A bit of a silly one today – thanks for the idea, mum! (Before anyone asks – my mum is not a slug, but she did once compare herself to one.)

Sally Slug slumped down the stairs, leaving a trail of slime behind her. Sally Slug hated mornings. She slimed across the cold, tiled floor, shivering as she went, and ducked under the wooden door. She slid into the kitchen and groaned with the realisation that she was no longer asleep. Her eyes drooped and sagged – they were even more slug-like than the rest of her – and the corners of her lips wilted. She reluctantly raised her slimy head, her sad feelers hanging down like long, floppy ears, and stared up at the table towering above her.

Oh no, she thought. It’s happened again.

With a grunt of effort, Sally Slug threw herself backwards, so only her back half stayed on the ground, and with a heave-ho, she landed on the wooden leg of the table with a thump. She paused to catch her breath.

Here goes, she growled, and grimaced with determination.

With an ‘uuugh’ and a ‘gragh’, Sally Slug pulled herself up the table leg, millimetre by millimetre, inch by inch, leaving a silvery trail of goo as she went. She rounded the top and flopped, panting, desperate for air. She closed her eyes and pretended, just for a teeny tiny moment, that she was back in bed and that she didn’t have to go to work today.

She sighed a great big sigh, open her eyes again, and wandered over to the kettle. She slumped onto the button, making it shine a bright red, and didn’t move until she heard the bubbles starting to pop inside. She blinked a few times, letting the sleep fall out of her eyes, and slowly but surely drift out of her mind too.

After making her tea, she plodded over to the chair and fell into it with a clonk, splashing her tea onto her white, towelling robe.

“Ugh!” she cried, brushing off the already-soaked-in tea with her free hand. “I’ll ‘ave to wash this now.” The words felt strange in her sleepy mouth.

She took a sip, and sat up a little straighter. She shook her head to clear the remnants of her dreams, and cleared her throat. With each sip of tea, Sally Slug’s sluggish shoulders sloped a little further away.

With the last gulp, she smacked her lips in satisfaction and slammed the mug on the table that had looked so tall and daunting just ten minutes previously. Mrs. Slug stood up, walked to the kitchen door, and went to face her day, knowing that by morning, she’d be a total slug once more.

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