Reptilian Existentialism

They are in the belly of the machine.

Twined around the twin pistons which keep the engine alive, two pythons lick the hot steel with their forked, slimy tongues.

The black grease mixes with the poison of the snakes, creating a potion of death and motion.

Their hard, stony scales rub against the metal, creating sparks.
It’s hard to ascertain if the scales are skin or indeed iron from the machine.

Their eyes are LED s burning like beacons.

What are they doing there?

Does the machine need them?

Do they need the machine?

Where did they come from?

Where will they go?

These are some questions every snake shall ask themselves.

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