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When I was little, my father came home from work and asked my brother and I if we wanted to see something interesting. Before we could respond, he tossed a rattlesnake on the dining room table. We screamed. It thrashed and rattled all over our graham cracker snacks. It didn’t have a head. We watched for what seemed like hours. He found it on the road, killed it, and brought it home as an educational device. What it taught me was that snakes don’t die. It also solidified a preexisting fear. It was my first and only experience with the undead - it still rattles me. Dad got in trouble for terrifying us. Always the jokester, he chuckled as he carried the still-squirming carcass outside.

People are either snake people or spider people. The fear of too many legs or the fear of their absence. Too much or too little. Too unnatural.


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© 2011 Lenae Day

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