The first thing I remember was the weight of the bark above me, pressing down like a ceiling too low to stand under. My world was damp, dark, and smelled of earth. I didn't understand much then—just that I had to move, to find something, anything, to stop the gnawing hunger that drove me from the shell I'd left behind.
I clung to the underside of the bark, my legs trembling as they found their grip on the rough, flaky surface. My body was soft, and my antennae twitched, catching faint vibrations in the air. Nearby, one of my siblings stirred. We didn't acknowledge each other; I doubt we even knew how. All that mattered was surviving.
The bark felt safe, but my hunger pushed me away from it. I began to move, my legs clicking in a rhythm I didn't have to think about. Each step brought me closer to the open spaces of my world. The ground below was uneven, dotted with smooth stones and patches of moss that gleamed in the dim light filtering through the glass walls. Everything seemed impossibly large—the rocks like mountains, the moss like a sprawling forest.
Ahead of me, the moss patch called. It smelled alive, wet and full of promise. I climbed over a slick stone, struggling to keep my footing as water droplets clung to its surface. My claws caught on tiny ridges, and I pulled myself to the top, pausing to look around.
The terrarium stretched out like an endless horizon. On one side, the bark towered like a fortress. On the other, the clover plant rose into the air, its thin stalks trembling under the weight of delicate leaves. A bead of water hung from one of them, refracting the light into a tiny rainbow. Between these landmarks was the moss—a carpet of green and brown that seemed to hum with life.
I reached the patch and lowered my body onto the damp fibers. My mandibles clacked as I took my first bite, tasting the rich, earthy texture. It wasn't just food—it was life. The moisture seeped into my body, easing the dryness that had threatened to claim me. For the first time, I felt… stable.
But I wasn't alone. A shadow moved at the edge of the patch. I froze, every instinct screaming at me to stay still. It was one of the older ones, its body armored and ridged like the bark itself. It moved slowly, grazing on the moss with a confidence I didn't yet understand. I watched its antennae sweep the ground, searching for anything edible. It didn't see me, or if it did, it didn't care. I backed away, slipping into the safety of a small crevice between a rock and the moss.
I stayed there for hours, watching. The moss teemed with activity. Tiny white springtails flickered across its surface like sparks, their movements too quick for my eyes to follow. They swarmed around decaying leaves, breaking them down into something we could all use. I tried to catch one, lunging clumsily with my mandibles, but it vanished before I could close them. I stared at the spot where it had been, frustrated but fascinated.
I spent my days exploring. The clover plant became a favorite spot, its broad leaves shading the soil and its edges tender enough to nibble. I stayed close to the moss patch, though, drawn back by its moisture and the life it harbored. I began to understand the boundaries of my world—the hard edges of the glass walls, the dark, damp corners where the soil stayed rich, and the places where my neighbors roamed.
Crag, the largest of the isopods, was the ruler of this place. His shell glinted faintly in the light, and his antennae moved with deliberate sweeps. He claimed the bark, sheltering beneath it when he wasn't patrolling the terrarium. I gave him a wide berth, keeping to the moss or the clover plant. He could crush me without even noticing.
The others weren't as intimidating. My sibling lingered near the moss, but we didn't interact much. Another smaller isopod, older than us but weaker than Crag, stayed near the bark, venturing out only when the light dimmed. I watched them all from a distance, learning their habits and the rhythms of our shared world.
The springtails were a constant presence. They darted through the moss, scavenging for the smallest scraps of decay. Sometimes, I envied their speed, their ability to vanish in an instant. Other times, I wondered how they could live so freely, unbothered by the looming shadows of creatures like Crag. But I wasn't like them. My life moved slower, each step deliberate, each decision tied to survival.
My first molt came sooner than I expected. I didn't know what was happening at first—just that my shell felt tight, like it didn't fit anymore. I retreated to the bark, hiding in its shadows as my body began to split along its seams. The process was painful and left me weak, but when it was over, I felt… new. My shell was soft at first, and I stayed hidden until it hardened, waiting for the vulnerability to pass.
When I emerged, the terrarium felt different. It wasn't larger, but I understood it better. The moss patch wasn't just food—it was home. The clover plant wasn't just a landmark—it was life, fragile and fleeting. Even Crag seemed less like a threat and more like a fact of existence, something to navigate rather than fear.
I returned to the moss patch and settled in, nibbling at its edges while the springtails danced around me. The glass walls of the terrarium were distant and unreachable, the world beyond them a mystery. Here, in this small, damp corner of life, I found my place.
But I also understood that this balance wouldn't last. The moss could wither. The springtails could vanish. Even Crag wouldn't rule forever. Life in the terrarium was fragile, and nothing stayed the same for long.
For now, though, I survived. And in this world, that was enough.