alas, my corn pops cereal was infested with a horde of hungry ants. i had left the box upon my counter closed and – i had thought – sealed shut. but ants broke through my little efforts. they climbed down into the golden stash of sweet, corny goodness.
angry, i threw the whole box in the trash, wishing ruin upon those sneaky ants.
yet, the ants were not so cursed. they were broken from their tribe – this is true – but the little beasts could live their days in peace and gluttony among the corn pops and all the other bits of filth that fill the trash bag, and the dumpster, and the dump truck, and the dump.
i was no psychopomp of damnation. i was an angel of mercy, tossing these blessed thieves into a paradise. the only lingering pain is the loss of the tribe.
yet, this is also a loss of duties. these ants, with nothing but time and ample food, might create a new language of smell in the filth. they might craft tiny baubles and compete for the aesthetic pleasure of their tiny eyes and sensors.
i have created a convent in a plastic bag. i have created culture.
yet, i would trade this new ant civilization in a heartbeat if i could still eat my corn pops.