"What is the smallest room/space in your home? Can you create a story set in just this space?"
I've noticed a snail living INSIDE our vegetable recycling bin. I'm not sure whether to take it out or not. It gets food, liquid, shelter from the rain...air comes in when we open it.... But no light, except that odd bit. I guess it's used to the swing of the lid it sits on, waiting, upside down, for the next breath of air.
So, story. I'll do first person because I'm a fan of that :)
I didn't know whether to move to a more sunny location. I'd got used to the head hanging down position - in fact it seemed to increase the efficacy of my thoughts, all my sludge being pulled down to there. There was, also, a continual banquet of deliciousness, both liquid and solid. Various, and with no other claimants of my own kind. The flies weren't great, but didn't eat that much, and after a while you zone out their constant chatter. I'd got used to the once-nauseating swing of my platform being pivoted to allow the deposition of the yums (the sludge whooshing wildly in my brain), and the humans didn't seem inclined to throw me out or crush me or cover me in salt.
But I missed the sunlight.
I was as nocturnal as anyone, but it seemed like something - something big, something that was 50% of life - was missing.
I used to find a rock or something to hide under to sleep, so that was dark too. (Not a lack of sleep problem.) But it was at least out there then, a sliming away. That yellow/white gleam. Available. Rather than being chained to the excretion schedules of larger beasts.
But, you know, rotting cabbage.
It was a tough call.
I've noticed a snail living INSIDE our vegetable recycling bin. I'm not sure whether to take it out or not. It gets food, liquid, shelter from the rain...air comes in when we open it.... But no light, except that odd bit. I guess it's used to the swing of the lid it sits on, waiting, upside down, for the next breath of air.
So, story. I'll do first person because I'm a fan of that :)
I didn't know whether to move to a more sunny location. I'd got used to the head hanging down position - in fact it seemed to increase the efficacy of my thoughts, all my sludge being pulled down to there. There was, also, a continual banquet of deliciousness, both liquid and solid. Various, and with no other claimants of my own kind. The flies weren't great, but didn't eat that much, and after a while you zone out their constant chatter. I'd got used to the once-nauseating swing of my platform being pivoted to allow the deposition of the yums (the sludge whooshing wildly in my brain), and the humans didn't seem inclined to throw me out or crush me or cover me in salt.
But I missed the sunlight.
I was as nocturnal as anyone, but it seemed like something - something big, something that was 50% of life - was missing.
I used to find a rock or something to hide under to sleep, so that was dark too. (Not a lack of sleep problem.) But it was at least out there then, a sliming away. That yellow/white gleam. Available. Rather than being chained to the excretion schedules of larger beasts.
But, you know, rotting cabbage.
It was a tough call.
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