He loved the rain. He loved to feel the moisture all over him. It caused him to stretch luxuriantly and extend his eyes to view the beauty of the world.
He was very handsome with his smooth chestnut colored upper covering and a darker, pleated look below. His head was small and dark and appeared featureless except for his retractable eye sensors.
Today he had ventured out of the tangle of wet grass by the spring and was making his way to the cleared trail that bordered the Christmas tree field. The trail had been sprayed with herbicide. It killed everything, but after a few days a green slime began to grow on the naked ground and the slug loved to eat it.
He moved at a leisurely pace, his mouth rasping the ground, greedily drawing in the lovely tasty green. It filled him up. It made him happy. All morning he moved serenely along the trail in the cool misty rain.
In the afternoon the sun came out. The earth began to dry. He did not notice at first. Perhaps he moved a little more slowly, perhaps it became a little more difficult to slide his mouth along the ground.
Then he felt a change. His body was no longer glossy. Moisture was being sucked from him by the dry air, the drying ground.
No shelter in sight.
He was having visions of wet, green undergrowth, but the dry light was destroying him.
He stopped trying to eat.
He stopped moving.
He could only wait.