The Snail and the Worm

The Snail and the Worm

The snail and the worm decided to have a race. Everyone said the snail had it in the bag. Slow and steady, they said. The worm laughed, wriggling in the damp soil, convinced speed would win.

They started together under the morning sun. The soil smelled of rain and moss. For a moment, the world felt quiet, like it had paused to watch them. The snail crept, deliberate, methodical. The worm squirmed, eager, impatient, leaving tiny trails behind.

But halfway to the post, the snail slipped. A careless patch of salt, thrown thoughtlessly by someone passing, curled its shell into agony. The worm pressed on, oblivious, until a black bird swooped from the tree. Quick, precise. The worm was gone, gone before it could even scream.

No one finished the race. The post waited, untouched, silent. The moral? Slow and steady isn’t always best. Life doesn’t reward effort alone. It doesn’t care about persistence or planning. Sometimes, it just throws salt in your path or a shadow from above.

And that’s it. That’s the race. Short, messy, unfair. Perfect.

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