He painted the picture of the falling human onto his eyelids, then a busy city road underneath. He wondered what the force on a car would be if the body fell on it. How long it would take the driver to drive away, startled by something large denting the roof. If the body fell off, how fast would it fall? Where would it land? Would there be bloody streaks left on the back window? How many cars would then merely run it over?

Keystrokes chased the images away. Five minutes later, he saved the several paragraphs before goading his brother. 'You can do better than that.' The sentence blinked randomly. He wasn't kept waiting.
The screen flickered off.

Jeers and boos erupt from the speakers, then, sudden silence as boots stomp wood. A menacing male growl accuses, "This whore is condemned for dancing unclothed while consorting with the devil and performing pagan rituals in mockery of our lord. Furthermore, cult tools, texts..." A sudden crack of thunder drowns out the rest. Amongst the fading rumbles, a priestess's trained voice is heard, controlled and rich in tone. Condemning, she prophesies, "You who claim to be faithful have broken the oldest law. You have not wronged a mere woman, but also the One whom she serves. She curses you, those with you, your children, and your children's children, until the day you learn respect for Her! Pests will overrun your fields and homes; plagues, deaths and disease will be amongst you and your herds; fires, droughts and floods blight your houses and lands that were never truly yours. Your daughters and pregnant women will be raped and torn open; the ground you stand on will drink the blood of your sons and husbands. Cursed are you for forsaking She who has nurtured you for so long!"

In the ensuing mayhem of sound, he heard the crackle of flames and tinder catching fire. At the priestess's scream, he broke out into a cold sweat. On and on it went. It never occurred to him to mute the sound.
Slick fingers flashed falteringly over the keyboard. He stared blankly as fingers slipped on the letters. Looking up, he saved his work again as the screen flickered on and a little box popped up. 'Better?' it mocked. 'See, it affected you. Give credit if you're going to use my work.'
'Will do,' he typed shakily, without decoration. Although only the CPU fan emitted sounds now, his heartbeat raced madly.
He read over what he already had. Not much plot, but it would serve its purpose. Something was still missing. It needed... another scene.
Somewhat calmer, he wondered, 'what else to include? The past... why was she really condemned? Someone saw, years ago, and bided their time?' Then his fingers were flying again as the final scene materialised onto the screen.

The details are clear; the circular, hypnotic dance of snakes and their partners, the paleness of skin and silk in the moonlight contrasting against the dark of the cave. In the shadows beat rhythmic drums. Phallic candles cast wild, flickering shadows over the dancers. In the centre stands a female novice, her breasts only half-developed. Around her writhe several young, long snakes, their poison not yet lethal. Unbound hair cascades down her back. Her stance is balanced and confident, her body relaxed, ready, and alert. Only her eyes, gold and brown in candlelight, give any hint of inner unease. She must prove her worthiness and earn the honour to serve. Should things turn nasty during her initiation, it would be interpreted as the Goddess's displeasure. None dared oppose Her punishment; Her Children would decide the girl's worthiness. Their skins gleam in the unpredictable light; Their tongues scent her. 'Is she willing? Will she serve well? Can she match our skill?'
She goes taut as One makes its way up her leg, around her waist and over her torso. She gasps involuntarily as Its body brushes against sensitive pink nipples. Her neck is sufficiently warm, so It coils Its upper length there while the rest of Its body remains firmly around her upper torso. Her breathing quickens, the only indication of rising fear and excitement.
Again, her muscles tense as cool scales wind around her other ankle and continue slowly, agonisingly, up her bare calf, scenting her skin every few beats. Her heart races as Its body caresses her thigh. She moans involuntarily as It slides between her legs and over buttocks, the texture of Its body awaking new sensations. It settles comfortably around her slender waist, tail still wrapped around her thigh and between her legs.
The pattern of the drums changes, as do the steps of the dancers. The two on her body flex Their muscles, but she is unsure, stepping hesitantly. Their scales, now warm and alive, almost burn her.
She feels sharp fangs in her neck and the fast pump of poison before the tattoo of drumbeats and sibilant Voices fill her mind as random patterns become clear. She dances, agile, sleek, and snakelike. Shortly, a different, almost enjoyable pain pierces her. She dances with intense abandon, waves of pleasure overcoming her, colour pulsing in her vision and coursing through her veins.