It is difficult to be micro in a society where you are barely considered a living being. You are more than an ant, but not enough to obtain greater rights than the right to live. We are usually used as entertainment for families, like another pet to feed, love, despise, throw away, and replace. Beyond the rights that have been granted by the world of giants that surrounds us, in practice, it is nothing more than a small piece of the true value we believe we have. The simple fact that we are no bigger than the feet of a macro makes our very existence extremely dangerous. Unfortunately, the trauma of seeing friends, family members, or mere strangers crushed as if we were worthless little twigs, with the macros reacting with anger, because the blood that gives us life is nothing more than a stain on their shoes, feet, or hooves.
Even so, resilient in the face of all the misfortune that afflicts us, here we are, alive and eager to live, despite everything. We are weighed down by the legacy of our ancestors' desire to live, to feel entitled to the air that gives us vitality, that has some function, some value beyond our size.
“False hopes, fools and deceived,” say some microbes, whose desire to be something more was crushed along with their bodies, or perhaps before, in the face of tragedy.
The hope I bring, the perseverance, may be chains that slowly drag me toward death, rather than something transcendental.
Now I am here, coming out of our caves, our houses built with the finest materials possible: the scraps of the macros. Every step I take toward the light, toward the gigantic world that is so vast for me and my kind, frightens me.
Despite the light, I feel that there are few people, or so I thought...
I saw a giant in the distance... I hadn't seen one in a long time. It was a large gray wolf, imposing as always, unconcerned with what was beneath his phone, which absorbed him mentally. How many have died under his paws?
At that moment, I thought about that, absorbed and distracted by his imposing size, until I was able to react when one of his footsteps thundered on the floor. That's when I realized that, just as I was taking my first steps, I was already going to die...
Nerves and fear of dying paralyzed me completely. I don't know why my body didn't react. Clearly, I should have moved a little, calculated the footprint, and simply endured the wind that would push me when his paw hit the ground that held us both.
Even so, I stood still, looking up. The faith and hope that guided me so much led me to my own death... my eyes didn't even react to the crying... how sad...
Boom!
Boom!
Boom...
When I felt the third step, I realized I was alive. My mind was so focused on memories, those flashbacks that people say they have before they die, that I didn't realize I had lived a few more seconds of life...
My body, with the adrenaline already pumping, simply decided to run forward. I couldn't see anything, I couldn't feel anything except a few tears finally coming out of my eyes.
Is there no hope for buses? AM I WORTHLESS? WILL I DIE LIKE A HOR-
Thomas suddenly collides with something thin, dark, and somewhat rough. Immediately, our little protagonist falls to the ground, instinctively cushioning himself with his hands, a sign of wanting to live.
That's when he encounters something, something too big...