The Earthworm is Earlier
By: Craig Meighan
Tags: Creative Writing, Short Story, Fiction, Earthworm, Humour

Photo by Viktor Talashuk on Unsplash

Sometimes being a worm can be less than satisfactory. It rains a lot here. A lot more than seems fair. Wet soil is awkward, penetratingly cold and the flavour is seriously diminished.

Not today though.

The soil is good today. Tasty. As I wriggle upwards through the earth, the tangy bacteria within the soil nourishes me and I make my happy face, such as it is.

Today could be a good day, there are no signs to the contrary. It is early, just the way I like it. There’s a lot of big talk about early birds doing whatever, but I am already up for several hours before they get to their ugly squawking business. I’ve got wiggling to do. I’ve got soil to process. No time for anything else.

I hear noises that are made by the big things. Noises like ‘Late’, ‘Meeting’, ‘Pilates’ and ‘Coffee’. That’s for the big things. The loud things. I don’t know what they are, but even the early birds don’t mess with them. You get in their way and you’re a smear on the concrete. Game over. They are best avoided.

Today I am very early. The soil was soft, velvety and accommodating. I moved so quickly through it that I’m nearly ready to break through. I can feel the heat of the recently risen sun on the thin top layer of soil, which I rest against before I emerge. As my head bursts through into open air I greedily gulp down some of that lovely air. I don’t have lungs per se, but I like the taste.

The bright, bright sun is a good omen. The birds have other things to torment on a nice day. I look around at the park. The concrete path is a few metres away. Only a few of the big things are around. The trees scrape the sky, but it seems I have been lucky, no birds in sight. I get on with my favourite exercise, a good solid wiggle through the grass. The tall strands of grass are what I’m aiming for, a good shoogle and you can set them swaying. As a worm, it’s a satisfying moment if you can have a visible effect on the world. Mostly you cruise by, unnoticed. Maybe one of the big things will see this grass moving, seemingly all by itself, and it will make a difference to the day.

I revel in the thought, wiggling more exuberantly than usual. I am making waves today. Creating ripples, cutting a noticeable path through the pliant grass. This is the day. The day I’ll be remembered for. That would be nice. A clipping for the old scrapbook.

But now, a shadow. A squawk. In the tree above, a bird. I don’t want to look, but I have to and when I do, it’s the worst possible news. A crow. Those damn crows. They’re nobodies fools. First on the scene, the early bird.

Another squawk and I decide to stop wiggling. I’m going to remain perfectly still. I will not draw any attention to myself whatsoever. The main problem now is that damn exuberance from earlier. The trail of bent blades I’ve marked out is obviously an absolute artwork, but it’s also a map which leads precisely to my location.

The crow’s head jerks in my direction. I see it looking quizzically at the masterpiece I have created. A little awe is only natural.

These crows are problem solvers, intelligent and fast as lightening. Arseholes basically. I peek out from the grass and will the bird to leave. He doesn’t leave however, and worse still, he is examining the trail and follows it with his eyes. He is figuring it out, that crow bastard.

I gently start to try and pierce the earth, with a view to resubmerging. His beady eyes are on the movement immediately and with a terrifying flutter his wings are out and he launches himself from the branch towards me.

Dig, dig, dig! I have never been quick at this.

The outline of the bird is backlit by the sun and this menacing winged silhouette glides ever closer.

Fuck off early bird! Go back to hell from whence you came!

The claws are approaching and I can’t move fast enough. I’ve got half of my body into the hole but the claws crash into me. They clamp around my body and pull. I wriggle and struggle and the claws grip tighter until I stretch. My back end remains in the earth but my middle stretches until I feel like I will split into two pieces, which would, of course, be a disaster.

I coil and dig and try to grip as much as I can, but the difference in strength is outrageous. This is David’s little brother vs Goliath’s dad. Pulled backwards the soil flashes by my head and in a sickening lurch, I am in the air. I wriggle, I struggle, but it is for nothing. I am caught and the game is up. We are moving now very quickly and on an ascent. The sensation of the wind rushing past me is unfamiliar, disorienting and it takes me several moments to get my composure back. I reassess my surroundings and my composure is immediately ruptured by the dizzying shock of the altitude we are already at.

Very soon, we are higher than I imagined it was possible to go. Far above the tree tops there is so much more sky than I could know. The view from the air is a rush. The world, large as it seemed to me this morning, is in fact an infinite realm of beauty stretching to the limits of sight and beyond. The morning sun kisses vast plains of water, tinting them deep orange and mega structures rise up like grizzly bears to battle the sky. Three million miniature suns twinkle across the vista. A light show just for me. Far below, a thousand new sounds blend together in a magnificent swirl to create a vast urban symphony and all the while I soar over it like an angel.

I was right. Today is a good day.