tired of lugging his shell, every fibre in schnell’s shapeless form craved adventure. adventure, by his definition, was to fly gracefully through the air.
“blasted cockroaches”, he grumbled. “foulest creatures ever, yet they get to fly!”, he continued—slithering over a piece of paper.
then it hit him.
“a piece of paper!”, he exclaimed.
“…if folded right, will fly!”, he exclaimed again.
3 days later, the craft was complete.
“tough work, this”, he moaned; looking over his paper cut-riddled body.
“perhaps rubbing some salt will ease the pain.”
and that was the last we heard from schnell the snail.
“blasted cockroaches”, he grumbled. “foulest creatures ever, yet they get to fly!”, he continued—slithering over a piece of paper.
then it hit him.
“a piece of paper!”, he exclaimed.
“…if folded right, will fly!”, he exclaimed again.
3 days later, the craft was complete.
“tough work, this”, he moaned; looking over his paper cut-riddled body.
“perhaps rubbing some salt will ease the pain.”
and that was the last we heard from schnell the snail.
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