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This is a short story I wrote for a conpetition on Gaia... Then the guy added some guidelines and I had to write a different one. Anyway, it's based in a fantasy world I made up, so there is actually a little bit of background there. Without further ado...

Stoneslug’s Dance
By DragonRissa

Picture it – Arainel, Isle of the Beast, afloat in a blue, mirror-smooth sea. Zoom out a little more... islands become blobs, clouds become insignificant smears on the portrait. There! See it? The Rim. Some people still say that Sarania is flat, but everyone else knows they’re lying. If the world was flat, all the water would pour over the edge and into space! Everyone knows that the edge of the world curls up, like a bowl. It’s the only thing that makes sense, to be honest.
Now... zoom in again, aiming for Arainel. Aim for the South. Past The Empty... into the Dark Lands. Over Manticore’s Wall. Careful, there. The spell set into the stonework affects all. Some say that the last surviving manticore is imprisoned within it, singing its numbing song to ensnare any enemies of Harlic who fancy their chances at breaching it. Which is stupid... the last manticore died in Caera’s Year, 704. See in the distance there? The Doom Hills. The locals, underground in Harlic, are in three opinions of this overly-dramatic name. The first third says “Good! It reflects how strong and dangerous we are! Glory to The Raven!” the second says “Oh come on... we’re not all bad. Why not the Slightly-Imposing Cliffs? Or the Large Rocks?” the third is busy getting their brains bashed out, either by pavement, drink or sledgehammer. They don’t tend to express an opinion on anything, much.
Go closer still, until you can see the light glinting off each razor-sharp edge of the Hills. Now, do you see the tracks? Worn smooth by the acid of a creature more vegetable than animal. A Stoneslug. The last Stoneslug inhabiting the Hills, ambling back and forwards in a brainless way. Which is fitting, as specialists have tried and failed to find said organ.
This particular Stoneslug had once been nicknamed Slushy, not that he knew. Slushy’s life was simple. His thoughts all followed a very basic pattern: Eat rock. Slither. Eat rock. Slither. Eat rock. Slither. Repeat. Slushy had no concept of anything, and nor did he look like much. (I only refer to Slushy as a “he” because it’s easier. As of yet, there seems no simple way to tell...) He was practically nothing more than a lumbering mound of grey mush, that pulsated and rippled as he dragged himself over rocks. Wherever he went he left a trail similar to a snail, although it was so strongly acidic that it wore the rock smooth whenever he passed. He was completely blind; lacking eyes entirely, so he navigated by ear. No teeth, either, simply a gummy, shapeless maw. His spittle, like the trail he left behind, was highly acidic and dissolved the rocks he ate for sustenance. As for getting the rocks to his mouth in the first place, he had a pair of stubby arms, each with two blunt, hooked claws. Not the most attractive creature perhaps, but a happy one nonetheless.
One morning (again, this is more simple. Everything starts in the morning. But as Slushy has no sense of time, the occurrence could well have been somewhere after lunchtime or afternoon tea) a new thought wormed it’s way into the somewhere of Slushy’s brain. If he could register surprise, indeed he would have been. Instead he waggled his stumpy arms in a vaguely alarmed fashion. The new thought was: Dance. Slushy rumbled and slowly bent down to pick up a rock. What is dance? Why had it so rudely burst in on his easy-to-remember schedule? He was all ready to slither some more, but he couldn’t shake free of the nagging thought. He waggled his arms again and set off up the Northern ridge of the Hills.
Before him lay the devastation of Old Harlic, which had eventually led to the whole city being built underground in the midst of the Labyrinth of Carch. The bones of the old city had crumbled away over the years – wood had rotten and fallen to the ground, stone had cracked, the few trees that had been brave enough to grow while the city was active had withered and died. In the middle of what used to be the town square, was a large slab of fresh stone. Once a year, the inhabitants of Harlic came to the surface to remember that fateful day that Elladal Mara had sought to eradicate them at last, and had sent every able wizard in to fight. That was before the days of Manticore’s Wall, and the enemy army was met with little resistance. The only people to have passed into Harlic since it was constructed was a band of five... but that’s another story.
By pure chance, Slushy had chosen to amble to the top ridge closest to the ruined city, on the day where Harlic’s people held their festival to honour the dead. Though he could not see the rings of dancing people threading their way through the desiccated streets, he could hear the music, and the vibrations of many feet as they fell (well – mostly) in sync.
Another rumble, deep from the Stoneslug’s inner workings. He swayed and bobbed a little, in time with the booming drums below him, and flicked his arms. His twin claws snapped together with a noise like castanets, and his thick tail thumped the ground behind him. This sent off a rain of acid that quickly ate several holes in the rock, but Slushy didn’t notice.
Dance...
When the festival was finally over, and everyone filed back down through the trapdoor in the town square, Slushy turned and slid back down the ridge.
Dance...
He could still hear the drums, beating their rhythm through to his core, commanding his movements for those few hours of his life.
Dance...
Within the space of an hour, he had forgotten the festival had ever occurred. He returned to munching placidly on rocks, and slithering up and down the various mountains that made up his home. Not one of the dancers from Harlic noticed the lone grey shape high above them. Not one of them would ever know about the Stoneslug’s dance.
Except for me and you.

Thanks. :3 AnnoyingDragonyCatThing once did a character response on Slushy the Stoneslug... I don't know quite how she managed a page on him. sweatdrop

Can't say I "like" slugs as such... we have too many in our garden. X3 But I do tend to like bugs on a whole. =D

Aww... this was cute! Would make a great kid's book- for the slug-huggers (lol I am not among them tho)