If you can’t see it clearly, the picture to the right is of a snail, green with moss, creeping over an equally mossy landscape – perhaps underwater. What makes this fantastic is the lantern suspended from one antenna.
I have a thing for snails. If keeping those giant African land snails was legal, I would have one as a pet.
Her children had left her ages ago. All she had left was the green and wet of the broken pipe near the factory outflow. She knew what it was. Others might think it a oozy cave, a warm water stream brought by providence just for them. She had seen the above . She had crept at low tide over rocks, her eyestalks stretching out to view whatever lay beyond her reality. There was a lot of it.
Slowly, slower still than her peers, she eased down over broken bits and shells of the dead to the deep mossy grotto where she reigned. The dwindling flake of phosphorescence balanced at the tip of her antenna. When it wore out at last, she would scrape it off into the pile of her life’s detritus and wait for whatever came next. She curled into the spot between old houses and slept, perfectly blended moss to moss on the floor of the broken pipe.