Tar Pt. 1

In a nearly desolate state park grows a flower. A rare breed of flower, the last of its kind, to be exact. On this flower grows thorns, not the longest or sharpest. On the thorns’ tip grows a small black substance, too small, at this point of time, to be noticed by the man who walks by.

In his walk, he unintentionally puts the flower into extinction with a casual step. It’s stem is broken and it will soon whither. The black substance, however, persists. Infact, with the next step of this man on the same foot, the, let’s say “tar,” makes contact with the grass, causing a reaction. Multiplication. and the following same-footed step does the same.

Every contact this rubber sole makes with the soil leaves another tiny signature of tar. The rustle of the grass in the wind causes added friction, increasing the tar growth by a small scale. The dying plant, 32 steps, and the man’s shoe carry the black substance.

The man climbs into his car to drive home. Where his foot rests spreads even further, until he walks to the front door. He removes his shoes inside his home, primarily ending his part in the spread.

The next victim is the leashed dog, who’s paw makes contact. The first breathing thing to touch. Soon, it will find its way to her mouth, her throat, and eventually coated over her stomach lining. She will be the first to die. The walking trail of this dog skirts the neighborhood sidewalks.

The third victim to spread was a small role, but a significant one. A wife walks from her door, into the speckled sidewalk, across the road, to her mailbox, then back home.

The fourth is a rear driver tire, causing the highest area of spread in the beginning of this plague. With every 360° rotation, another area has been touched. This goes all the window into town, 27 miles of road contaminated. Enough rubbing has occurred to make the spots roughly a fourth the size of a dime, but has still yet been noticed. It will be seen soon, though. Not that it will matter, it is already far too late.