Letters From The Front Lines

Summer of ’22. The garden. The Great War.

⸻

Dear Human,
Day 1
We noticed you planted lettuce.
Bold move.
We are thrilled.

Love,
The Snail Syndicate

Dear Human,
Day 4
You scream now when you see us.
Was the nibble on your marigolds truly “devastating”?
Perspective, Carl.
Your ancestors literally survived the Black Plague.
Pull it together.

Sincerely,
Lieutenant S. Helix

Dear Human,
Day 7
Nice trap.
Really.
A Tupperware lid and stale beer? We laughed for hours. Barry got drunk. He sends his regards.

Drunk and thriving,
Commander Slimesworth

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Dear Human,
Day 11
You brought out poison today.
We saw you attempt to read the label.
We gather you need glasses.
It is for houseplants. Not snails.

But thanks for the high.

Still here,
Team Gastropod

⸻

Dear Human,
Day 18
We lost Sylvia today.
She went out for dandelions and did not return.
She was the slowest of us.
Which says something.
You have made this personal.

No love today,
Vengeance Division

Dear Human,
Day 22
You played music while watering the plants.
It was soft.
You cried a little.
So did we.
We miss the roses, too.
We never wanted this war.

Still carrying grief,
Molluscs Anonymous

⸻

Dear Human,
Day 30
You gave up.
We watched from the shadows as you packed away the watering can.
No more basil. No more begonias.
We did not win.
We just outlasted you.

Like we always do.

With ancient slowness,
Elder Snail