Penelope's Lesson
The studio echoes with the dying laughter and steps of the class as they leave for the evening. The whole place is quiet. Or almost quiet. A soft, heartbroken sobbing can be heard. The eye, following the ear, turns and locates the source of the sound.
Off in the shadows, in a corner of the empty dance studio, a heap of rolled mats is pushed against the wall. Past the end of the pile, in the space between the pile and the wall, a crumpled figure sits pulled into a ball. Soft sobs wrack her shoulders. Her pink leotard top is stained with tears. She has pulled off her lacy tutu and cast it far out onto the polished practice floor. She is miserable, hurt, and completely lost in her anguish.
-What could it take-
-I worked SO hard-
-I learned all the steps-
-I practiced till my poor feet bled-
-I TRY so very hard to be a good dancer-
-And they all laughed at me-
-All the smart snobby rich girls-
-They think they are so much better than me-
-Sigh-
-I just wanna crawl away when they sneer and giggle-
She sinks back into her corner. Sobbing softly in the shadows.
Somewhere in the studio there is other movement.Something seeks. Something hunts. Something that has an appetite and purpose. The dusk in the quiet studio is no barrier. Toungue flicks out. Air is tested for scent. Heat seeker. There is sweat and hot girl scent in the air. The empty showers, still damp from fifteen bodies, are explored.
Nothing there.
The locker room investigated. Scent stronger here. Perfume and stale towel odor. But all cooling, empty. The floor is cool and uncomfortable. Climb the wooden benches. Better.
The locker room door ahead.
A push with a strong blunt nose opens the swinging door and the rest follows through the opening, widening it for a long several moments. The door swings silently shut.
The studio lies ahead.
The scent stronger here. Fresh girlscent on the air. Tongue tests, seeks, finds the strongest traces. Head follows tongue.
The incredibly thick body tracks across the hardwood floor. Silent. Effortless.
Heat source ahead. Small, but not too small.
Up over the piled mats. The weight shifts the pile slightly. The girl, completely inside herself, does not detect the motion of the stack.
There. Poised above the target. Coils drawing into a thick pile. Waiting for the moment. Tasting the air, the heat of the victim, the scent of the flesh. Rich intoxicating cocktail of sweat and fear. Fear is good. The struggle more delicious. The heartbeat quicker. The breathing faster, shallower, sooner stopped. Gathering itself for the strike.
-O gosh! The mats are falling!-
-I'll get buried-
-Won't they laugh at that-
-Wait.....-
-THAT'S NOT A DANCE MAT!-
Penelope is confused by the weight dropping over her shoulders. For a split second she believes that the piled mats have toppled over onto her in the corner. In that second of uncertainty the snake acts decisively. It is well accustomed to confusion on the part of its prey. The mass of solid coils that drops into her lap swiftly redefines itself into discrete bands of thick smooth scaled flesh. Whips around her shoulders and down, securing her arms to her sides. Curls around her slim waist. Locks into place around hips and thighs. All in the three seconds she hesitates. By the fourth second there is no hope of escape.
-Oh GAWD! It's some kinda SNAKE!-
-EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!-
Her scream of terror fills the empty studio, echoes and returns to her, taunting her helplessness.
-Can't get loose-
-Uhhhnnnnfffff-
-Too sssstrongggg-
She squirms and struggles. The snake is almost casually holding her, confident that she cannot escape. Let the animal exhaust itself in useless effort. Its work will be that much easier. Some part of its reptilian brain almost enjoys this part. The testing of strength against strength. It has never lost this contest. But perhaps it feels amusement at the effort.
-Can't budge the coilssssss-
-Soooooo heavy-
-SOMEBODY HELLLLPPPPP ME PLEEEEEEZZZZEEEEE!-
No response. She really didn't expect one. She knows the building is deserted.
And now the snake tires of the contest. Playtime is over. Time for business.
Great muscles ripple, coils expand subtly. A gradual process of sliding begins. Inward, always inward. A process measured by breath. Every breath creates a space. A space taken away by a snug pressure. A pressure growing as the spaces for breath become smaller. Penelope begins to feel the strength of the embrace drawing her in.
-Uhhhhhhhhh-
-It's getting tighterrrrrr-
-Squeezing meeeeeee-
-Ummmmmmpppphhhhhh-
-Noooooooo-
-Sttopppppp-
-Don't hurrrrt meeeeee-
-Hnnnfffffffff-
She sobs and begs. Pleads for release. If the snake had ears, it might be further amused by her whimpering and crying. All it knows is the measure of its coils and the spaces afforded it by the breath of its prey. And it knows that when the prey struggles the game is quicker over.
-Hnnngghhhh-
-Sooooo tiggghttttt-
-Hurrrrttttsssssssss-
-Can't move-
-Nghhhhhh-
Penelope feels her ribs bending inward, compressing her lungs. She feels the bones of her hips grinding under the pressure. She can't feel her legs anymore. Her face feels hot and flushed. Her eyes feel bulged. All around her she can see the coils shifting and sliding on the surface of her leotard. Green and pink. The whole snake seems to be in motion, winding up like a spring with her caught in the middle. She begins to weaken, struggle less.
Sensing the slowing of the prey's movement, the snake moves to finish. The gradual constriction becomes faster. Quick ripples pass up and down its body. Penelope begins to make little choking noises. Little squeaks as air is forcibly ejected from her lungs.
-Nnnnnnffffff-
-Can't take any morrrrreeee-
-Nnnnffffffffff-
-Hkkkkkk-
-Haaaakkkkkkkk-
She slumps in the embrace. Still the snake squeezes. It measures her heartbeat. Slowing. Slowing. Slowing. Stop.
It waits. No motion. No pulse. No breath. Feeding can begin.
The dance instructor finds her crumpled leotard in the corner the next morning.
-Another one quit-
-That's three this quarter-
-Oh well. at least its the poor ones-
-Have to start new auditions-
-Need another dancer-
By Summer