6 May 2012
We move as one, across the smooth terrain that is The Window Sill.
Many have journeyed. Few, returned.
Our limbs are skittering over the sliding desert of wood, but we move onwards like the soldiers we are.
If one of us falls, we continue. Such is life, for us ants.
And then we hear it: the dreaded sneezing sound, that choked noise that speaks of our impending doom.
Our unity becomes less organised, chaotic. Every ant, large or small, runs for cover.
We throw ourselves around, landing on human skin, getting shaken off with shrieks of repulsion.
Many die.
After the acidic rain that is Anti-Ant, we few survivors, shaken and emotionally drained from our plight, lift our wearied legs.
Another massacre.
Blame the humans.
An Ant's Perspective. • Opuss № I