The worm inched its way across the pavement. Its moist, soft body melded with the microscopic cracks and crevices within the cement; the latter's heated surface sapping moisture from the soggy body above. A minimalistic head poked to and fro, searching for something satisfying. This urban desert was void of anything recognizable, anything life-sustaining or stimulating. Hazards were many: that man's sole; her reckless mechanically-driven speed; his sometimes slanted, sick soul, intent on mashing out insignificant somethings.
So it was with some surprise that this utterly pitiful mass of cells managed its way across the sidewalk, through the street, and into the green park.
This was a world the creature knew. While fraught with predatory dangers, sustenance made itself widely available around every corner, and the worm's simple biological system was able to take full advantage of these useful treasures. Look! a drop of gleaming water sliding down the stem. Look! safe soil to bury yourself in. Look! fallen leaves to feast upon. While the colors and other various beauties of this miniature ecosystem escaped the worm, it fit it here. Nature provided for even her lowliest children.
Now, the worm sat in solitude beneath the ground, sensing vibrations and tremors reverberating throughout the soil. Making its way through its self-made tunnel, it felt no uneasiness, no claustrophobic panic: this was home. Did predators exist here? If they did, this wriggling creature would know. A king is in control of his castle. While rivals may exist, first they must plan a siege.
Rain had come again. Out of the tunnel crawled a skinny noodle, worming its way out into the grass. The water splashed down heavily around it, creating massive vibrations, confusing the creature's senses, making it vulnerable. Its body sponged up the ancient chemical substance, growing to a more appetizing size.
Buckets to the worm were large drops to the bird, and it shook the water off easily. Nothing so trivial would come between it and food. The wind, this was more dangerous than the rain. If the flier were to make it to the tantalizing morsel awaiting it on the ground, it would have to fly strategically.
Huge rumbles spread out into the ground, and overriding even the rain's tremors, the worm's receptor cells detected them easily. The vibrations grew dangerously closer with each passing thud. The robin perched in the tree above had started its dive, not aware of the lumbering monster off to the side. The victim, lying among the grass, was not fast enough for either of the predators.
The robin was faster than the human, and it retrieved its meal with time to spare. Flapping its wings frantically, it overcame the wind and returned to its beloved tree victoriously.
Chainsaw: the machine that brought down the tree. Its earth-stained steel grinding incessantly against the similarly-colored bark, it shook the living house and its inhabitants, sending a dire warning, one that spelled death. The robin was the first to evacuate, then the squirrels, leaping elsewhere, scampered around the park looking for a new place to dwell. The snails were thrown off onto the ground, discarded. All that was left of the structure was a forlorn stump.
The tree was placed into a mobile machine and carted throughout the streets, a tainted masterpiece, its leaves floating off onto the street where they would be crushed beneath harsh rubber. The sun peaked out from beneath the clouds: it had stopped raining. It beat down upon the tree, no longer providing energy, but extracting the remaining liquid from its corpse.
Presently the tree arrived at the dump. Flies flitted about, making use of the discarded rubbish stacked high into the sky. Humans exited the truck and heaved the tree off into the pile. It lay there, dying slowly, as the men climbed back into the machine and drove off, leaving a spiral of dust in their wake.
A year later, the dead tree was still there, albeit barely. The clouds were appearing in the sky, and a creature beneath the ground could sense it. It wriggled towards the surface, poking its head above the ground, absorbing sweet oxygen. It crawled out towards the tree, its food source for half of its life. Patiently, the worm lay there, waiting.
It rained.
I'd forgotten how fun to read your stories are.
