The poor snail

Today was like any other normal day. I was like my usual normal self, hurrying from one place to another, walking as fast as I could, when I saw many yucky looking mess up pieces of stuff on the floor. Curious, I decided to take a closer look and realized that it was just the remains of a poor snail that some random individual, probably rushing like me, accidentally crushed to death. As I walked the short distance to the MRT station( less than 700 meters), I counted at least 10 crushed snails.

I wonder, if anyone felt any remorse at crushing those poor creatures. You may reach your destination in time, but in doing so, you took a life. Maybe they aren’t important to you as they are snails, and the only snails that are of importance to you are escargots (now I am curious, are the snails you see by the roadside edible like the French snails, or does the snails being French make them higher class, therefore more delicate to the palate?) You must know that the snails didn’t asked to be stomp upon by bumbling giants like us. It probably took them 3 hours to crawl one meter, and somebody had to stamp on them. Can you imagine that it took you 10 years to get promoted to your current position in your company, and suddenly the company just collapse?

Also, please realize the fact that the snails you stepped on…….they have a family also. They are somesnail’s mother, father,, child, brother, sister, friend, or spouse. Each time you crush one, families of snails weep, even their in-laws.

Please do your part and open your eyes wide today, as even though snails have shells, they are fragile creatures. If you have to step on something, you can step on cockroaches instead. Those are much more disgusting and bigger pests.


The Snail

Slow and steady the mighty one moves,
The one who carries his hefty burden,
His house and only comfort, his curse
Moving slower than a crippled terrapin

Without his house he lacks worth,
Looking like his slug friend, Ugly Horace,
Alas, this mighty Hercules, this mighty Titan,
Ended up sadly as ‘Splat’ the flattened one.




I realized that if one have insomnia, they tend to write very silly stuff. Perhaps if you replaced the snails with people's whose emotions were trampled upon to achieve one's goal, it would sound slightly more intelligent.