First Short Story, Drawing-Inspired

Rain trickled down from the sky, as though all of the angels in heaven were feeling rather depressed and in need of some chocolate cake and a hug.
Grass perked up as water seeped into its roots. It makes mowing the lawn seem so pointless. The earthworms don’t mind, though—they writhe to the surface of the ground, their slender, slimy bodies soaking in the delicious moisture. Some of them squirm their way onto the sidewalk or onto the asphalt of the street; those are the ones who will get fried to death when the sun comes out again.
And the sun will come out, of course. This damp bliss never lasts for long. Rain lilies will wither, puddles will dry—and I…Well, I’ll die, of course. My soft white skin will burn in the sun’s heat, my fleshy body will quickly shrivel, and I will be no more.
I suppose this is sad. I don’t really know. In fact, I’m not that great of a thinker. I only live for a couple days, so my main concern is certainly not with philosophical questions of existence. Actually, I have no idea what philosophical questions of existence are. Who am I? Why am I here? Why am I covered in polka dots?
These things do not occur to me.
Why should they? For I am nothing more than a… toadstool.