Corey liked collecting golf balls. The owner of the golf shop gave him a nickel for every ball he turned in. Even though it was an especially hot sweaty day, he went to the golf course to search the edges of the greens for balls. It took him a half hour to find just one. He was about to give up the search when he looked across the broad field and saw a small group of golfers. One swung his club and the ball flew off at an angle. “He’s gonna miss the green,” said Corey to himself. The ball didn’t only miss the green. It flew into the swampy cypress grove close to the highway. Corey ran for it, hoping he would find it amid the cypress knees. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cypress_knee
Of course his dad had once warned him to stay away from swampy places. Corey knew there were biting bugs, big spiders, and even snakes. Coral snakes were common to Florida, but they would be easy to see, because they had bright red, yellow, and black bands of color. Besides, he’d learned that even though they were venomous, they were too small to be dangerous. Their poisonous mouths could only do damage if they got a hold on the fold of skin between fingers or toes. Cory wasn’t about to reach out toward any colorful snake, even if it wasn’t poisonous.http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coral_snake
Before he entered the swamp he put the sneakers hanging from his belt back on, just to be safe. He looked around for a stick to probe the wet grasses for the ball. Slowly he inched his way forward, stepping across cypress knees and fallen branches to avoid the mushy ground. The leaves and plants were bright deep green, unlike the grey bark of the tall cypresses. He searched between the trees and knees.
He clung to the trunks of the trees to steady himself and found the white ball lying on the other side of a fallen log. He picked his way over the mushy ground. By the time he reached the log, his foot had slipped and his sneaker got wet. Dad would be mad if he found out about the swamp, but his shoe would dry out quickly in the heat. Corey put his other foot on the log to test that it wouldn’t roll. It didn’t. He balanced himself to walk across it. He kept his eye on the ball which lay by the cypress knee next to this natural bridge. He didn’t see the long dark snake lying against the log.
Corey wiped the sweat from his forehead with his elbow. He took a deep musty breath and stepped forward. Out of the corner of his eye, a dark shape moved. Corey’s heart started to thump when he saw the snake. He decided it was probably just a green garter snake, and dared to take another step. A dark narrow head slipped up over the log. Corey stopped and faced the snake sliding toward him. He didn’t have time to make a decision about crossing to get the golf ball. The snake rose up in an attack position and opened its pure white cottony mouth. Panicked, Corey turned and ran and ran and ran, splashing through the cypress swamp and up to the highway, never turning back. He would never forget that mouth, because he knew it was a Cottonmouth; and he would never go into a swamp again.
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