The Worm Story

by Onu Oremun

Down drip the drooping droplets.  Rain has been pouring steadily now for the past few hours.  Despite this, I decide to venture out.  The deep inhale I take fills my nose with the pungent smell of wet asphalt.  It’s midday, but nobody’s around.  This street has been deserted.

I put my hands in the pockets of my thin raincoat and crouch down on the curb of the sidewalk.  A steady stream of dirty water flows towards the sewer at the end of the road.  A leaf floats by, then a twig, a crumbled up beer can.  My blurry reflection stares back at me.  Then so does hers.

“Regardez,” She says.

“What?”

“Un ver,” She thrusts her tiny hand in my face.  The earthworm violently flips its body around in her palm.  Its raw pink nakedness disturbs me.

“Ew,” I respond.

“Voulez-vous le tenir ?” She asks.

“No.”

“Come on ! Il chatouille !” She begins to laugh.  Her body shakes and the worm tumbles into the dirty stream.

Silently, we watch it twist and writhe about, trying to fight the current.  Helplessly as if bound by something unseen.  We follow it down the road, knowing what lies ahead.  Only until I see her sad face, do I decide to try to rescue the worm.  But my timing is off.

Down, down, down, down the sewer they go.  The leaf, the twig, the garbage, the worm.