The pink now writhes from the earth with determined twists and methodical contractions. First a pin's head, then a pencil's lead; the worm pushes on and breaks free from the muddy grip of its sodden cage.
Grey light oozes through black clouds.
The worm eeks an inaudible shriek as it raises its head in defiance to the ignoble sky.
The clouds slowly swirl in reply.
The pink perceives the gesture but hardly finds it threatening. It hugs the earth with its moist body to crawl on comfortable cold. Slithering, the visitor from below feels the soil roll off its skin while vibrations draw it in.
A strong and constant beat holds the segmented explorer's attention.
It slides towards the source. The string thing, now positively trembling, anticipates this new experience.
The vibration's intensity builds and grows as purposeful steps bring leather and doom
in an indifferent boot.
Harsh soles meet soft soil in a contest made for fools.
A vague shadow in the soft light envelops our lowly friend.
It's found the source (the one it seeks) but does not have a clue;
the sweetest pink,
the briefest wink,
Will end with a dirty shoe.
