venomous snake

Snakes. The grounds around the house were infested. Snakes different shades of brown and gold, snakes of varying sizes. Snakes under the cover of scrub and grass, silently gliding. Snakes across the path. I was careful not to disturb them, to step on them, but the light was low and they were camouflaged. The gold snakes were not as frightening, seemed not to be aggressive. But the brown snakes ... I stepped too close to a mottled brown snake. It reared up, darted forward, lashed out, attacked. I grabbed it around the throat and held it away from me. It struggled to wriggle out of my fist and its skin rippled forward so that its head began to disappear into its neck, pulling backward. I had to tighten my grip, prevent it from escaping. Its tail thrashed about and I pulled its skin back so that its head remained above my hand. Furious, the snake opened its mouth, baring its teeth; not two fangs, but about six or eight long sharp teeth that protruded from its jaws, fanned out. I held the snake as far from me as possible, knowing that the snake was desperate to strike. Venom sprayed out of the snakes teeth, fountained into the air, spraying the surrounds and my throat. As soon as the snake had exhausted its supply of poison, I mustered my strength and threw it as far away as I could. I saw it land on the bush floor and I turned and ran.