A Bug’s Strife

As a prelude and an explanation for this post, I recently got rid of a plant that had an anthill growing in the pot, which for months now has been in our bathroom. It took me a while to truly realise that the pot was the source of the problem, and I got rid of it last night. Over time, my interaction with the ants, unfriendly as it may have been, has lead me to some strange musings on what it must be like to be those ants. 

Day 1; The aliens have captured us from our earthen home among trees and plants and stuck us in some kind of massive basket lined with plastic. I believe they are keeping us here to observe our behaviour. The country outside the basket is barren, the only plant in sight the one growing in our new habitat, and I have sent some scouts out over the grey basin in search for food and a way back home.

Day 9; The aliens keep pouring water on us. None of the men have drowned yet, but I fear it might happen. Are they trying to torture us for information? We will tell them nothing, we stand united.

Day 45; The aliens appear to have servants, much smaller but still greater than a thousand of my fellow men. The plant, which has so far been the only friendly and familiar thing in this hostile environment, is now slowly getting torn to pieces and disassembled by these creatures. It has become clear to me that the alien is indeed trying to torture us with the water, since it does nothing for the plant in this state.

Day 56; Some of the troops managed to reach a distant land, across the boarders of the grey basin, where sustenance was abundant, but before they could bring any back to our new habitat they were killed by the alien. There was an ungodly rattle, these great lights flooded the world and a few hours later, one of the scouts returned with the sad news. Why then has the alien brought us here, if they intend not to observe us but to starve us to death?

Day 72; We have found sustenance, in the shape of a strong-tasting, sticky liquid high up above the basin floor. It is blue in colour and minty in taste and it makes the men rowdy but it keeps us alive. Did the aliens intend for us to find and drink this liquid? What is their plan?

Day 130; The aliens’ underlings are attempting to slaughter us, slowly but cruelly, one by one. They will lie in wait on the floor of the basin behind the great white metallic object that occasionally fills with a thunderous waterfall, and though I have sent out many men to defeat them, none of them have returned. Is this a game to them? Do they realise their cruelty? They do not seem to be as intelligent as the aliens, as they appear to be following their commands.

Day 202; My suspicions were correct. One of the underlings forcefully knocked our new home over, bringing the earth and now dead plant crashing all over the floor of the basin. I ordered the men to scatter but our attempts were futile, the alien that has been trying to drown us used a big device to bring us from the basin-floor and back into the woven prison. In here, we may starve to death, drown or get eaten by the underlings, but whatever fate befalls us, I know it is a dark one.

Day 204; The previous behaviour was repeated. Why the alien keeps returning us to this pot after it has its underlings knock our home over baffles me. Perhaps they expect us to rebuild our home, maybe they are seeing how we survive in an unfriendly, dangerous environment. Either way, there will not be much time left for us now. I know the end is near.

Day 216; I write this in the darkness. The alien has removed us from the confines of the basket-like structure and put us inside something that appears to be thin plastic. I could feel us moving a great distance, but there is no light, and since the rocky landing, no movement or sound has been made. I can tell from the surrounding smell that there is some kind of sustenance nearby.

Day 217; I sent the men out, but shortly after came a roaring of the skies and a rumbling never before felt. I have lost my men and am currently hiding under an orange-peel, in the vain hope that these words will someday reach another civilization and teach them of the horrors we have lived through. These are my last words. May they aid future generations.

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3 thoughts on “A Bug’s Strife

  1. I liked that a lot. It made me smile and also cracked me up with the orange peel. Please forgive the lack of portential sense, it’s gone quater to one in the morning and my grey matter, brain operator has gotten sleepy. I’m sure it says somewhere about operating under the influence of delta waves

    |0 (thats meant to resmeble a sleeping face…not sure it truely came across)

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