a tale of 2 Ants

On a spiteful afternoon, two ants scooted on the face of a parched patch. They flitted aimlessly on tip-toes, not resting anywhere. The crevices that had opened up the dry land offered a quick respite, but therein lurked great dangers. The Great Black Ants hunted there—laying low, waiting for easy preys. The darting minnows were mindful of this; their trepidatious existence had taught them better than to succumb to such everyday temptations.

Amidst this flurry, they, with a big fat chunk of luck, chanced upon a morsel. Forsaking this crumb meant forgoing a sumptuous meal. Pausing for a few moments that labored slowly in the hot spell, they deliberated over the status quo.

The weight of the grain slowed them down considerably, and now every step of theirs was fraught with an ominous possibility. Trudging under the shared load, they sighted a man sleeping under a small tree. Only his face was in the shade; the rest of him lay bare in the sun. Even then he was in a sound nap, with a spluttering chainsaw for a snore. With a gargantuan effort, the ants pulled themselves up along with their prize onto the man’s nose. Once there, they sighed in relief. The black ants wouldn’t dare venture there, for their heavy steps would immediately invite their host’s attention.

“Such a barren expanse! Nothing grows here these days,” the older ant remarked. The younger one, too spent to be bothered by the bleakness in the comment, just gazed into the distance.

“It wasn’t this bad earlier. We used to chance upon something without much effort,” the patriarch continued, shaking a helpless head at the turn of events. Now hollering his lament, “There is hardly a blade left on this earth, and we still haven’t stored a thing for the rains.”

Unmindful of these words, the younger one was already nibbling at the morsel. Perching his legs high over its surface, and rolling it to and fro to get a good bite, he feasted on the speck. Stretching a wee too much, he lost his grip over the slippery grain and down it trundled. Aghast, he stretched every sinew of his in a desperate attempt.

Resting on the bridge thus far, the elderly ant now sprinted as fast his creaky legs could carry to salvage the lost meal.

Just then, the rumble stopped. Only the hustle on the nose hung heavy in the dry air.

A hand rubbed the nose, crushing both the ants.