Of course — here’s Version 3, with a more poetic, fable-like style.
This version leans into symbolism and simplicity, almost like a modern-day
parable.
How to Not Kill a Beautiful Snake
A quiet fable for anyone who's ever mistaken beauty for danger.
Once, in a small village stitched between trees and sky, there lived a boy named Luka, who had been taught one rule above all:
“When you see a snake, kill it before it kills you.”
The rule had no exceptions. It had been passed down like a shovel or a scar. Luka never questioned it. He carried a slingshot in his pocket and
sharp eyes on the ground.
One morning, as he wandered beyond the fields to gather firewood, Luka saw her.
She lay across a warm stone, basking in the early light. The snake’s body shimmered with sapphire and bronze, more beautiful than any gem
Luka had ever seen. Her scales rippled gently as she breathed.
He froze. Reached for his slingshot. Fitted a stone.
But he hesitated.
The snake wasn’t coiled to strike. She didn’t move toward him. She simply existed—as calm and unbothered as the breeze in the grass. There
was no menace in her eyes. Only presence. Stillness.
Luka lowered the slingshot.
He sat, just a little distance away, and watched. Minutes passed. Or maybe more. The snake flicked her tongue once, then slowly slipped away
into the underbrush, unbothered.
He didn’t tell anyone back home.
If he had, they might have said he was reckless. Foolish. Lucky, perhaps. But Luka knew better.
He hadn’t spared the snake because he was weak. He had spared her because she was not what they had told him she would be.
And that was the beginning of his own rule, quiet but firm:
“Not everything you fear was made to hurt you. Some things were only made to be seen.”
Moral:
It takes no courage to destroy what you’ve been taught to fear.
But it takes wisdom to look again—
and mercy to let it live.