ants | Johannes Punkt’s Flaskpost

for Pao

She sits on a log and stares at a procession of forest ants. They all seem to be walking one way, toward the stream; it must be morning.

“You can never know someone fully,” she says. This is upsetting her. “You can never know exactly what someone else thinks, or what they would do in any given situation. Sometimes, you can make an educated guess.”

She thinks for a while, and stops frowning. “This does mean, however, that you can always get to know someone better. There is always more to uncover, always another layer of skin to peel off.”

4/Jul/2013

The Middle of the Maze

In the middle of the maze there sits a monster for which words have not yet been invented. It is not in chains but in exasperation it is stuck, sitting on its haunches, staring at the ants that march across the maze. He cannot follow where the ants go, in the cracks between the walls.

When someone comes to kill him, he usually lets them. If the murderer does not find his way out before sunset, they trade places and the murderer dies, and the monster resurrects. He hopes that one day, a knight will know what the ants know.

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9/Oct/2012

Nightmare Fuel October 2012, Day 8

Suicide by Cop

Lucy was in one of her moods when Clark came home from the office. The house was nearly speckless and dinner was cooking – something sweet. Even the bits of flappy wallpaper had been glued back to the wall. She wore a dress that was all buttons and flowers and an apron over that and she smiled her pearlywhite when Clark walked in through the door.

He struggled out of his jacket and scarf and hat. It was the 1950’s in the house and he tried to remember the rules for leaving shoes on inside the house.

“Shoot any criminals today, hon?” she asked him.

A scoff. “You know I just do paperwork, sugar.”

“But you brought the gun home, yes?” She was on tiptoes to kiss him and let her arms stay behind her back, balancing herself like a ballet dancer.

“Yes, as is regulation.” He rolled his eyes. Hung the jacket and holster on the wooden thing that looked a bit like a tree and had no name as far as he was concerned. Pulled away from the kiss and stepped into the kitchen, “need any help with this?”

There was a strong smell of syrup and it hit him like a sack of meat to the face and watered his eyes.

“No! It’s all me.” She dragged him out into the hall again and slammed the door. “Go do something manly. Watch sports or something.”

“I don’t even like– what is it you’re cooking anyway?”

He waited a bit at the door, shaking his head and opening his eyes carefully. She stood before him again with a silver tray and a smile and a curtsy. On the silver tray were two beer cans. “Drinking beer is manly,” she said.

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Johannes Punkt’s Flaskpost

Tag: ants

18/Dec/2013