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Slugs are solitary creatures.
This is true for all slugs, but especially for the little red slug named Keith. Keith avoids other slugs like his little slug life depends on it, because it does. Keith is a very small slug, and given that most slugs are not very discerning about their diets, he has often been mistaken for a particularly juicy cherry tomato or else an uncommonly red carrot. Other slugs and Keith do not mix.
Which is why, when Keith is desperately inching away from the garden dog who won’t stop shoving its giant snout into the leaf litter to try to dig Keith out of it and chomp him to pieces in its toothy, slavering jaws, he panics at the sight of another, much bigger slug peeking its head out from under a nearby leaf.
This is it, Keith thinks, having the closest thing to an existential breakdown that a slug can manage, considering that they are molluscs that rarely live over two years. This is the end.
The new, bigger slug is also a very strange looking slug. It’s pure white, as if it’s been bleached of all color, and it peers down at Keith with surprisingly kind gray eyes on its wiggling eyestalks. Keith wonders for a moment if this slug is a ghost, come to welcome him to the afterlife before the dog eats him.
But instead the slug speaks to him.
Slugs communicate via telepathy, which is very cool, but they don’t know how cool it is because they’re slugs. Regardless, the slug uses cool slug telepathy to say: It’s okay. Hide under this leaf, and I’ll make the dog go away.
Keith peers at the ghostly slug uncertainly, but because his options seem to be: a) get eaten by a very big dog or b) hide and maybe get eaten by a very big ghost slug, he goes with the marginally more promising option b and slithers under the leaf in question. The ghost slug sends him an approving telepathic pat and slimes its way over to the dog.
What happens next is pretty predictable, but Keith still stiffens in fear and sympathy at the sight of the dog slurping up the ghost slug. How sad. It was the only slug that was nice to him and didn’t try to eat him or fuck him on sight. Keith resolves to eat a vegetable in the ghost slug’s honor while the dog is distracted.
But then, a miracle: the dog spits out the ghost slug, whining and drooling, and runs off, tail between its legs. The ghost slug looks mostly unbothered, a little banged up and slimier than usual, but gives Keith a friendly look as it crawls over to him. Keith holds very still. What is this magic slug? Surely this is the part where it eats him.
I’m not going to eat you, the ghost slug assures as Keith’s eyestalks twitch nervously. I’m Shiro. What’s your name?
Why didn’t the dog eat you? Keith demands, staying hidden under the leaf, using it as a shield, only his little eyestalks peeping out.
I’m very poisonous to dogs, Shiro replies. Not dangerous to other slugs, though – don’t worry.
Keith cautiously slides out from under the leaf, just a little. You saved my life, then. Thank you...I’m Keith.
Keith, the slug named Shiro repeats. Well, it’s good to meet you. I haven’t seen you in this garden before – are you just passing through?
Yes, Keith admits. Is this...your garden? He’s a nomadic, free-roaming slug. He knows some slugs have home territories, and nervously, he wonders if he’s accidentally trespassed. But Shiro doesn’t seem upset. He actually seems excited to see another slug.
Shiro’s eyestalks droop slightly. It’s not really my garden. But I’ve been here for a while. Want me to show you the best compost pile?
...Okay, Keith says shyly, and tentatively slithers over the leaves with Shiro leading the way, growing bolder with each new slime trail they make. Shiro isn’t so bad. Shiro is a kind slug, and once Keith gets used to it, his pale coloring is sort of beautiful, his layer of mucus shining a pretty silver in the afternoon sunshine.
They have a good long telepathic chat while consuming compost together. Keith learns that Shiro is an albino slug, that he loves mushrooms and strawberries, and he has escaped the jaws of death too many times to count.
Keith decides Shiro is a charming slug, and appreciates that Shiro doesn’t ask too much about Keith’s mysterious past. Keith has a tragic slug backstory, and it makes him uncomfortably slimy when he thinks about it too much. When Shiro escorts Keith to the edge of the garden and asks if he’ll ever see him again, Keith finds himself promising to visit as soon as possible, and even more extraordinary: he finds that he actually means it.
*
Unfortunately, the next time they meet is unplanned and under dire circumstances.
Keith is passing near the outskirts of Shiro’s garden when he tastes the unmistakable, deadly scent of beer in the air. Beer in and of itself isn’t poisonous to slugs, but it’s the key ingredient of slug traps. Keith crawls faster through the grass, terrified of what he will find at the garden gates. He slips under the fence, for once uncaring of the tracks he leaves behind him – what if Shiro is in danger? Keith will never forgive himself if Shiro dies when Keith could have saved him as Shiro did for him.
Slugs take life debts very seriously, partly because their lives are so damn short and they’re not exactly the speediest. Every second counts.
Keith finds what he feared: a slug trap made of a pie tin filled with beer, which a large white slug is currently trapped in. Keith crawls up onto the lip of the pie tin as fast as he can (it still takes him about five minutes to get there, and he’s extremely quick for a slug) and peers down at Shiro, who sees him and waves his eyestalks frantically, straining up towards Keith but slipping right back down.
Keith! he cries in the most plaintive telepathic snail voice Keith has ever heard. Help me!
I’m trying! Keith says back, eyestalks darting around for some solution. He’s too tiny to haul Shiro out – they’ll just both be trapped! So Keith will have to be crafty...aha! There’s a large oak leaf nearby. I think I have an idea, Keith tells him, but it will take a little while. Hold on, Shiro.
Please hurry, Keith, Shiro wheezes, it’s hard to breathe in here.
Probably because it’s beer, not oxygen, Keith says as he oozes back down the side of the pie tin to retrieve the leaf.
You’re a very smart slug, Keith, Shiro manages.
No slug has ever said that to him before. Keith only knows what oxygen is because he read it in a newspaper before he ate the newspaper. Explaining the logistics of how a slug learned to read English words would take up more space than is available here, but suffice it to say that Keith is a very curious and enterprising little slug, and more slugs than you might think enjoy literature a great deal.
Thank you, Shiro, Keith says as he painstakingly drags the giant oak leaf back up the pie tin. Can you reach the leaf? He lowers it bit by bit into the pie tin, until Shiro finally manages to cling to it, helping Keith nudge it upwards as best he can.
Keith uses every ounce of slug strength in his three inch long body to wriggle backwards, slowly tugging the leaf and Shiro out of the pie tin trap. Finally, Shiro is able to gain enough purchase to crawl out, flopping onto the grass beside Keith with an expression of dazed relief in his eyes.
That was a close call, Keith says, and surprises himself by nuzzling up against the larger slug, hoping to comfort him.
I’m so glad you found me, Keith, Shiro whispers. You were very brave. I would have drowned in there for sure! What an undignified way to go.
Better than salt, Keith says, and Shiro shivers, looking even more anxious than before. Hey...do you want to go somewhere safe and warm for a while? There are some really tasty mushrooms there, too.
That sounds heavenly, Keith, Shiro agrees, and wearily slithers beside him back to Keith’s hidey hole beneath some mossy tree roots. Keith sticks close to Shiro the whole way, and Shiro seems grateful for the support. No other slugs or snails bother Keith with such a big slug by his side, either – it’s a win-win. Keith thinks this is called a “symbiotic relationship.” (He has read and eaten many science books, as his tragic backstory involves an ill-fated third grade science experiment of which he was the sole survivor.)
Shiro is very complimentary of Keith’s hidey hole, even though it really isn’t much. He even notices the flowers Keith strung up on shiny strands of mucus for decor. Keith has never had a guest before, and it makes him very flustered. He offers Shiro moss and mushrooms and a particularly pretty sunflower petal he saved for a special occasion, but Shiro apologetically admits he’s too tired and stressed to have an appetite.
I’m sorry, Keith says, curling up slightly. I will leave you to rest –
No, don’t go, Shiro pleads, slithering closer to him. He strokes at Keith in an almost fond sort of way, and Keith falters. Surely such a large and therefore very fertile and desirable slug like Shiro wouldn’t want to mate with him? But all Shiro does is curl up to him, and it seems more like snuggling than courtship. It still sends a little thrill through Keith.
Is this better? Keith asks, curling his own body so he’s nestled in the curve of Shiro’s, their slime mixing. Okay, so maybe it feels a little like courtship. That’s okay. Slugs fuck casually enough, sometimes.
...But Keith’s not sure he wants casual with Shiro. And Keith’s never fucked, casually or otherwise, before because he’s not a fan of getting eaten. He doesn’t think Shiro would eat him, though. He will court Shiro properly, he resolves, and give him all the mushrooms his slug heart desires – both because Shiro deserves them, and because they might curb his appetite.
This is so much better, Shiro sighs, and tenderly rubs his eyestalks against Keith’s, his entire body rippling happily. Thank you, Keith. I’m so glad I met you.
I’m glad I met you, too, Keith says, and thinks contentedly that of all the slugs he could share his home and potentially his spermatophores with, Shiro is the best of them.