Love to my Ants

There’s a hole in the room they have put me and it is the entrance to the Ants castle situated somewhere probably in the wall. It is a small room; where they have put me, without much of a view so I usually busy myself with watching the ants go in and out of their hole on a single file. 

Whenever the three women come into my room, they whisper to themselves and say that it is expected that I would face the wall and do nothing else. ‘Pastor has already told us’ they would say. 

Then they would put out belts and start to flog me. ‘We cast you out legions! Come out you foul spirit’ they would scream. 

At first I used to scream, but later I stopped. This was bad because it only made them believe more in the strength of the legions. 

‘How can she be in such a terrible accident with her parents and siblings and all of them died except for her?’ the fairest lady will speak with her humongous lips. ‘I’m sure it’s our brother’s wife that gave her that evil spirit. We don’t have evil spirt in our own house’ the darker will reply. ‘So how come she died as well?‘ The tallest and the third will ask. 
Yes, these three women are my aunts. Old and unmarried, they have vowed to avenge the death of their brother, my father, by casting out the demon that caused me to live (and thereby inferring that my survival of the motor accident caused the death of my whole family) 
Back to the ants. They give me comfort. I love their organization; no one breaks rank. I also love their friendliness with one another; they do this thing where they kiss each other when they meet each other on the ‘road’. Sometimes my cynical mind tells me that they are too blind to see where they are going so they invariably collide into one another… But I know that’s not true. 

I love the way that they can attack a person dangerously even though they are smaller than some grains of sand. I feed them some of my food; piling it in a corner on the route they usually pass to their castle. 

I love their dedication to their queen and to the welfare of those back at home – some days I pretend that all these preparations are for me; that I am the Queen Mother they are slaving away for.

I love them in ways I do not love any living human being. And some people say animals are lesser than man? 

Well, I say: Love to my Ants! Hate to my Aunts! 

How about that?