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A snake slowly wound its way around Benjamin’s home. A very large snake. The tip of its forearm-sized tongue flitted in and out, just shy of being able to reach the tip of its own tail, which crawled along at the same pace only feet ahead of its nose. The snake chuffed deep, guttural hisses. As its face approached the rear corner of the structure, it stopped to flick its tongue at the old stones of the foundation walls. Rearing up a foot or two, and cocking its head to the side, the snake opened its mouth, extended it’s jaw, and lowered its two colossal fangs. Gently, it scraped them against the sandy stones, as if to sharpen them. Repeatedly, the snake ground its fangs into a finer and finer point, until at last it paused, with its fangs still pressed to the wall. Slowly, it pulled its head backwards, dragging and grinding the tips of its teeth along the face of the stones, effectively blunting the tips that it had only just taken the effort to hone. But then one of the fangs caught traction in the mortar gap between two of the stones. Then the other fang did the same. The snake wriggled its head and neck back and forth, rocking its sabers deeper and deeper into the gap, knocking out the mortar which had firmly held in place for nearly a century now.
The snake had found a weak spot in the wall – a space in which two of the irregularly-sized blocks fit together poorly, and the mortar hadn’t quite been infilled sufficiently, though one might have never been able to tell, through outward appearance. The blocks crunched loose from one another. With sudden vigor, the snake clenched its jaws down, prying apart the neighboring mortar joints, and then twisted its body in a death roll, as a crocodile might do so, when attempting to dislodge a hunk of meat from its prey.
Ben awoke to the sound of crumbling stones. His motionless eyes studied the ceiling above him as he reconnected with reality. There was no snake, his home was secure.
He could hear a bird chirping outside. It was nearly full daylight now, though Ben did not wish to turn his eyes from the ceiling in order to look at the clock. This was a peaceful moment, defined by a sense of re-established security (following a rather real and vivid dream) and quiet emptiness. Such moments are sparse, and he did not wish to disrupt this one just yet.
He lay staring at the same spot on the ceiling for what felt like twenty minutes – though it was likely only five – soaking in the muffled sound of birdsong, and that of the occasionally passing vehicles, until at last he felt his mind begin its return to normal function. He stirred and stretched his body, with a satisfying pop in his lower back, as a guttural growl broke the silence from the corner of the room. Without looking her way, Benjamin mumbled, “Morning,” to Mara, who sat perched on top of a plush reading chair, shielded within her deep mass of black, knotted hair. Ben got a whiff of his own breath as he spoke the word, and thought to himself how awful it might have been to be on the receiving end of such an early-morning affront. A high-pitched wub-wubbing sound trickled in through the open bedroom door, from down the hallway in the bathroom. So did the sounds of several immense, fumbling tentacles, which were obviously rifling through the medicine cabinet.
In one, heaving motion, Benjamin thrust himself upright, so that he was seated on the edge of the bed. He wearily peered over towards Mara, who met his gaze for a moment, but then yielded and begrudgingly turned her eyes away with a subtle sigh. Ben followed her gaze to the alarm clock on the night stand. 9:53 am. It had been quite a while since he had slept in quite so late. Typically, he had a good reason not to.
