I am 8 years old. I see a 9 foot viper nearby, ra
I am 8 years old. I see a 9 foot viper nearby, razor sharp fangs gleaming in the sunlight. It slithered closer. Human, why are you here It hissed. I…got lost I whimper. It revealed a line of razor sharp jaws. AHHHHHHHH! I yell.
The air was thick with the smell of pine needles and damp earth. I, eight years old and full of the boundless energy of childhood, was exploring the woods behind our house. My imagination ran wild, every rustle of leaves a mythical beast, every fallen log a hidden treasure.
Suddenly, a movement caught my eye. A sleek, sinuous shape, almost impossibly long, lay coiled beneath a fallen oak. It was a viper, at least nine feet long, its scales gleaming like polished jade in the dappled sunlight. Its fangs, razor sharp and tipped with venom, glinted with a terrifying beauty. I froze, my heart hammering against my ribs.
The viper, sensing my presence, slowly uncoiled and raised its head. Its eyes, cold and calculating, met mine. “Human,” it hissed, its voice a dry rasp, “why are you here?”
My throat constricted, my voice a mere whimper. “I… I got lost,” I managed to say, my words trembling.
The viper, its eyes glinting with amusement, slithered closer, its body a sinuous wave of muscle and scales. Its jaws opened, revealing a line of razor-sharp teeth that could tear through flesh like butter.
“Lost, you say?” it hissed, its voice laced with venom. “Perhaps you should have paid more attention to where you were going.”
Terror, cold and paralyzing, gripped me. I felt tears welling up in my eyes. “Please,” I begged, my voice a desperate squeak, “don’t hurt me!”
The viper, its gaze fixed on me, seemed to consider my plea. Then, with a flick of its forked tongue, it spoke. “You are a foolish creature, human,” it said, its voice a low growl. “But you are also small and insignificant. I have no need to harm you.”
It turned its head, its eyes fixed on a nearby tree. “Go,” it hissed, its voice a command, “and never return to this place. These woods are not for the likes of you.”
I didn’t need to be told twice. I scrambled to my feet and ran, not daring to look back, until I stumbled out of the woods and into the safety of our backyard.
The encounter with the giant viper haunted me for weeks. It taught me a valuable lesson, a lesson I never forgot: the wilderness was a place of wonder, but also a place of danger. And some dangers, like the giant viper, were better left alone.
