The Farmer and the Snake (11.2)

On a frozen November morning the Farmer was tromping down the dirt path to his house when he came upon a frozen snake coiled in the snow. The Farmer stooped down and lifted the limp, pale body into his arms and carried it back to his cottage. He laid it gently before the fireplace on a bed of old dish towels and waited. Soon the crackling warmth from the hearth warmed the Snake and he awoke. The Snake had never been in a cottage before. He had been born in the woods and had always thought he would die there, twisted in the dirt. The Farmer brought the Snake one of the mice he had found caught in the traps in his attic that morning. The Snake quickly swallowed it but was still hungry. He had not eaten in three weeks. It seemed he was always hungry. “Do you have more?” he asked. The gentle Farmer smiled and nodded slowly before laying two more mice down in front of him.  The Snake swallowed them both and curled up in his pallet of towels. The Farmer left him before the fire and went to bed. The Snake felt like he was brimming with something he did not understand and fell asleep. The next morning the Farmer bent down to pet his new friend. The Snake, still half-asleep, was plunged into panic and bit the Farmer on his hand, killing him. The Snake had never felt so empty. He slithered out the door and stole away down the twisting path, going nowhere.