Medusa's Journal
I never liked snakes. Really, I've always thought they're creepy little creatures, sneaking in the darkness with their poison, sucking mouths. It's ironic then, isn't it. I've become one. Well, actually several. Actually, they're not really me, but just as bad – they're sprouting from my head. I turn my head and they hiss, shake it and they writhe. The worst is in the morning – sure, you've had bed-hair, but have you ever woken up with bed-snakes? Squished on one side and sort of wet – snake drool has a horrid smell, and the time it takes to untangle all those little tongues… did I mention they snore? It's a kind of rattle, mixed all up in between seconds with the very strange noises of their stomachs digesting… well, I guess I'd make that noise, too, if I ate rats every day. Oh, you thought I did? I guess that fits in, considering all those mythic-monster stereotypes you humans have mashed together through the years. Maybe the werewolves lead more enlightened lives by going out and howling at the big blob in the sky. Have you ever thought of that? You know, some of your little rituals aren't nearly as intelligent anyway… but I'm getting off topic. Yeah, I know what you're gonna ask – how in the Underworld did you come by those creepy creatures crawling capriciously in the cavern of your cranium? Okay, too much alliteration – just had to cram that in. How else are you going to know I was an English major? Straight A's all the way, baby. But yes, I'll tell you all about it. There is life after a bad hair day, you know.