The sun was a warm blanket above my rocky roof, and the world hummed with the busy sounds of insects. My family and I were occupied, as always, with our daily work. Our job is a simple one, yet we know it is the most important. We are the quiet cleaners of the earth. We eat, yes—we devour the decaying leaves and the soft, rotting wood. But our true purpose, our most vital task, is to seek out the hidden poisons in the soil. The heavy metals, the cadmium and lead that hurt the plants and the water, are what we were made to consume. We trap these toxins within our bodies, ensuring they never harm the world above us. It’s a silent, thankless job, but it’s our destiny.

Suddenly, a blinding light flooded our world. The massive rock that was our home was lifted, and the familiar darkness was replaced by an overwhelming brightness. A giant, looming shape appeared above us. I quickly curled into a perfect ball, my segmented armor a perfect defense against any threat. My family followed my lead, each of us a tiny, self-contained sphere of protection. We knew from experience that the giants often saw us as something to be feared or flicked away. They didn’t understand that we were working for them, purifying the very ground they walked on.

The giant stared for what felt like an eternity. I could feel its immense shadow, but no attack came. I sensed a curiosity, a pause in its usual haste. Then, a different shadow fell over us, and with a gentle thud, our home was placed back. We waited for a while, listening for any sign of danger, before slowly unfurling. We were safe.

It was a small victory, but a meaningful one. The giant had seen us not as a nuisance, but perhaps as something to be left alone. We are nature’s unseen workers, the tireless purifiers of the soil, and we do our job day in and day out. We don’t ask for praise or admiration, only to be allowed to continue our quiet, vital work, making the world a cleaner and healthier place, one tiny mouthful at a time.