The sky slowly turned black with each passing minute, and as the stars became clearer, Sharon and I made eye contact and nodded our tentacles in agreement. It was time to feed. There was no conversation of where we wanted to go–the rotting apricots were our favorite, and the Johnsons, whose lavender bushes we lived in, had plenty of them. 

We pushed ourselves over the damp dirt, feeling the cool ground beneath us. Already, we reached the sidewalk. Sharon and I had motivation today; we hadn’t had apricots since last year. We pushed ourselves over the concrete feeling every rough millimeter as we went by. Motivated by the apricots, we pushed our necks and tentacles forward in vain, willing ourselves to get to the closest apricot before they ran out. 

Distracted by the quick pitter-pattering beside me, I rotated my neck to see what the excitement was about. Surely enough, a beetle behind us was effortlessly gaining speed. 

“Are you heading to the Johnson’s, Ozzie?” The beetle asked as he caught up to me and Sharon. 

“You know it!” I replied to him excitedly. “We are so excited it’s that time of year again.”

“Us, too!” The beetle said as he spurted forward, his companions following behind. 

Sharon looked up to the trees and muttered something under her breath. 

“Are you alright?” I wondered. 

Sharon sighed.

“Sharon, what?” I grew worried. 

“I’m just cold, Oz,” she replied coldly. 

“Sharon,” I started slowly, “We have shells. We don’t get cold. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“They’re going to eat all the apricots,” she said sadly, her tentacle eyes still reaching for them in vain as we glided along the sidewalk. 

“We are making so much progress tonight, Share!” I looked behind us, pointing to her the glimmer of our path behind us under the moonlight. “It’s been only a minute and we have moved a whole two inches!”

Sharon slowly brought her head and tentacles behind to where I was gesturing. “We’re never going to get there…” she said, a frown deepening on her mouth.

More pitter-pattering came from the other side of Sharon. It was Lucille, her friend, the orange lady bug. 

“Hey Sharon,” she greeted as she slowed her pace to keep up with us. Immediately, she noticed the frown on Sharon’s face. “What’s wrong?” 

“She’s sad because she thinks we’re not going to get to the apricots in time,” I responded. 

“We’re not!” Sharon cried. “We are so slow… I hate being a snail.”

Lucille and I looked at Sharon on either side, our jaws dropped as much as bugs’ jaws can drop.

“Share…” Lucille cooed. 

“Embrace yourself, my love,” I said to her. “We are amazing snails and we are doing our best, and today we are on fire! There are going to be plenty of apricots for us. Far more than we have room for.” 

Lucille rotated to look at the trail behind us, almost tripping over 3 of her legs in the process, and asked, “What time did you guys leave?” 

“About five minutes ago,” Sharon replied glumly. 

“Five whole minutes ago?!” Lucille exclaimed. “That’s impressive; Your trail is nearly at a whole foot already! You guys must really want those apricots.”

“Who doesn’t?” Sharon cried even louder as she gestured to the crowd of ants crawling past us on my right. “We are bigger than them, but still so slow.”

“You know what, I’m going to walk with you guys,” Lucille said positively. “Everything is going to be just fine. This is going to be fun!” 

“Thanks, Luce,” Sharon weeped. “That means a lot. I guess it will be okay if you’re here with us.”

“Thanks, Lucille,” I smiled at her, craning my neck so she could see me past Sharon’s head. Lucille nodded her head in acknowledgement. 

We strolled past the driveway, the minutes turning into hours, the mosquitos and gnats flew past, and finally, we reached the grass of the Johnson’s where the apricot tree resides. Before us, the rotting apricot on the sidewalk was nearly gone. It was emptied by our friends who had passed before us earlier, completely gone. Desperately looking for more apricots, Sharon, Lucille, and I craned our necks looking for more in the grass. Lucille brought out her wings and flew over the grass. She returned, and Sharon and I embraced for Lucille’s report. 

“They’re gone,” Lucille said sadly, looking at us both quickly and sadly. “There are no more apricots.”

Sharon breathed in slowly, and I looked to her solemnly. 

“I am so sorry, Share,” I said. 

“It’s okay,” she said, taking me by surprise. “I have embraced myself. I hate being a snail. We’re never going to see apricots again. Let’s eat these palm leaves over here.”