Why Is One Ant Not Like the Other Ants?

I sit on the toilet. Next to me, on the window sill, marching down the wall to the bathtub, towards the faucet, I watch ants relentlessly invading my bathroom. They march, exchanging quick greetings with ants marching the opposite direction.

They move forward with maddening purpose. They are unstoppable. Where I have devastated a thousand of them with a burst of 409, a hundred thousand replace them. There is no tragedy that can phase them. Ants will find a way, against all odds. Starvation is practically all you can do to them, and even still they are not beaten, they just go someplace else, probably ten times further the distance.

Mindless fucks. I hate them.

Do they not know doubt? What is this slavish purpose to which the entire species is devouted? Is there some outrageous orgy of writhing sexual bliss going on back at the Hive? Is the Queen THAT good?? Or do they just work so hard only to survive?

God, how I hate them for their single-mindedness.

But wait.

What is that ant doing? The one on the window sill. I watch him. He walks, meandering, apart from the rest of his compatriots. Perhaps he is a scout. No. He just stopped and is standing there doing nothing. Consulting the spirits, perhaps.

Bwah-ha, if that is the case, then I'm his god because his paltry life is utterly in my hands: I psychically tell him that he is doomed. He is nothing more than a pitiful ant. Bwah-ha-ha.

He staggers a few steps this way, a few steps that way. But he gets nowhere.

Oh-ho! A friend has strayed from the pack! She has come out to talk to him!

They tangle antanaes for a few minutes. He turns away. She pursues him. He runs and stops. She stands there for a minute, turns around and heads back for the procession.

How touching. I am touched -- this ant is really high on something.

But now he is utterly alone. He is unwilling to get in line with the rest of his people. So be it.

I am growing to like this little ant. How crazy must the rest of his community think him to be? He probably waxes on about "the Divine Tapestry" and such. He is probably accused of being an egotist and worse. A freak. Abnormal. Cursed.

He probably says to his lover, "I saw Man again today." And she screams and cries, "Why must you mention The Beast's name?? It's as if you are diseased or obsessed!"

He will die inside, being so misunderstood, but none-the-less, he will continue his thought: "It occurs to me that perhaps Man is just like us, only bigger. What if there is an entire civilization of Mans, with complex social procedures, just like us? Perhaps as things get bigger or smaller, perhaps the pattern remains the same!! And if that is so, then maybe this is--"

Surely she interrupts him and exclaims, "Why do you ALWAYS TALK CRAZY TALK??!"

Haha, yah. I bet this ant has gone through something like that. Why else would he be acting so nutty?

Jesus. He must be depressed. Now I feel bad for him. He isn't doing anything. Just sitting there apart from the rest. God, I'm feeling bad for him.

Maybe he is just old. Ah-ha, I bet that is it. I wonder how old ants get. I wonder if you can tell by looking.

I lean over, my own purpose on the toilet forgotten. I get close, and closer, trying to inspect him. Hmmm. He looks in fine shape. All six legs. He looks symetrical. He looks as strong as any other ant. Hard to say if he--

WHAT THE FUCK!?!!

OH MY GOD!!! I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!!!!

JESUS H. CHRIST.

My ant has just jumped OFF the window sill! Oh my God! I swear to you he was right on the edge a minute ago and now, boom, he jumped.

I watched him do it. I even told him he was doomed. Man, if I am God, then I suck at it.

(This is a true story, fools.)