A Sluggish Death
Streaks of white glittered strangely under the glare of the blazing sun.  The sidewalk appeared deserted with the exception of a single object, lying there motionless, as its life slowly withered away.
    It was like any other Sunday morning: my parents rushing to get ready for church, while my sister and I patiently waited outside, basking in the warmth of the sun.  Yet today, life had given us something new and unexpected, something that would cause nothing but trouble.  It was a beautiful day with not one cloud in the sky, a brisk wind blew across the land, scattering white dandelion fluff across the lawn.  We strolled down the sidewalk, looking for something, anything that would serve as entertainment.  As the sun continued to rise over the horizon, it's glare revealed glistening streaks of white on the sidewalk.  Having nothing better to do, we followed the streaks.
            My sister led the way with me following close behind.  Eyes glued to the sidewalk, we walked, one feet, two feet.  Suddenly she came to an abrupt stop. I meandered around her to see why she had ceased to walk and there before me was an orangish brown slug, slowly making its way across the sidewalk, slime trailing behind its plump body.  As our shadows loomed over its body, the slug halted, eyes swiveling around, trying to figure out what had stolen its sunlight.
            Hundreds of ideas popped into my mind as I gloated over the great fortune we had stumbled upon.  After all, it wasn't every day that one could find such a fine specimen.  My sister seemed to have the very same thoughts running through her mind, for we exchanged looks of exhilaration .  Her eyes glinted with mischief and a devilish smile slowly spread across her face. 
"Get the salt shaker," she demanded.
    Curious to see what plan she had in mind, I sprinted back to the house.  Seconds later, I returned, salt shaker in hand and out of breath.  She took the salt shaker and grasped it firmly.  Slowly, she began tilting the salt shaker, inch by inch, until flakes of salt threatened to spill over the edge of the container.  The slug seemed to sense danger for it resumed to slowly inch forward, as if trying to escape.  Time seemed to slow and the brisk wind that had been blowing incessantly before stopped, as if the whole earth was holding its breath, waiting for what was about to come.       
The first flakes of salt had minimal effect, but once the salt shaker had been tilted so that a steady stream of salt fell upon the creature, the damage became evident.  The slug foamed and fizzled before our eyes.  Its orange body began to shrivel up and white lather covered its body.  At the sight of this, we shrieked with laughter, ignoring the damage we had inflicted.  No longer was the slug moving, it lay immobile, under the mounds of salt, its reddish body harshly contrasting with the heaps of pure white.  Whether it was still alive or not, we never found out, for at that moment, hands grasped us firmly by the shoulder.  We whirled around, staring right into the angry eyes of my mother.
After hours of reprimands and lectures, continual scolding of what senseless children we were, my mother's anger finally ebbed away.  Yet in our hearts, the guilt did not leave.  The exhilaration we had felt mere hours before had been replaced by shame. From that day on, we dared not lay hands on another creature of nature. 
As the years flew by, this memory remained fresh in my mind.  Each time I revisited that day, the queerer it seemed.  How strange it was that a slug, something so small and so seemingly unimportant, could teach us such an important lesson.