BUG

Once upon a time there was a little girl speeding through the woods as if she was going somewhere. (Going somewhere) Where? She hadn't a clue. But she was making good time when she stopped to pick up a bug.

"You think you're going somewhere?" the bug said. "We all do. But when you're there, you find you're in the wrong place. Finally that dawns on you. No matter how hard you drive you don't move further up the food chain. All life is insect-like".

The little girl disagreed. "I don't think of my life as insect-like. I don't even think of your life as insect-like. "I know you're a bug but I don't think of you that way."

"Well I am a bug", said the bug, "and so are you. We're all bugs here."

"I know that bug hypothesis has the advantage of a European literary tradition behind it but I never liked it. I don't see myself as a bug. I don't look at people as limbed worms, as wriggling tubes, with teeth at one end and an anus at the other. I won't look at it that way. I can't. It's too disturbing. If we look at life that way it has no meaning and life has got to have meaning."

"Meaning", said the bug, "is a strategy for hiding the instability of one's position".

"The instability of one's position. What position is that?"

"One's position in the charts. One's position in The Bureau of Complicated Affairs. One's position on the war. It doesn't matter what position. All positions are the same. They're all extremely delicate because reality is completely beyond our control."

"I know that", said the little girl. "That's why I obsess on hair. What choice have I got? I hate the gym."

"Fetishes", said the bug, "have no effect on the universe."

"I'll show you effect" said the little girl. "I'm God!" And she squashed him flat with her tissue.