May 31, 2015

purple snail

‘I hate everything,’ muttered the purple snail as she slimed her way across a long green leaf. ‘I hate being stuck in this garden. I hate my shell, and I never get to go anywhere.’

‘I hate the garden more than you do,’ said a nearby orange blossom. ‘At least you can move. I can’t, for instance, see what’s behind that watering can. You, lucky you, can crawl over and see.’

‘I hate the watering can, and I hate what’s behind it. I’ve been there and seen it. I hate it,’ said the purple snail.

‘Well, what’s behind it then? At least tell me that much,’ said the orange blossom.

‘Why would I tell you when I hate you?’ reasoned the snail.

‘You hate me? You don’t know what hate is until you’re me hating you,’ retorted the blossom.

‘Oh yeah?’ said the snail.

‘Yeah,’ said the blossom.

The conversation ended. The purple snail slimed away, feeling pleased, and the orange blossom was forced to dance in the wind even though she hated dancing.

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