Tuesday, February 28, 2006

Access File: Ants

>Login: JRoker

>Password: IMSoSexy

Greetings Exalted Master.

What is thy bidding, my Master?> access random file

Accessing Random File…

Accessing Random File…


File Accessed: "Ants"

What is thy bidding, my Master?> display


The ant stood at the top of the small mound. Five of its ruddy, segmented legs grasped at the boulders of dirt beneath its feet. The sixth was wedged against the blade of grass that towered over it, and the creature arched its powerful back as it struggled tirelessly with its miniscule burden, a piece of broken corn chip found just outside the entrance to the hill. The chip was perhaps a bit too big for that tiny gate, but as she toiled more ants came to assist, and millimetre by millimetre the chip wedged its way further in.

Over the anthill hovered a much larger form—that of a young boy. He was round and squat, adorned with glasses and sandy-blond hair. His breath wheezed slightly, his lungs protesting some allergen which tickled them, and his expression was that of raw fascination. Dangling limply from his hand was a bag of corn chips, forgotten.

He was in the back yard, at one corner of the garden, kneeling in the lush, green grass. Behind him the water-sprinkler stuttered its little rhythm, caressing the lawn with crystal drops that glimmered in the hot noon sun. It missed the boy by a metre or two, though he could, if he cared to notice, feel the dampness it had dropped an hour earlier, before his mother had moved it.

The house was green as well, though it more closely resembled the shade of a dry bean than that of thriving grass. Still, it was a cheerful structure. The siding was new and clean, the windows large, the roof sharp and strong. A woman appeared briefly in the kitchen to look out upon the child in the yard.

A man stood out front on the driveway. He wore his checkered shirt open, and his exposed skin was all turning red under the heavy sun. Sweat was trickling down his brow—the brim of his blue cap was soaked. His arched his powerful back as he struggled with his burden, a large gas-powered lawnmower he’d borrowed from his brother. The lawnmower was perhaps too big for the tiny gate at the back of the truck, full as the vehicle was with other landscaping tools, but as he toiled his brother came to assist, and they managed to get the thing inside.

Over the street flew a larger form—that of an airline jet still climbing from the runway. It was far enough up that the roar of its engines reached the houses below as a soft rumble, but low enough down that the passengers could see the winding concrete tunnels, the shingled chambers where the young were nursed, and the busy creatures working below.

The ant emerged from the hill. A short distance from the entrance, she stopped. There, resting against the towering blade of grass, another broken corn chip lay resting in the dirt.


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