Ouroboros

Garrett Alexander
Nov 14, 2025
8 min read

The snake got me on the ankle. I was alone in the bush, so the implications were clear. It was a mamba. He struck more than once, but I only saw him slithering away.

The two essentials when faced with a snake bite were car keys and a cell phone. That’s what my instructor always said, but cell phones are really just distractions, so I was one short. Half wasn’t bad. I grabbed my keys and trudged through the grass to the Land Cruiser. Another crucial element of the snakebite was to remain calm. Too much excess moving or panicking would mean faster spread of venom. The snake did me a favor by going at the ankle. It would take a while to hit my organs. I’d move urgently, but not recklessly, and if I drove fast, there was a good chance I’d be in town before anything severe happened.

I opened the door, and things were already looking up. I almost smiled and took one last second before turning on the engine. Breeze rustled through the dry grass and acacia branches. I closed my eyes and listened to the cicadas sing from every direction; when my eyes opened, their hum glistened under the midday heat. The bush always fell quiet around noon. It was hot. Birds sang in the mornings, and there were the frogs or hyenas in the evening, but the midday was still. Whatever happened, that moment was good.

I put my key in the ignition and turned. The loud mechanical drone pumped a smell of petrol that made me feel dirty. I should’ve brought my phone. Rachel always told me I should carry my phone more often. I put the car in drive and went.

“Africa?” she asked.

I told her yes, Africa was my choice. Sub-Saharan Africa, specifically. We could see lions, giraffes, elephants, and even gorillas if we made it up to the Congo.

“For how long?”

Well, that’s a question you can never be too sure of. It could be a month, but it’s also possible it would be a year. Who knows what you’ll fall in love with?

She kept up her smile, but it wasn’t entirely happy. We were in New Zealand when I brought up the idea. Waikato, I think.

“Sometimes, I miss my family,” she said.

It’s easy to say someone else is all the family you need. I was always quick to say it, but she was really close with her parents. Maybe that makes it harder.

I told her this was a good idea. Schools for safari guides were cheap, and it would be an incredible experience. Africa was the wildest place, the origin of all other places. How could we be satisfied if we didn’t spend some of our time in Africa?

She didn’t like that last bit. Rachel tended to take walks when she got upset, so I was left alone in the hotel room.

“I love your adventure,” she said, “it inspires me. But I don’t enjoy feeling like a passenger.”

I’m confident it was a dry bite. No pain had come on yet. I wasn’t sure how much time passed, but the sun was a little lower. Sweat covered my face, but that’s because of the heat. Not all bites contain venom; this one was an example. I hit an absolutely lucky break, but these things happen. I’ve heard that over half of all venomous snake bites are dry. Some people say that number is higher.

Rachel always liked snakes. I wonder what she would think if she saw me. She’d be worried, of course. We once saw a taipan while in the outback. Now that would've been a rough bite.

Wind rushed past my head. The Land Cruiser made light work of dirt roads, so it was easy traveling. I kept up the pace, just to be cautious. My eyes were drooping, but that’s because I kept thinking of Rachel. My mind wanted to slip into memories. Even without phones, there are distractions. The African sun lit up lands I’d never seen, but I kept thinking of all that was behind me.

A clock waited in the corner of the room where the seconds glided by. They did not tick. The second hand did not jerk as it broke from one moment to the next. It swept continuously in a circle, leaving no gaps between the present.

Rachel went for another walk and they were getting increasingly long. I got drunk because I didn’t know what else to do. We were in Vietnam.

The clock hung in the corner with the door. I could lie in bed and watch the seconds sail past.

“I want to go home for a while,” she said, “I’d like to spend some time with my brother’s son. He’s turning two this month, did you know that?”

It didn’t feel like a real question, so I told her once we go home it will be very hard to want to go elsewhere. She asked me why that’s such a bad thing, but I shrugged it off. That’s when she went out.

The problem with most watches or clocks is they give a false sense of control. A single glance at the wrist and now you know:

8 hours, 13 minutes, and 10 seconds into the p.m.

How convenient. Everything may be crumbling, but I certainly knew the time. However, looking at the clock in the corner, the one with the second hand that doesn’t tick, made me feel in motion. A second is not a calculable ticking moment. A second is an ongoing experience.

I sat in that Vietnamese bedroom, ignoring the foreign plants and birds just outside. I wanted to watch the clock. I wanted to lock the door so Rachel might never finish her walk. I’d watch the second hand float into the ever-extending future. I felt myself running in circles. Sometimes, I’d get dizzy, but that’s only when I forgot to keep moving. Around and around I’d go.

I hit something. Maybe it was a rock or tree. My vision turned poor and I lost sight of the road. It wasn’t a dry bite. Breaths became tighter and I felt myself twitching. I put the car in reverse, stepped on the pedal, but it wouldn’t go anywhere. Tourniquets were useless against snake bites, but I thought about giving it a go. I tied my belt around my calf. Some people say that a tourniquet can do more damage for a snake bite, but I wasn't so sure.

Maybe it will buy some time.

The car churned its engine but wouldn’t budge. I climbed out and fell to the dirt. Everything was hot. Saliva accumulated and thickened in my mouth; I couldn’t swallow so it started draining from my lips. I pressed myself on the door, but my legs were stiff. I couldn’t stand up. My face reflected off of the cruiser’s door and I looked pale, covered with sweat and spit. I thought I could see Rachel behind me. I turned around, but there was only the African plains. The horizon line quivered and I felt my body do the same. I turned back to the door, tried to stand up one last time, but collapsed back to the dirt. I could definitely see Rachel in the reflection of the door. She was crying.

The surface of the car door burned, but I didn’t care. I could feel Rachel’s hand. Hard tears fell from her face onto mine like diamonds. The saliva trapped in my mouth grew briars, and I couldn’t speak. Rachel’s reflection said something, but her muffled words faded through a dense atmosphere. Everything fell to a hush.

I looked up. Wispy clouds spiraled overhead. My stomach told me to pray, but I couldn’t speak past the thornbush in my mouth.

But you should pray, my mother always told me. I never did. She used to tell me about Jesus but I never believed God could be a man. I’ve been to enough countries and seen enough animals to know humans weren’t here first.

You should talk to your mother more, Rachel would tell me. But we didn’t have anything to discuss. She wasn’t interested in my travels and I wasn’t interested in her God. She always had her screens and her church. Phones, hymns, computers, sermons, whatever. That couldn’t be me.

I’m glad I attempted the drive. Even with the bite being so low on my leg, I never would’ve made it back, but I tried. At least now there wouldn’t be doubt. I can see myself dying by the river where the mamba got me. But that wouldn’t be peaceful. I see myself vomiting and seizing by the Mamba River, wondering if I made the right call.

Now, I had certainty. I would still die, but I knew nothing would’ve prevented that. Death can’t be peaceful if there are doubts.

But I doubted myself with Rachel and now that was over. Rachel was over and everything else would soon be over.

Rachel is looking at a body by the Mamba River. It’s a cold body. It’s a body that’s been dead for a long time. She has no warmth for this body.

“Emmet,” she says.

And that is all. She doesn’t cry, but merely acknowledges.

My Rachel wasn’t standing by the Mamba River. She was reflected in the door, crying diamonds atop me. My Rachel prayed through her thick Jupiter atmosphere, her words like tsunamis breaking on the Galilean moons. She prays for me because I got in the car and tried to do something. But I left my phone, so she offers me only prayers and nothing else.

I wanted to live in the woods. Survive off the land. I wanted to become some primal thing that existed for nothing more than existence’s sake. Rachel didn’t understand that. No one understood that, least of all myself. It wasn’t a dream, but an image. Not meant for understanding, only for observing.

I worked in Tanzania while Rachel still circled along her forever walk.

Mt. Kilimanjaro stood above the earth as a great tidal wave, pondering over its early morning vista. I sat small and delicate before the destruction.

“Why don’t you run?” asked Kilimanjaro.

Because there is nowhere to go.

The snake donned a contemplative stare. I wanted to cock my head to the side and express some confusion over his question, but my neck was stiff. My chest rose and I started convulsing, lost in a great flood, tumbling around the arbitrary knick-knacks of an arbitrary life. Cool air burst into my lungs when I broke the surface and Rachel stood there with clasped hands.

Why won’t you come home with me?

She kept asking and asking, but it never changed. The second hand is in motion, Rachel. Do you see it? Look there, in the corner of the wall. Do you see how it doesn’t pause? It’s all endless.

My Rachel still prayed, but no answer could come. She had forgotten that God was made from the sounds of her cries.

Do you see the snake eating his own tail? Does he ever stop? A sea of snakes traverse the plain, slithering between ankles, briars, and poisons. A mosaic of everything.

My Rachel still cried. Somewhere behind her, my mother cried as well. They’re both praying, but Vishu was a mamba who struck me on the ankle. Everything was precious.

He asked me: And just how was that?

But all I could think of was my family in tears.

He heard my answer and I was the water in a drought. I was a boy dancing naked in the rain and a little girl tending to fields of rice. I was Rachel, staring down the cold body by the river. I was the collapsing lungs of an old man.

Small became everything and everything thinned to a single line.

I felt myself plunge into the great sea of eternity and recognized it was always silly to think of a drop and an ocean as separate things.

Garrett Alexander is a wilderness guide and writer currently living in North Carolina. He finds passion in traveling and has lived throughout the U.S., South Pacific, and Southeast Asia. His work is currently unpublished.