Water.

All a squid needs is in the water.

But when a squid leaves the water?

It simply cannot live any longer.

The air, thick and dry.

The sun, bright and hot.

The squid laying there being stabbed by the various pine needles along the forest floor.

The animals along the forest floor create a wide berth around the squid.

They ignore it, not wanting to touch the terrible smelling creature.

Its insides boil from the heat.

Its gills desperately looking for water.

The oxygen too much for the squid's blood.

The pressure collapsing its fragile organs.

The squid, in its last moments, not understanding how or why it suddenly appeared on the forest floor.

All it wants to do is go back to the water.

It cooks under the noon sun.

All it can do is lay there.

The squid can struggle all it wants but it won't move anywhere.

The pine needles pierce its skin as it struggles.

Blood pools under the squid as it struggles in such desperation.

Then, it stops.

It stops.

The squid wants to live.

It wants to live so much.

So bad.

But it's too late.

Life drains from the squid.

As its body collapses.

As its skin dries and cracks.

Lifeless.

Limp.

Cold.

Dead.

The squid's corpse lies on the forest floor.

Animals slowly creep up to the carcass.

They hesitantly sniff.

They turn away in disgust.

The smell.

The horrible, terrible smell.

Fishy and rotten.

Salty and spongy.

It lies there, dying as it lived, useless.

So useless to not even be eaten.

No one mourns the squid's death.