The Flight Of The Snail
He was called Mr. Snail, a creature with a limited vision of his world, unable to see beyond the enclosed space of his shell when he wasn’t crawling amongst the other living things that comprised the ground of his vision.
Some inhabitants of this place wondered what Mr. Snail’s opinion would be, however the minute he was aware of anything, he would retreat into his space, within the shell. So none of the participants every knew him better than as “a husk that moves slowly.”
“If you ask me,” said the Rabbit on his way racing to a very important date.
“No one asked you,” interrupted the porcupine who added “you’re always moving so fast, looking for the right hole, in your frenzy to notice everything.”
“And that Tea Party, what’s that all about?” buzzed Wisp, the Wasp.
“Aren’t you being just a bit too judgmental?”, asked the slithering slug.
“Nah” said the black duck floating in the pond nearby, “I’m tired of hearing stories about that darn Wabbit.”
Perhaps all this bickering is predicated on whether creatures can talk, thought Alice, with an odd curious look and raised brow as her gaze focused on the half eaten mushroom lying on the grass next to her.