The life of an ant

The warmth of the liquid was a welcomed sensation at first. He had lost his left shoe on the long march to the station. His whole life remained as he left it in his apartment. He thought of it briefly. His day started so normally. He had plans. He thought of the things he expected to accomplish on this day. He needed to restock his water supply, trade some of his remaining stores of flour for enough butter to treat his mother to a small cake. His mother… his life… seemed like distant memories now. This was all so obtainable in the morning now there was no turning back to this life. The life that would have had an opportunity for a spare set of shoes to cover his feet. Now his foot diverted a moving stream of urine that originated from one of the nameless and faceless masses that occupied this crowded car with him.

The acrid scent of cold and accumulated urine was soon the only thing he could smell. The cold breeze of the moving train came through the cracks and holes in the car. He didn’t see how many cars made up this train, the rush of movement that carried him along the current of humans that flowed into it was a rush of activity that in that moment left no room for thought. He was once taken by a tidal current in his younger days. He remembered swimming in the ocean just at the point where the reef gave way to the impenetrable blue of the deep waters. His spear grasped firmly as he peered through his goggles hoping to find a passing fish large enough to feed his family. The tide shifted as he floated just above the reef’s steep submerged cliff that receded into the murky depths pulling him out to the miles of ocean beyond then, at once, the feeling of being swept up in an abrupt and swift roll a wave that threw him back on to the spiked coral, dragging him against the rocks beneath. The fear of being forgotten in the wide expanse of ocean found relief in the jagged rocks that scarred his skin as he was brought back to the safety of the lagoon. He still wore those scars underneath the mud crusted clothes he wore now. The thought of a clean set of clothes did not cross his mind as just an impossible of a thought as leaving the train on his own free will.

He was tired. That he knew deeply and truly. The crowded mass inside the train car shuffled and opened an opportunity of room enough to find some level of comfort. He felt lucky to be against a wall. He faced it and with a slow and deliberate motion, he collapsed beneath himself, careful to occupy the same footprint as he constituted standing, down to his knees. His head fell against the cold metal wall and his eyes shut softly amidst the low drone of the train’s steady chug.

The train was in motion for two days. The smell of humanity, the sweat, urine, and waste had become common by this point. The passengers began to accept this new reality and whispered conversations slowly built through the hours of monotony.

“What is your name?”

“Where did you come from?”

Questions that emanated from the darkness in corners and pockets of the confined space. No one asked where the train was going. They all knew. But still they reached out to one another. Grasping at the hope of connection and retaining some measure of identity and memory. If they were not able to carry this memory forward, maybe one will bear testament to their brief existence in this world.

On the third day, as the morning light showed itself through the holes and cracks of the car, a new sound emanated throughout the metal walls. Gun fire. No one spoke a word, either in hopeful anticipation or fear. Two sources of this noise were clear. Distant pops rang muffled in his ears, with a louder, closer returning volley most likely originating from one of the forward cars of the train. The two sounds were converging. A crescendo mounted toward the cars ahead now added by the sound of engines and movement. Something was surely happening and even a deaf man could see the building action in the faces of those around the car. Eyes open, looking at every direction for some answer to the painful anxiety of not being in control of one’s own fate. An explosion rocked the car, flinging men and women onto each other with a force. He fell onto the older man who stood next to him these long days. He almost apologized and felt a tinge of despair at the life he was now living. A life so out of his control that even apologizing his actions against another man, no matter how impactful to the other’s life, was did not warrant any personal responsibility to claim. Somehow the explosion shook free the external latch of the car’s door. A stream of light entered into the car and the narrow vertical flow of the sun’s rays illuminated the faces within. Light fell on the eye of the older woman, filling the tears welling above the puffy skin beneath. The slit of sun showing the hands of the man clasping those of his daughter. The shadows highlighting the thick veins navigating under the freckled skin. A second explosion and the door rocked open causing him to squint and recoil from the brightness that came. The wall he rested against was soon replaced by the door whose tracks slid against the wall. He felt the rush of air and the smell of the world outside of the car. With one or two short steps he could make a jump toward the grass and shrubs that flew swiftly past.

The nearer noise of gunfire hastened. This opera of volleys between the two sounds was reaching its peak. A third explosions hit. Things moved slowly. With one motion of his world, he was flung toward the open door so his head left the borders of the car’s walls. Then, at once, as he was still in movement forward toward the world outside of the car, everything around him rocked backward. His right shoulder slammed against the side of the open door twisting him in a spiral as he was flung free of the train. The spin rolled his body to see his car, and many of its inhabitants falling off the tracks to crash in the field that awaited it. He spun from that view, to the crested hills in the east. The sun peaking over the round earth, the ridges made glowing by the ray’s lights filling the thin blades of grass. The sky was… so blue. Soft blue free from clouds and capturing every bit of the light of the morning. He spun slowly still. Shadows of the trees came into view over the brown landscape of dirt, bark and fallen leaves that lay beneath the quite and stoic forest. Specks of light that penetrated the thick leaves above found their way onto the ground, swaying with the gentle breeze that moved the trees. They were like stars in the night, twinkling as they swayed. The earth came closer to him as his spin became less pronounced. The sound of the world around him became apparent once again. A shot. A word. A scream. Then nothing.

He opened his eyes once more, his face against soil and rock, but he felt no pain. He laid still and his gaze focused on a blade of green grass shining in the sunlight. A tiny ant working its way up its stalk. The light making the blade translucent as it moved so softly through the passing wind. The world smelled fresh, felt warm, and he felt free.