There is, at this moment, a worm crawling down my monitor. Against the bright white background of my text, I can see the spring-shaped intestine compressing as he pulls himself along, running all the way through his body, which is a translucent pinkish brown. He is covered in flecks of dirt, having recently escaped from the confines of the potted pepper plant which sits, flowering, atop the crowded hutch of my cluttered desk.

Ah, wiggly worm, my room is not the place for you - outside, into the garden on a cool, still night, you go...

Log in or registerto write something here or to contact authors.