Bernard extruded his eyes and adjudged it safe to move. Sliding along the green highway, he hummed a mollusc tune as his pseudopodium left its characteristic trail behind him. With a bit of luck he would make it to the cabbage patch before the afternoon sun made it too dangerous for a small, slimy person to move.
He was doing well until he got cocky and neglected to look before he rounded the garden shed.
The blackbird was on him before he had chance to tuck in his head and pretend to be a pebble.
“Oh fuck,” he said bitterly.
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