“We’ve found a snake!”

The call sounded from outside, to my direct right. Early this morning, Monday the 13th of May, 2019, I was sitting at my desk studying Biology. Just as I prayed for a distraction from the monotony of soil, the answer came: a snake hunt.

Grabbing my wooden sword (picture enclosed to show WHY I grabbed it) and bb gun, I dashed outside, closely followed by my dad and two little brothers: Noah, age 13, and Isaiah, age 11. We surrounded the tree that the snake had climbed, shooting the bb gun, yelling, and throwing sticks. Finally, in the greatest shot of my life, I managed to hit that sucker directly in the head. Stunned, it forward and down, directly onto the roof of our tree-house. Well, this was a predicament. Nobody would risk climbing up there, for this was a (small) 4 ft. Green Mamba. (No, we do not find ONLY Green Mambas here). My brother Noah, un-cowed by the height of the roof, climbed up on top of an adjacent house to try to spot it. No luck.

I, being the idiot I was, started throwing rocks up to the top of the roof. Met with little success, I (stupidly) continued throwing. Inexplicably, one of my rocks went totally over the roof and hit my brother Isaiah. Isaiah, who had been wandering around the tree-house, suddenly clapped hands to the forehead, blood streaming down his face and hands.

Euphemism alert: “Oh crap.”

My dad and I brought him inside, where my dad, ever the caring doctor, bandaged Isaiah’s head with butterfly bandages. The bleeding stopped and we could finally get a good view of the wound. Thankfully for me and my social life, the wound was small. However, I have now learned a valuable lesson: when you have little brothers, make sure they stand clear before you throw rocks.

Also, we still haven’t found the snake.