worm

I sat on the cement dock looking to my left. there was a little girl there, and i don't know why, but i decided to focus on her. she had a ziplock brand plastic knife in one hand, and a small container of fishing worms in the other. Inside, worms slithered in and out of their own colorless filth. the girl flinched a she picked one up out of the slime. she had realized that  she couldn't possibly fit the entire writhing creature onto the fishing hook, and was planning to use the knife to cut it in half. This was all well and good, a usual practice for the fisherman, but to me, it seemed to warrant a moral battle within her young psyche. I imagined at first that perhaps, she felt guilty about causing the creature pain. but it soon dawned at me the more likely reason. society has seem induced a stereo type and standard among young girls to hate the worm. even the sight would often trigger a squeal from most, and a writhing, pained, tourtured worm with the innards falling out might be too much. maybe morality is absent, irrelevant, unnecessary and absent in modern life, but petty squeamishness is now what separates right from wrong. whatever the case, I a moment later, the knife comes down.