“Where are my socks?” You ask, eyes scanning your bedroom floor. It’s important because you are going out on a date, and you don’t want your date to think you are gross for not wearing socks with your sneakers. “Mega, where are my socks?”
It’s not that you only have one pair of socks. It’s just that these are your lucky socks. You prepared them especially for tonight. And considering how incredible it is you got this first date, you need all the luck you can get to make sure there will be a second.
A hissing, rattling noise comes from underneath your bed–muffled by your comforter dangling off the corner.
“Mega, I need my socks. Bring them out here.”
Truth be told, you know it’s weird to speak to Mega as if she can understand you. As intelligent as she is, Mega is still… well…
Her snake head pokes out, red and yellow scales gleaming softly. She is coiled around your lucky socks.
You crouch down next to her, arm extended because you know that it has been cold lately and your hardwood floor even colder. But instead of climbing onto you, onto what must be an attractive heat source, Mega hisses. It’s not sharp, and her mouth remains closed, so you interpret it as sulky instead of angry.
“Mega, it’s just a date, it’s not like I’m getting married.”
You imagine a world where you don’t have to explain your actions to your pet snake. You think that world is rather strange.
“And plus, this might be a one time thing. We don’t even know if he’ll like me.”
At that, the rest of Mega’s body slithers out from underneath your bed. She maintains her grip on your lucky socks, but she brushes her tail along the back of your hand soothingly.
“Thanks, Mega. And hey, maybe I won’t like him. But I think I’d rather go and definitively know than not go and always wonder. Don’t you agree?”
You’re quite satisfied with this world, the one where your possessive snake steals your socks and boosts your self-esteem and lets you rant about life philosophies.
Mega abandons her cotton-nylon prey and winds her way up your arm. When she is loosely wrapped around your shoulders–stable enough not to fall off as you do your sock-dressing hopping dance, but loose enough not to impede your movements or breathing–she flicks her tongue out once. Twice. Thrice. Along your neck, cheek and ear. In exchange, you stroke her head in between her eyes.
When you are done tying your shoes, you check yourself out in the mirror. “Damn, I look hot. Mega, what do you think?”
You are short and slouchy and you wear hoodies and sneakers to first dates. You talk to your pet snake and you have designated lucky socks. Your room is still a mess, and the terrarium is a large part of it. But you’ve got a snake wrapped around your shoulders, scales sliding against your skin affectionately, and you’re both decked out in red and yellow. Bright and eager to take on the world.
“I think so too.”
~
A/N: hm… well, I don’t know where this came from. But I quite like it! Uh, ambiguous “you” can be either or non-gendered, though apparently attracted to masculine identifying people so that’s cool.
Is Mega short for anything? Omega? Megan? I don’t know.
I hope this made someone out there feel better, because this was fun to write and definitely made me feel better. We can all use a Mega (not necessarily a snake, I apologize to those who dislike snakes) in our lives I guess.
JackSGreyson Says 