My Storytelling Wars Entry
Anti-Venom
Drip-Drop, Drip-Drop, Drip-Drop, Drip-Drop.
A little rain never stopped my mom from gardening. Sure enough, to no surprise to anyone in the area (although in our ten acres the only people around are our farm animals) my mom was tending our prized tomatoes. I was simply inside playing video games. When it rains, Bowser Must Die. Right when I was about to clear a phase in my Super Mario Galaxy game, that was when Mom yelled out. Flying through stars seemed meaningless as I rushed out, poncho in the mud room, to see what the heck had happened, my heart in my throat.
The first sight I saw was a golden snake slithering away with malice, having done its deed. I screamed aloud like a frightened schoolgirl, jumping back a foot. Composing myself the best I could under the circumstances, I ran over to my mom, fallen over on the ground on top of her prized tomatoes. She had two tiny, almost invisible holes in her hand. My worst fears had been realized. “Pete…” she moaned, in visible pain. My heart broke in two as tears fell down my face. That was a golden taipan, no doubt about it. The single most deadly snake in the nation. That was all I knew. I didn’t know how much time she had. “I’m going to get you help, Mom,” I sobbed shamelessly, my head in my hands. Then I ran off, armed with a gun. The nearest pharmacy was 12 miles away. We were dirt-poor, our truck had broken down, the game system I cherished was a gift from a friend, and I was ready to run all twelve miles in the rain to get that anti-venom. I was ready to rob the pharmacist.
Twelve miles and horribly sore feet later, I had reached the bottom of the hill where the township of Corona, New Mexico, located right off of the U.S. 54. We ourselves lived partway up Gallinas Peak, the only ones who ventured to put a farm up on the mountain. It was all ours. And if I didn’t get to the pharmacy soon, it would become an isolated mountain. I ran past a gas station, a grocery store, and a video rental store before finding the drugstore. I ran in urgently, previously swallowing my pride and concealed the weapon. I was going to try to ask nicely first, get the gun out later. I ran to the counter and said “Anti Venom. I need anti venom.”
“Why do you need that?” the pharmacist asked, his country accent nearly visible. He smelled of cheap liquor and stuffy pharmacy office.
“My mom got bit by a golden taipan and I need to run it up the peak as soon as possible!” I replied. “Just give it to me!” Okay, so I was a little too desperate to ask nicely, but what would you have done?
“Alright, sonny.” He replied all calm-like. After 60 agonizing seconds of his digging around in the back, he presented me with a small bottle. “Now you do understand a bottle of anti-venom costs around a thousand bucks, and I assume you want to pay that now? Otherwise you can kiss the bottle goodbye.”
I was horrified. “I have no money, but, please, sir! My mother is DYING!”
He smirked. “No can do, sir.”
“SHE IS DYING!” I yelled. “Look, I have a really expensive game system back up the hill, and if you give me this, I will give it to you.”
“You give me the dang money or I don’t give this to you, no matter who’s dying!” he spat out, shutting the protective window.
I decided to pull out my gun. Rapping it against the window, I called out “Hey get back here, you sour son of a gun!”
He opened the window and yelled out “What?!”
I put my gun to his head and grabbed the collar. “Listen up, you evil, greedy son of a hamster, if you don’t get that anti-venom for me now, you will die. Is that a good enough deal for you?” He was about to answer when a bullet lodged into his brain, killing him. It wasn’t me, though. It was a real robber. I yelled aloud as he yanked me into the pharmacist’s office. And the dead pharmacist had tripped the silent alarm, too. This meant time was running out.
The robber pulled off his mask and looked at me with pleading eyes. “Please, give me your ibuprofen. I have a daughter at home with a 106 degree fever. She is near death, just please find me the ibuprofen!” I assumed the salty old pharmacist had denied him this as well, as this man seemed to be a beggar. He had a tattered gray shirt, blue jeans that were now dirt-brown, and a beard longer than a rabbi’s. And his eyes had the passion of a father that was enough to convince me to hand him the ibuprofen and said “I need the anti-venom.”
He refused the ibuprofen and said “The old gas station… she’s there… you go!” he yelled, handing me a whole pile of anti-venom. I wasn’t about to sort through them yet. “You run, I’ll stay here! You go save your mother, and tell my daughter I love her!” I was about to argue, but I heard sirens. That was my cue to exit, and I wasn’t about to deny it. I called out a “Thank You!” as I ran out of the building. “I’ll save her, I promise!” About halfway to the gas station, I heard a gunshot. I had a feeling who was hit, too. Shaking the thought out of my head, I ran off to the gas station. There I saw a young girl, about my age, lay limp on the ground, nearly dead. At first, I thought that there was no way this was a beggar’s daughter. She wore decent clothes, her hair was not unkempt, and if I didn’t know better she could have gone to my school. I started to cry again; astonished by the power of that father’s love that he would sacrifice everything from his well-being to his life for her. Wiping my face, I broke open the ibuprofen, and put two in her cold mouth. I waited anxiously for her to stir; after all, I had my own mother to save. She coughed and sat up and said “Who are you?”
“A Messenger.” I replied. “I’m here to tell you that your father loves you.”
She smiled and lay on the ground. “My name’s Sarah,” she replied.
“Pete,” I returned.
I realized then that I couldn’t leave her there.She had no family, and no one to protect her from who-knows-what. Besides, my mother was the best nurse in the world. I threw her over my shoulders and started back up the hill. Surprisingly, she had no protests. On the way out, I saw the welcome sign- Welcome to Corona- Population- 124. I took my gun, scraped it against the four until it was unreadable and scraped out a two next to it. The way up the hill was twice as long as going down, but felt ten times as long. I had to move faster, I urged myself, I just have to. With frail Sarah over my shoulder, I finally reached the farm. I didn’t know what to do, I just decided on pouring the whole bottle into the hole when Sarah stopped me. “No,” she said silently, to the point of inaudibility. “Don’t do that. She’ll overdose.”
“What do we do?” I asked.
“We need something what can go into the hole. Like a fork.” She replied. “We insert it into her skin with a little bit of anti-venom on a prong and insert it into the holes. It’ll get into her bloodstream and it’ll have her up in no time.”
“Wow, I gotta admit, you sure are knowledgeable about snake bites.” I remarked.
“That’s what my dad did when I got bit,” she said, looking towards the squished tomatoes sadly. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”
I didn’t know she knew. She faced me bitterly and said “I heard gunshots. I don’t want you to lie to me. Is he dead?”
I squeezed her hand comfortingly and nodded; my mouth dry, before running inside to get a fork. I looked out the kitchen window to see her grasping the bottle of anti-venom, crying. I nearly followed suit. I ran outside with a fork as she rapidly wiped her eyes, trying to give me the illusion that she was fine. I weakly smiled and gave her the fork. “If you know what you’re doing, then please help me.” I said. She took the fork, dipped it in anti-venom, and slid it gently into my mother’s bites. My mom awoke with a gasp, leaned over and moaned “Oh, no, my tomatoes! They’ve been squished.”
Astonished, I blurted out “You just got bit by a snake!”
She blinked in surprise. “I did?”
With tears returning to my eyes, I reached out to give my mom a big hug. “Boy, mom, do I have an anecdote for you!” I led her into the house, Sarah following. I would leave the part out about me trying to rob the pharmacist and reminded myself to teach Sarah how to play Wii later.






