First Clatter
Cold stone beneath my belly. A twitch in the spine, then a ripple down my ribs. I can slither. My jaws snap once—dry, hollow, hungry. Ahead lies a sheet of white paper resting flat on the ledge. I drag my bones forward and strike the thin edge with my snout. It crinkles. Weak prey, but it gives way beneath my weight. I coil right beside it, keeping watch in the dark.