I used to know this kid who was often alone. We were friends, but he was weird.
He always carried a backpack around with him, and in it, he always had jars. Every time he saw an insect or small animal, he would stop suddenly, pull out a jar and tweezers, and then pick the poor creature up from where it was, inserting it into a see through prison.
Then, back into his backpack it would go.
I always wondered why he did that, but more, what he did after that.
I tried it once, with a slug.
A slug was on my doorstep one morning. I thought it wanted to come in. So I got an old jar, picked up my slimy friend between my forefinger and thumb, and placed it gently inside.
I took it to my room, and we talked a while. Oh, what fun we had. My new friend would sleep over for the night, then in the morning, he would go back home.
When I woke the next morning though, my slug was dry and moving slower than slugs normally do (which is pretty slow to begin with). In fact, the slug wasn’t moving at all. All around the glass I could see traces of its attempts to escape. Small slimy lines all lined up on top of one another.
And in that moment I saw something I hadn’t seen before. Death. In fast forward, in my head, I saw that snail racing and racing, spinning and spinning, dying with lack of air, dying to be free once more...
I wonder, if he did want to come in or not, when he was casually sliming along on my doorstep.
I buried him in the back garden, in a matchbox tomb. On the lid, I wrote... ‘Sorry’.
And I was.
Created: Apr 04, 2010Document Media