Snail Trails

This is one of the many assignments turned in for the aforementioned creative writing class. I changed a couple of things, but I think my teacher would have still written, "Read this to us" at the top. Of course, she may have spelled my name right this time. Read on!

“Something’s coming out of the sink. Help!”

“Be quiet, Erica, it’s just me,” I cautioned her as I slithered out onto the white porcelain.

“Oh, Bella, I forgot that you were going to drop by.”

“Yeah. That happens a lot. This reminds me of the time Silas Spider tried to wrap me in his web because I was wiggling up the wall at two in the morning,” I told her forgivingly as I wiggle my eye spots at her.

“Here! Try this!” She said, putting a small mound of sparkly blue goo in front of me.

“I told you before that you can’t make me eat toothpaste.”

“Fine, be a provincial creature and never try new things,” she was obviously proud of her new word.

“That’s a bit redun—,“ I began as I slithered closer to a blue bottle of VO5 naturals shampoo.

The shampoo beads that had slid down the oddly-shaped container reminded me vaguely of some white goo, called ice cream, that Erica had given me once. I made a note to ask for more of the sweet confection as my train of thought was interrupted. Erica had been brushing her hair for ten minutes. Though she was almost done, a loud banging had interrupted my sentence.

“Erica, you’ve been in there long enough,” an angry masculine voice resounded through the small, tiled room.

“Okay, okay,” she said, throwing items in their respective places before directing me back down the drain.

As she opened the door, a huge man with thinning hair, pushed past her as his eyes locked on my slimy, gray body. His pale eyes grew large, filling with malignant evil. A demonic grin consumed his fleshy face.

“Hello, little slug, it’s time to die,” he vociferated, grabbing a can of Barbasol shaving cream.

I barely made it to the drain before the canister crashed down. The sink shuddered and lost my hold on the pipe. When I landed with a squishy plop at the joint in the pipe, I found myself being pushed toward certain death by an onslaught of chilly, chlorinated water. Luckily, some misled plumber had installed a pipe that led to the great outdoors and thereby saved me from toxic emanations.

I lay down in the shade to recover and was soon joined by my friend Buster Bumblebee, who alighted on a bright, yellow dandelion nearby. He told me about his terrible day. I had to agree with him. After all, he almost lost his best friend. When I had recovered enough to do so, I went to my moist, warm house where I curled into myself for a much-needed sleep—the perfect end to a stressful day.