I was walking to school, looking down. I wasn't looking down on purpose (after all, The Last of the Really Great Wangdoodles reminds us that we should all look up more often) but, on my lonely walk there was nothing to attract my attention, so as it happened, I was looking down.
As I took a step, just like all the other steps I had taken, at a reasonably fast pace to avoid arriving late to school, I suddenly noticed that the stick I was about to step on was not, in fact, a stick.
It was a worm.
I don't know how I knew it was a worm. It was brown, straight, and still. It looked just like a stick. I'm somewhat nearsighted, so I couldn't see it in so much detail. It seemed, to all evidence I was consciously processing, to be a stick.
But I must have somehow been subconsciously noticing something about it; I must have somehow noted that it was slowly slithering forward; and with no time for my subconscious to inform my conscious mind how it knew, it screamed at me: "It's a worm!"
Alas, it was too late. I had already completed too much of the step, and all I could do was put slightly less weight on the foot than normal.
After I had passed, my consciousness realized that it had absolutely no idea what had made it think that stick had been a worm. But remembering how sure my subconscious had seemed at the time, I turned around and looked at the stick.
It had curled up and was wriggling. In other words, it was a worm.
I don't know whether or not I injured it; after all I only gave it a fleeting glance as my feet continued to carry me to school. So as I walked on, I could only hope, for the poor, unfortunate worm's sake, that I had not in fact injured it.
So, here I am today, with a potential injured worm on my conscience, and a newfound trust for my subconscious.
-Rebecca
No comments:
Post a Comment