The thought of accidentally touching it made my stomach turn.
I stayed away from it while trying to understand what I was seeing.
Eventually, curiosity won over fear.
I carefully moved closer and examined it again.
This
time, I noticed something I hadn’t seen before.
The surface didn’t look like plastic.
It had a strange, moist texture.
And then I saw it.
A slight movement.
It was subtle—so subtle that I almost convinced myself I had imagined it.
But then it moved again.
My stomach dropped.
It wasn’t a piece of trash.
It wasn’t rubber.
It wasn’t some random object that had fallen onto the floor.
It was alive.
I immediately stepped back.
For a moment, I just stood there, trying to process what I had seen.
The realization was somehow worse than the uncertainty.
Because now I had a new question:
This evening, I walked into my girlfriend’s bathroom and spotted this on the floor. I’ve been sitting here for 30 minutes, staring at it and trying to work out what it is.
What exactly was it?
I didn’t want to touch it.
I didn’t want to get any closer.
So I did what most people would probably do in that situation—I started searching for answers.
