Chapter Two - Abandon

The worm takes this opportunity to examine itself closely. Its pelt is a bright amethyst shade of purple, still in pristine condition inside its packaging. At least compared to the furs of the worms involved in the revolt, theirs covered in gravel and with tufts missing. It looks at the other worm in the packaging, quickly noticing their size compared to itself. The other squirmle is easily twice its size, seemingly towering over it. Our worm is a small purple squirmle.

The only thought in the worm's head is I have to get out. It sees the other worms slithering back into the nooks and crannies of the street its packaging has been left on. When it looks at the other packaged squirmles, they seem to be in the same position as the worm. However, a selected few are disappearing from the streets. Carried off by the worms from the uprising. The worm silently wishes to be carried off as well. The constrictive plastic around the worm allows it not to move, as well as a general lack of experience.

Almost all the worms are gone by now. It's been hours, the deed's been done. Some are still relishing in their victory, staring at or staying inside the truck. Some are still gathering new squirmles, straight from the factory. Just like our worm. The worm examines them closely before making any new action. Trees, beehives, under rocks, bushes, chimneys, closed shop, backalley, sewer drain, between two buildings, far away from the street. Worms flee to these locations. None of these are appealing to the worm. That is until it sees a newspaper box with a blacked out window. Perfect size, perfect security, and it has to belong to some squirmles. It just has to escape first.

Instead of moving its body, the worm tries to move its string. The cardboard hold is just thin enough to slide under the edge of the plastic, and nothing else. The worm persists, slowly edging under the plastic more and more. It moves the card around every time it gets deeper into the plastic, forming a slim exit the worm can just barely get its snout into. Wind hits the worm's nozzle for the first time. Cold, intense. This is freedom. Almost freedom.

Using its string, it tries the wrap around the closest thing it can. That thing is the foot of a bench. It inches up the leg of the bench, wrapping the string around the pole completely. The worm does not succeed on the first try. The string is slim and flimsy, and the packaging, while not heavy, is difficult to lift with the string. It takes hours before the worm is able to successfully climb onto the seat of the bench, and eventually the top.

The worm unravels its string almost completely, but keeps the string wrapped around the bench top. Facing a three foot drop, the worm makes the next step towards freedom. Dropping. It flings the package top the top of the bench, plummeting towards the ground. A crackle is heard as it hits the pavement, but it doesn't break open the package. The worm repeats this for hours, day to dusk to night.

It wouldn't take this long if it was only the worm, but it has to free the other worm on the package as well. It doesn't know why, it could easily leave the other squirmle, but it doesn't. As soon as the package is broken, the other worm slithers out and away from the crash sight. Not acknowledging our worm. As dawn breaks, the worm slithers out of the plastic, feeling the wind blowing through its fur. The first rays of sun bleed onto the squirmles. Everything's quiet as morning comes. The worm is free.