The Size of Me by Peter Armstrong

The trees sway gently in the warm breeze. I stand and feel the sun shining radiantly on my face, the cool grass brushing against my ankles. In the corner of my eye, a rabbit nibbles on clover. He frolics around the aromatic flowers and towards the tree line. I follow. I have to follow.

He prances through the peaceful woods without a care in the world. He should care. A twitching nose, a flopping tail. The cool breeze flows through his fur. He stops to take a bite of a rose. His mistake I suppose. There’s nothing I can do but follow. And watch. I have to watch.

A mass of scales emerges behind him. A flash of teeth, and the rabbit is gone. Why did it need to happen, he had done nothing wrong. The snake has finished its job. My throat tightens with despair, and I shut my eyes, forcing the tears back. The evil creature turns to me. It couldn’t have been that large before, could it? This large, terrible serpent is nearly the size of me. I run. I have to run.

The dark woods seem to close in on me. Trees seeming to reach out to grab me with their branches. The snake follows. I tell myself it isn’t real. I’m not sure if that's true. I continue to run. I don’t know where I’m going. Tripping over my own feet. Why am I still running? What does it want from me? I stop. I have to stop.

I turned around to confront the snake. It looks at me. I look at it. I look at its long, glistening fangs. I look at its deep purple scales and its hungry yellow eyes. I look at its strings, like a puppet. But who is the puppeteer? I follow the strings to find my answer, although I already know. It’s me. It has to be me.