Mama always had lots of advice for me: “Don’t get dreams above your class, girl or the Serpiente will grab you.” “You’’re not important, Serpiente can squeeze you to nothing!” “You can’t trust a Serpiente, remember that.”
The enormous snakes that haunted me in my childhood nightmares ruled the sewer pipes of Mexico City. Now though my dirty, boring, government job has me cleaning those sewers daily.
Imagine my utter shock one afternoon when one spoke to me from below a grating.
“Pardon me, that burrito smells divine. Might I have a bite of it?”
I was full anyway, and consider myself kind, so offered food to what I thought was a worse off human. Instead though a glistening hose-shaped figure, as thick as an auto tire, and very speedy, pushed the grating aside with his powerful head. Rippling iridescent colors slid out, took the food and disappeared back under the street.
“Hey!” I shouted in cheated shock.
“Wasn’t I supposed to eat that?” came a confused voice.
“I didn’t realize you were a snake.” I huffed in irritation.
Thus started our relationship. He was a thoughtful, learned creature and we ate and talked every day. I complained of my lousy pay and he brought me a gift of an expensive watch, the next week a suitcase of designer label clothes. Although dangerous for them Serpientes loved sneaking around stealing.
For two years we worked together. My Serpiente and his friends would bring me luxurious goods. I’d sell them downtown making good money. I lived two lives. One was refined and rich seeming, where people wanted my attention and I got the respect and admiration I truly deserved. In my other existence I was nobody. Ignored, cleaning sewers, with snakes for friends.
My dreams of becoming more famous to my friends would require that they envy me completely I decided and I explained my need to Serpiente while admiring the new sapphire bracelet he’d brought me.
When he reached for today’s burrito I took my new sharp hatchet and struck him. I cut his body cleanly in half and his eyes showed great surprise before they dimmed and went cold.
I took his skin to the shoemaker’s and had him made into high heels and a handbag. They were opalescent, utterly beautiful and a little painful to wear as they squeezed my feet. But everyone celebrated me. No one else had such items. I was very special. That night I didn’t want to remove my shoes. I just went to sleep.
I woke next with a Dr at my hospital bedside.
“I am sorry they had to be cut off,” he said
I shook my head and a tear escaped. “My beautiful shoes!”
“No! Your feet! The shoes stopped your circulation completely.”
From the street corner I shout to everyone not to trust the lying Serpientes from my wheelchair. Often though I hear laughter. “Poor woman! She believes in betrayals made-up for children’s nightmares.”
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Blog Hop Stories for July 2022
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