Freshmen be showin up to school on the first day like:
But seniors are just like:
"The white police officer fears me in the same way that the shovel fears the snake."
Once, I watched my uncle kill a snake in his front yard with the sharp end of a shovel. He had it pinned to the ground with something heavy and had called me over to witness the scene. The snake was not poisonous, nor was it fully grown, but it had bitten Thunder (one of my Uncle’s big twin Rottweilers) on the nose and beyond that it had, of course, been a snake. Those were its charges: biting a curious dog on the nose when it had sniffed too close, and actively being a snake.
I watched the snake writhing under the heavy object, his smooth body wiggling and stretching, coiling and recoiling, relentlessly trying to get away. If we had freed it, it would have slithered into the woods, terrified, rather than try to attack us, but my uncle raised the shovel by the wooden handle, and I looked away. Even after the guillotine had been dropped, both parts continued to squirm away from my uncle and his shovel, and also away from one another.
“That’s what you do when a snake’s in your yard.” My uncle, brandishing his shovel with its blood stains, just a few dark dabs at the tip, the rest, pooling slowly between the divorced head of the snake and the body. “You cut off its head, and leave it so that the others will see, and then they know not to come back.”
Now that I think of it, the scene of that memory, my uncle and his dogs, the shovel and the snake, I think that the snakes must know, now, not to come back there, not for food, not for shelter, not for anything. They might even know not to bite the dog’s noses, but they do not know how not to be snakes.—The Shovel and The Snake (via mrelisha26)
That is the best reaction ever.
Natalie Dormer | 66th Annual Primetime Emmy Awards