Worry, that eats at the soul, like a fat juicy grub eats at the roots of the plants, standing tall and proud and confident and sure of their right to life, in the vegetable garden.

Eats and eats and eats away. Until they fall, their gleaming faces and plump crops, the hard earned fruits of their labor in the sun, spotted and worn and yellow with the decay from within. The decay caused by that grub. That one singular grub.

That one singular tiny grub.

That one singular tiny insignificant grub.

That one singular tiny insignificant grub that you told yourself would be fine, that it wouldn't destroy your vegetable garden, that it could peacefully and happily coexist with the other bugs and insects and bacteria, the other multitudes of life in the earth.

That one singular tiny insignificant grub that wasn't supposed to affect anything, that wasn't supposed to make a difference, that was supposed to be unnoticeable, unseen, unheard, unknown, in the quiet noise of the multitudes beneath the earth.

But that one singular tiny insignificant grub has ruined your vegetable garden, eaten your soul. And you will never be whole again.

Why?

Don't we all want to know.