My aquarium tumbled to the ground. It wasss not, as moviesss and popular fiction would have you believe, in sslow motion. I did not float to the ground. In fact, the word 'float' dessscribess my fall about as well as rockss sssstick to the ssceiling.
My cage shattered onto the tile floor, shoving glassss sslivers through my sscales and exploding outwardss in a ssparkly dissplay, made all the more noticable by the fact that the glitter came from light reflecting off the decidedly sharp edgesss.
I felt like I had been ssstabbed—which I had, sso let'sss talk no more about that. Jussst know that it wasss a mossst unpleassant experience.
And then the idiot human ssstarted sstamping around in panic, trying to crush me with hisss Nike tennissss shoesss. I wriggled away as I had never wriggled before—the threat of imminent death can do that to a person—or sssssnake—no matter how many sharp pointy objects you have sssstuck in your body.
I dragged my bleeding carcasss under the conveniently placssed piles of clean, unfolded clothess—a sstroke of luck in my usssually luckless world. I wish I could sssay I was dead weight—that would imply sssomeone elsssse would be doing the dragging. As it wasss, I wass dragging my sssory sself.
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