I have been in this dark museum for hundreds of years, at
least it feels that way. Bored humans come and stare at me with their big eyes
and pointy fingers making noises of disgust. They really have no manners at
all. Stop pointing for a minute and I’ll tell you how I got here.
It was a beautiful, moist day and I, the Reverend Slug was
coming back from the Sunday service. I love Sundays, they are so peaceful. All
of the humans are asleep and we slugs can go to church, tuck into an earthworm
and lettuce sandwich and a have a nice relaxing slime over everything. Anyway,
I was on the way back to my house when I saw in the distance my good friend
Winston. He is usually the organist at the church but he couldn’t make it that
day because he was a feeling a little dry and feverish. So I was surprised to
see him moving so fast towards me.
“Hello, Winston, how are you feeling?”
“Run, Reverend, Run! The White Slug says there’s a human with
a wart and-“
I cut him off. “A wart?” I asked, intrigued.
“Haven’t you heard the bad news?" he asked. "We’re the latest cure. Come
on, there’s no time to chat!”
We both dashed off to the Rock of Safety as fast as we could.
It felt as if we were going at the speed of light, but all slugs know we are no
match for the long strides of humans. The Rock of Safety was in sight, but so was the human. It was
hot on our tail. The sky went dark and suddenly I was picked up. It’s always
the black slugs that get picked up - I think it’s racism.
I felt the searing pain of the human’s hot, dry hand as I was
lifted miles into the air. I was placed on a huge, rough lump. It was the
wart - a green, moist, mountainous
horror. The searing pain didn’t stop as he rubbed me on the fabled wart. It
only stopped when I realized I was heading for a thorn, the sharp point getting
closer and closer until with a prick, a splodge and an ooze, I felt it go right
through me.
The pain didn’t stop until I finally died, my last thought
being, “I hope your damned wart never goes away!”
by Ellen Beaufoy
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