In this life we live, we ask many questions. We want to know. Always. Humanity is in a dire, constant need of knowledge. Why? Are we just greedy? Is it an addiction? Why do we have sayings like “curiosity killed the cat” even though we very well know that at every waking moment of our lives we are those very curious cats. Do we want to be killed? Do we want to be scared? Do we like risks? Oh, there I’m doing it. I am the cat.

“What kind of ridiculous intro is that?” I hear you asking. Which you shouldn’t. Questions are dangerous. Knowledge is dangerous.

I would like to be happy. Wouldn’t you? And I was happy. When I was young and unknowing. When there was only the small world of growing up in which everything seemed so big. I didn’t know about war, about discrimination, about murderers and r****ts. I didn’t know about anything! And I was so, so happy. Every day there was something new to learn, always, the smallest things would bring such overflowing joys with them. So curious. Everything seemed possible. Like a worm, for example, that could be cut in two, and then live forth as two beings! What a wonderful thing! The wonders of this world were astounding.

And so one day I was on rollerblades. I did that relatively often, at least compared to now. I crouched down. I saw a worm. It wriggled around on the pavement, leading its worm life. It might have been happy, because it didn’t know what was about to come. Or maybe it didn’t know what happiness was even. There was a creature looming over it, a child. A human. Such monsters those were. Not that the worm knew. It didn’t know anything. So it must have been happy, right? The child didn’t know anything either, until it did. It remembered knowledge. And it savagely started to cut into the flesh of the worm with the wheels on its feet. It cut and cut, like a rough pizza cutter on a jelly finger. Until the pink wriggler wriggled on the pavement no more, but lay. In two pieces. And the child watched. Waited. The worm didn’t know what it was waiting for. The worm didn’t know why the creature committed the horrible, savage act of cruelty. The worm didn’t know anything. Because it was dead. My mum called, and so I stood up, and skated away on the rollerblades, its wheels drenched in the crushed remains of the poor, unknowing, unliving worm. And still, I didn’t know anything.

We know that curiosity kills cats, but have you ever thought of the curiosity that makes the cat kill? The mouse, or the bird that it catches in its claws, curious as to what might happen. With only death as its consequences.

The worm might have very well been on the other side of this conundrum. It is greedy too, it wants to drink. Is that greed? Maybe it’s just survival. But above all, it is curiousity. It’s been above the ground many times when it’s been raining, though now it wants to know how it is when it is not. Why has mother worm told it to only go and dig up the earth above whenever it feels there is water falling from the sky? It needs to know, no- It doesn’t need to know. Not at all. But it wants to. It doesn’t know what good it would do, neither what it will do once it’s there, but still; there could be something good. Maybe there’s actually more water when it’s not raining, and nobody has found out because they never looked! But if there isn’t, it will have been good to see anyways, so that it at least knows that it isn’t there. Maybe it will plant a flag upon the surface once it has reached the destination. Though it doesn’t know why it would do that, because it doesn’t actually know anything.

We could be contend! We could be happy! We could just accept life, and for those of us who live in pretty alright circumstances, we could just be happy. Happiness through acceptance. Does it make life better for you to know that you are just a concoction of molecules that thinks it is alive? No! Then why did you search it up? Why did you want to know? Oh, don’t give me that “for science, for medicine, if we know how we work we can live longer” (imagine that sentence in a whatever you find to be a very annoying tone of voice), no, why do you want to know? Because you’re not gonna cure cancer with that knowledge, you know that as well as everyone. So why do you want to know. I’m talking to you, stupid writer of this idiotic text, because I know that you know that I know that it’s useless for what you specifically want to do. You don’t need that information. Why are you asking a question right now?

Maybe it’s Human Nature™ to want knowledge. It’s our programming. To want. Always just want want want more and more and more until you burst at the seams with things you don’t actually want. Because it is exactly because you don’t know. You don’t know what you want with your meaningless mortal existence. You don’t know anything. So you try to look for an answer. Subconsciously you want to know, know more, look things up, learn more stuff, in the faint hope that the solution to this impossible, empty conundrum that is life will be found, will help you solve the puzzle of everything that exists, before that very thing makes that it’s too late. Or maybe you give up and make up the answer yourself. Knowledge is dangerous. Maybe you don’t want to know.

The worm has decided. It is taking a flag with it, and has a rucksack with things that might come in handy. It doesn’t know how this rainless world might be, so it has to come prepared. It says: “Bye mom, I’ll be back soon!” and before its mother can call “Walter? What in wormheaven’s sake are you doing!” back to it, it has started digging upwards.

Some people don’t know anything. And they are happy for it. They don’t need to know. They believe. For example, they believe that they are right. That they don’t need to think, that looking for knowledge isn’t necessary because they already know everything. They don’t know anything. They are miserable.

Some people don’t know anything. And they are happy for it. They don’t need to know. They ignore. For example, they ignore people who believe that they are right committing atrocities, because the people who believe that they are right don’t like being told that they are not. So when someone who knows that they don’t know anything comes along, it doesn’t fit. Doesn’t work. “If they don’t know anything, they must be stupid, or just don’t know what I know!” But they know. The ones who think they know nothing. They know infinitely more. Until they don’t know anything anymore. Because the cat has snatched at the worm, and it’s killed them both. And only the Daleks remain victorious. That’s what they ignore. That’s easy. So they smile brightly. They’re just happy.

Walter the Worm has gotten to the surface. It’s dry. Walter looks around and about. No water, good to know for sure, that. It is beautiful when it isn’t raining. Walter is glad it came. Walter takes the flag from its bag, and looks for the perfect place to plant it in the ground. One small wriggle for this worm, but a- Then Walter hears a sound. A bone chilling, evil clunking, and is that rolling? Walter looks around and about again. There it is. A curious thing that Walter has never seen before in its worm life. What a wonderful thing! The wonders of this world were astounding. “EXTERMINATE” Said the thing.

Sometimes cats fight. That’s okay. That happens. Sometimes they snatch at worms. Sometimes they are the worms. Don’t ask me how that works. And sometimes they kill a bird. And that’s horribly sad. But cats aren’t evil. Cats are the perfect creatures if you ask me. Don’t you think so too? That for all their mistakes, they are good. Good after all.

Walter dropped his flag, and ran. At least, as far as a worm could. The sun watched, and smiled. Because the sun was happy.

And even though it was scared, and felt awful in many ways, maybe Walter the Worm was happy too.