A disappointing story about a boy and a python. Flash Fiction.
|Todd’s biggest problem was keeping the tank shut. He’d thought he had anticipated everything when he adopted Bob, but he was totally unprepared for the python’s physical prowess against the habitat lid. Todd had tried weights, rope, even duct tape, all to no avail. Every few days Bob would manage to slither out, and Todd would tear the house apart to find him.
Todd’s constant struggles with Bob were well-known, so it was no surprise that, when neighborhood cats failed to come home, certain things were muttered about the boy, or shouted straight to his face. Some demanded that he get rid of the snake, others threatened to kill Bob themselves. Todd knew Bob had never gotten outside, but his protests were ignored.
Todd was walking home from school when a rock whizzed past his head. He whirled around to see old Mrs. Crenshaw, her apron full of stones, carefully aiming another shot as though she were throwing darts. “This is for Whiskers, you bastard!” she shouted. She fired.
Todd dodged the missile. “Why are you doing this?” he cried.
“My Whiskers hasn't been home in three weeks!” She threw another stone. “Your demon snake ate him!”
Todd fled, leaving Crenshaw to curse as she hobbled after him. When he got home he saw that his mailbox had been set on fire.
He went to his room. “You are nothing but trouble,” he told the python. “I should get rid of you.”
“Getting rid of Bob won’t change anything,” said Todd’s father, coming in with a small cage. “Besides, he’s good company. Now come on and get some dinner.”
“What are we having?”
“Thai food.” Todd’s father grinned. “I caught Pete Wilson’s Siamese this morning, and I’m just dying for some Drunken Noodles.”