Flash Fiction #49 – Sluggish

The slug had reached the ancient age 

of 13 months 

by staying close to the garden. 

It knew venturing too far 

led to death. 

It had seen its comrades killed by birds, 

by human feet and salt, 

and the worst death of them all: 


It always gave itself plenty of time 

to get back to its lettuce leaves.

Not tonight.


A sweet smelling banana 

has seduced the slug 

beyond the garden. 

The slug’s best day turns to its worst. 

The fruit was divine; 

the sun 

that begins to roast its flesh, 

not so much.

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