© Copyright 2019 by Laura Labno
This one day, a large amount of earth circulations ago, in a small poor city, in even smaller and poorer neighbourhood she and her friend were playing. They’ve collected an impressive amount of snails and put them into a box. The idea was to open a Snail School. A Card Box Primary Snail School.
Some of their snails were bigger and some were smaller but it was actually just perfect as every school needs teachers, of course.
They’ve put some leaves and grass inside of the box so the snails would feel very comfy and all. They’ve left the box for a while next to Sarah friend’s house and went wherever they needed to go (The memory, however illuminated and prominent, did not reach that far).
Few hundred breaths and some trillions or billions neural impulses later they came back to the box and the box was ruined.
What a vivid memory – She thought - that ruined box and the dead snails with cracked, cracked shells. It was all that mattered in this moment. Not back then.
Back then it was slightly sad and disgusting but no more than that. Well, maybe disappointing as well, a bit. But on that day, hundreds or thousands of earth circulations later it was prominent and illuminated. It seemed important.
A black squared piece of plastics and metals, hanging on Sarah’s wall, showing colourful pictures and making annoying noises, was also often showing these snails. And in fact, it was a bit like a box, this flat square on her wall, what made it even more comparable. Snails in the box, so very often. Ruined and dead. And the feelings aren’t that different either – She thought - Nor the reactions to them. Snails just get killed sometimes, that’s all.
Illuminated and prominent image of snails slowly vanished away from Sarah’s mind and then she heard a familiar noise coming from behind. Someone touched her shoulder and kissed her gently on her cheek. She took a deep breath and turned around but there was no familiar face, just no one.
So she kept drawing,