It is rather lovely here, thought the tiny thing. So lovely and dark and soft. I only wish I wasn't being bounced so. The dark, soft place was, after all, quite bumpy. It had been for quite some time, and it was making it quite difficult for the tiny thing to get any sort of rest. Bouncing up and down was having a terrible effect on the tiny thing's disposition.

I think I shall start to get rather grumpy if I'm bounced about much longer, it thought as its slender, delicate head thumped against the velvet-lined ceiling.

The feeder was taking it somewhere. That was all the tiny thing knew. The big hands that usually brought tiny, hopping crickets – Tasty, crunchy crickets. I should like one now. - had gently cradled the tiny thing, lifting it very, very high into the air and into the blinding light before gently settling it into this dark, soft, bouncy place.

The bouncing suddenly stopped, and the tiny thing could hear voices outside of Bouncy Soft. But it was just a tiny thing; it couldn't understand what it was hearing.

“Grumble mumble gurble?” asked the first voice.

“Gurble bumble gorble,” responded a second voice. That's the feeder, thought the tiny thing. I wonder if the feeder has any crickets.

“Hurgle bongle gurp,” the first voice said.

The bouncing began again. Here I go again, thought the tiny thing, tensing as it was jolted up and down and back and forth in a regular rhythm.

Outside of Bouncy Soft, there were suddenly many noises. Lots of voices in a great, dull roar so jumbled that the tiny thing couldn't distinguish one voice from another. The tiny thing recognized music, laughter, and the rustle of much fine clothing.

With a final, solid bump, Bouncy Soft came to a halt, tilted so that the tiny thing's body was tangled and heaped upon itself. He wriggled into a more comfortable position and waited.

And he waited a very long time. The laughter, music, and rustling continued for what seemed an eternity, though the tiny thing wasn't terribly good at telling time. The tiny thing's clock only had two times: time to eat and time to sleep. It was very clearly time to eat, but the feeder was nowhere to be found. I should very much like a cricket. Perhaps two, thought the tiny thing as it curled up and snoozed.

---

The tiny thing was very rudely awakened when Bouncy Soft once again began to live up to its name. The bounces came much more quickly now and in spurts and stops. Outside of Bouncy Soft, all was quiet.

Ouch ouch ouch, thought the tiny thing as it was jostled, banging off of the walls of Bouncy Soft. Then, when the bouncing suddenly halted, the tiny thing thought, Oh good. Now that's ove- Ouch ouch ouch! And it went this way for a while.

I don't like this much, thought the tiny thing. I want to go home. Adventures are not for tiny things like me.

The bouncing stopped again and the tiny thing tensed, awaiting the bumps yet to come. But they didn't. Instead, the ceiling of Bouncy Soft folded up and away. The tiny thing squinted against the candlelight over its tiny head.

Too bright! thought the tiny thing.

The tiny thing was very happy when the candle was extinguished. Sweaty, trembling fingers curled gently underneath the tiny thing and lifted it into the air. Goodbye, Bouncy Soft. I hope to never see you again.

The feeder's familiar hands slipped the tiny thing into a much better place. A softer, warmer, decidedly less bumpy place. The tiny thing crawled deeper and deeper into the dark folds until it came across a foot. The foot was warm.

This place is quite lovely, thought the tiny thing, but I should still like a cricket. The tiny thing coiled into a heap against the foot, feeling the warmth roll over its body.

A great snort rang out and the foot lifted. The tiny thing watched with horror as the foot came down square on top of him. It half-squished him, pinching his belly and his tail.

Ouch! thought the tiny thing. Get off! And the tiny thing did the only thing that it could do – it struck. The foot was no cricket, and he couldn't possibly hope to eat it, but the bite served its purpose.

The foot pulled back, lifting off the tiny thing. The tiny thing took its chance and fled, squiggling away from the foot.

A sudden drop from the soft, dark place and onto the hard, cold floor jolted the tiny thing. It shook its dizzied head and continued to escape. The howls behind the tiny thing faded into pained gurgles, and the thrashing body that cast pale, jerking shadows on the wall fell still.

I want to go home, thought the tiny thing as it squirmed out the door and crawled into a very dark space along a wall. I would also like a cricket.

---

The tiny thing woke some time later when a bright line of light penetrated its dark resting place. It recoiled, squirming deeper into the darkness. A scream pierced the air, accompanied by the pounding of many feet. The tiny thing could feel them hit the floor even in his dark place.

A cacophony of voices from outside of the dark place. The tiny thing still couldn't understand them, but they all sounded very unhappy. The screaming became weeping. Where is the feeder? thought the tiny thing. I am very hungry.

---

Some time later (the tiny thing had since realized that his clock had one more time than he previously suspected, and that time was “far past time to eat.”), the light interrupted the tiny thing's hiding place once again. This time, however, the light was a brilliant, blinding, painful burst in the tiny thing's eyes.

The tiny thing hissed in pain and forced itself back into the furthest dark corner. A grinding screech ripped through the air, and the tiny thing was dragged forward across the cold, hard floor. The wall behind him pushed, forcing him forward toward the light and toward a pair of red-shod feet.

The light! the tiny thing thought. The light pained it, as all light did, with worse intensity even than its hunger had. The tiny thing did what had previously protected it from pain. It struck, sinking sharp, thin fangs into a red slipper.

The owner of the slipper howled and hopped backward. The tiny thing fled once again. The light blinded it, and the tiny thing bumped into walls as it went until it came to a staircase, down which it tumbled tail over head.

When it reached the bottom of the staircase, the tiny thing paused a moment, trying to overcome its dizziness and continue its search for a dark place to hide. More footsteps were closing in, and the tiny thing ducked into an open doorway.

So warm, thought the tiny thing. But still too bright.

The tiny thing came to a wall and continued along it. The warmth and the light went together here – when it got further from one, it got further from the other. Finally, the tiny thing found what it was looking for. A small crevasse against the wall, just dark enough to be comfortable, provided the shelter that the tiny thing needed.

---

Days passed. Weeks. And the tiny thing could find no peace. Anywhere that it hid, it was soon intruded upon by feet and light. Every time, it struck. It struck again and again and again. Some part of it grew to enjoy the striking.

Stop the pain! had been the tiny thing's initial reaction. Over time that became So nice to stop the pain, and eventually So nice to strike. To bite. And the tiny thing began to seek out the feet. There were so few feet left by then, but so many more crickets and mice. The tiny thing had already become the not-so-tiny-thing, and perhaps even the a-little-bit-fat thing.

---

One day, there were no more feet. The tiny thing was saddened, and it searched, satisfied with the dark that had grown in the absence of candles and the stillness of the fireplaces.

I should very much like to bite, thought the not-so-tiny thing as it searched with blind eyes. But the only vibrations in the floor were from the scurrying of the rats and mice that sprouted like weeds in the abandoned place.

The not-so-tiny thing found its way down, down, down into the very lowest levels. A steady dripping set a rhythm for the thing's slithering and crawling down the stairs between puddles. The thing, in its eagerness to find feet to bite, slipped over a ledge and dropped far below into a pool of deep, dark water.

So nice. So warm, the thing thought. But there are no feet.

Yet, try as it might, the thing could find no way out of the deep, dark water. It slithered along the surface of the pool, pressing against the slimy, dank walls that proved too smooth for climbing. The thing exhausted itself after a few circuits.

I must bite, thought the thing. So nice to bite.

But there was nothing for the Oh-So Snake to bite, save for the fat, pale fish that had found their way into the castle's flooded basement from the moat. The snake brooded for decades, dreaming every night of a bite, a strike, of the feeling of fangs sinking into flesh. And it grew. The not-so-tiny thing became the big thing, the huge thing, and finally the enormous thing.

One day, a splash. A series of splashes. Vibrations that couldn't possibly belong to even the largest fish in the basement.

Bite, thought the snake.