odious creatures we are that inspire naught but frowns and curdled expressions from the good and upright villagers. our sloping gait, leaving even unwanted footprints, we snake our varied directions towards the shrine where we will moonlit sit and refer to one another only in glances, soothed by a forgiving silence.
but we’re not there yet. first we must each drag our tabernacles. some enormous, others small, all heavy, heavy, monstrously leaden, deadening our senses. our weakness is the only strong thing about us, all joy sucked from our lungs, all vivacity sucked from our bones.
aside from our misery, which we worship daily –hourly– with our toils, we also worship the little creature, the snail. such a small edifice of nature. lungless, boneless, her own beautiful tabernacle manifesting acutely from her flesh. she inspires naught but frowns and curdled expressions from the good and upright villagers. her sloping gait, leaving unwanted glistening slime: i was here.