Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/portfolio/item_id/1535554-Diamondback
Dead summer’s bright Arizona sunset sparkled through an open garage door. Removing the filter, I sensed something, squirming.
There it was. Reptilian tongue flickering, testing the atmosphere.
Don't breathe. Stop shaking.
Six-foot-long rattler slithered toward my feet, which protruded from little wife’s Jeep underbelly.
Only possible weapon near-by -- oil-changing wrench.
Nasty looking reptile glided forward. Unconcerned, unafraid. Searching.
Gulping more air. Oh God… up on one boot. Slowly, inching toward trembling chest.
Squeezing the wrench and swinging. Screams … then, darkness.
Three broken ribs seemed a small price to pay for pest control.