#42
Fennington had been walking for quite some time, thinking absentmindedly about the last few years of his solitary travels, when he stepped on something peculiar in the thin white sand. | "Ouch," cried Fennington. "Ouch," replied the small spiky creature, who didn't appreciate being squished during his afternoon nap. | "What the... you can talk?" asked Fennington. "Of course, I can talk, you hairless monkey! Think you're so evolved, so intelligent. Why, my race was building ships and sailing the stars before you even came down out of the trees!" | "Then why is it I find you underneath my foot? Oh small spiky one?" Fennington asked. "There is reason and rhyme in all that we do, and in all that happens." Oh-Small-Spiky-One said. | "No. There isn't." Just after Fennington spoke these words he began to stumble. He stepped again on the spike ball, receiving another dose of neurotoxin. He lurched away, then fell on the spike ball, crushing it into a premature death.
