holes were left to view. This poor red apple was like a pitted golf ball or the moon with its craters, of his interest Snake would give up incredibly soon. For there was nothing left to alter, nothing to change or attack or squash, that he unravelled quickly without any faltering and slid into the dust and the brush. And another poor waste of fruit had wasted had he, that it was lucky the little animals discovered the remnants for their morning tea.
Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose 
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