Making my way through the day was an easy task. I work with my bro’s The Boys and To Men to pick up some food for the colony. “Hey did you see that ant earlier today? The pheromones on that ant made me twitch like no other ant could. Dangg, I swear to The Boys she was the finest ant in the colony. Top 100 for sure bro,” To Men tells me as we chat on our way to the grass fields. As a harvester ant my job is to provide the colony with grass, to grow the farm underground. The intricate tunnels were built by my ancestors through generations and have survived rainfall, raids from neighbors, and worst of all, feet. We carry our blades downstairs and drop them off where the farmers will spit on them and cultivate our delicacy, fungi. Afterwards I make my way up to the surface where I make small talk with the ladies, only to find a menacing shadow above us. A scourge of the coastal skies, a seagull. I sound the alarms and we all rush to the surface to defend our home. He’s circling above us, mocking us as if we were some insects beneath his almighty wings. Menacingly, he lands several feet away, feeding on some worms. It’s probably a distraction for us to lower our guard. We stay strong as he feasts and eventually finishes. He looks above our heads at the boardwalk, and makes his way over. We all see the path he’s taking, and brace for impact. His crooked thin feet slam upon our brethren, killing tens of ants instantly. Another step lays on the mound, collapsing the home we made into dirt piles. Devastated, we all realized our home was gone in an instant, and count our losses. One thousand? Two thousand? The losses keep racking as we attack the home invader, only to be brushed off like, well ants. After he leaves, we finally realize the extent of our situation. We are the bottom of the food chain, a pawn in life’s game. Salvation from the torture known as life comes as death. Our lives mean nothing to the other living creatures, as they don’t even recognize our existence. Those who do only see us as pawns or food, treating us like insects. But we are so much more, we have individual lives and dreams, only to go unrecognized by Mother Earth, to create us as food and mere scum of the earth. Existence is only to join a hive mind and conform to society, with no individuality or reason to live other than to serve the family. I become the only aware ant of our fates in the family, and they all turn their backs on me, shunning me and casting me out. I try to teach my knowledge to the unaware public, only to be shamed and called a madman. Walking along the endless wooden boardwalk which ants die by trespassing, I fear no death, knowing that my life means nothing. All seemed bleak, but little did I know the abyss I was sinking too could go further down to hell. I see a familiar winged shadow, and feel the cold wretched talons of the same seagull slam onto me. The gull just happened to land on the place I was carelessly walking, and it costed me my life. Begging to the avian predator, I beg for mercy from him, a god, anyone who could hear my futile pleas for mercy. But to them, I made no sounds. Struggling to stay conscious, I wriggle free from beneath the gull, and assess the bodily harm caused to me. My lower torso has been grotesquely detached from by upper body, along with most of my appendages and blood. Bleeding out, I think of my family, and if they would shed a tear of my loss, or have my memory fade from their like minded souls, with no recognition of my death. My final thoughts are not of them, but of the cruel fate we are given to by life.
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