The snake lay there on the ground, twitching, wrapping it's tail around it's head, then letting go again. It turned in circles, not knowing where it went. Focusing on the pain on it's head.
I watched it, asking my dad questions about the snake. Why was it still moving? Is it alive? Is it dead? Is it hurt, Dad? All the while, I was looking at the snake.
Under the snake (or above it? I don't know), the skull had been cracked open (or so my dad says). That was probably the main reason it writhed like that.
"It's a cobra." The man says. I don't know if it's true - I hope not...
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