Worm

Worm crawled out of the wet, soft earth whenever it began to rain. He poked his head, or his arse (for they look the same to any me or any you, and thus it is hard to tell) out of the ground and shook it around to rid himself of any loose pieces of sand that were stuck to his slimy, pale skin. He stretched himself to the max, and with great effort finally pulled out of the tiny pathway he'd created for himself under the grass. 

Each raindrop was the same thickness as his body, and each one created an electrifying ring and momentary headache, or arseache, as it hit. He slithered and slimed through the blades of grass as the thundering noise of falling droplets shook the earth and blocked the little ear holes somewhere on his long body (somewhere, since any I, or any you can't see them from such a distance). 

Worm finally reached the end of the pasture, having travelled a mind blowing 15cm. He sighed to himself, feeling on top of the world as he slowly but surely dropped down from the dirty surroundings of the uncivilised beetles, ants and other worms, reaching for something he knew was out there but had never seen. The rough asphalt scraped his tummy, or his back (for they look the same to any me or any you, and thus it is hard to tell). The raindrops no long quaked the earth, or the asphalt. Instead a much louder sound was audible. No the soft chirruping of those bastard birds in the early morning, or the distant bark bark bark woof woof woof of some hairy slobbering creature trapped in a life of obedience. 

Worm turned his head or his arse to look to the left and to the right, trying to decipher the origin of this terrifying rumble. Two bright lights and gust of unnatural wind later, worm was dead.

The child with the pink shoes and dirty fingers wobbled up to worm, poked him and licked her fingers.