Photography © Abbie Doll
An Army Ant Writes Home
My darling Samantha,
I spotted one of the new reinforcements today,
A Dragonfly,
Resting on an extended leaf,
Shaded by the dew-dotted Tulip Line.
It beckoned me over,
Although it is unusual for an Ant of my rank to
Visit that edge of the Garden.
What a wingspan!
I had heard stories of these recruits:
Drafted because the Ginormouses
Don’t crush them on sight, unlike us.
They make perfect spies.
“I’m on break,” he said, “but my buddies and I are
Going for a quick flyover to the Patio.
Why don’t you come along?”
“I have no wings!” I protested. “And I’m not
Authorized, besides.”
The Dragonfly flapped its shimmering wings in preparation for takeoff.
“Nonsense! Climb on my back!
There are curious things to see.”
We grouped with two other Dragonflies mid-flight.
Real hotshots. Go-getters, I tell you.
All the same teal that blended earth and sky.
“What are you doing up here, Private?” they asked.
I said, “Your fellow airman insisted I see something curious.”
“You’re in for a show, then.”
We rocketed off to the Patio, and
The Dragonflies landed on a banister
Safely distanced from the Ginormouses.
What a sight, indeed!
Their reputation precedes them in size,
For there is no more fitting of a word than ‘Ginormous’ for these creatures.
A few standing off to one side of the Patio
Puffed their smoke-sticks and polluted the air around their heads.
A few more seated at great glass tables spoke amongst themselves,
Sharing cups of that scalding, sugar-mixed liquid which
Many of my comrades have fallen victim to during reconnaissance.
“Makes you think, doesn’t it?” my Dragonfly ride inquired.
“Look at them – They conquered our land, and they
Feast
Without memory of our Displacement.”
It is as if this war is but a
Minor inconvenience.”
The Dragonfly twitched and shook his head.
“Look!” shouted one of his flying companions. “The Master Seargent dispatched the next
Mosquito Brigade. Poor lads.”
I hadn’t seen the Dead Divers, as we soldiers colloquially refer to them,
In action until that moment.
Dead Divers – because they are always K.I.A.
They descended in a wave from the east onto the Patio, then
Split into individuals.
Enough Mosquitoes for each Ginormous.
The first Dead Diver stuck its target!
And there he fell,
Smashed into its own innards by a Ginormous’s hand,
Having barely tasted its final blood meal.
Then came the Canister.
Returning recon Ants have told tales of the device,
Too heavy to carry away,
As I have mentioned in a previous missive.
But to see it with my own eyes,
To sense its presence with my own antennae…
I suggested we leave now, while the air was untainted.
“Watch,” the Dragonflies instructed.
The Ginormous that wielded the Canister
Pressed down upon it,
And with a single finger
It unleashed the poisonous spray with remorseless abandon.
The last Dead Divers stuttered where they flew,
All except one having missed their targets,
And choked on the droplet cloud,
Crashing in agony onto the Ginormous’s table
Where they writhed until taken by death.
The Canister disappeared underneath a chair,
And the Ginormous – successfully bitten yet the
Ultimate victor –
Retrieved its white paper square,
The fabled flag of surrender which they never used
Unless to wipe their hungry mouths,
And swept the Dead Divers’ corpses off the table.
The Patio was littered with the fallen Mosquitoes of the previous brigade.
“We don’t exist to them at all, do we?” I remarked to the Dragonflies
Upon return to Colony Base Camp.
“And when we fight to prove our existence,
They rid us from their sight.”
“Well,” said my Dragonfly friend as I descended from his back, “that is
Their philosophy, you see.”
Samantha,
The Ginormouses
Cut, scaped, and razed our homeland
To infiltrate its soil with their desires.
They concocted weapons we can’t dream of replicating.
Our Queen proclaims that we,
The harbingers of Nature,
Will reclaim the stolen earth someday…
But darling,
The Dragonfly taught me
The secret to this entire war:
They aren’t living in our world anymore.
We are living in theirs.
Yours Always,
Anthony
Private, First Class
Brenna Walch is a 2023 graduate of Christopher Newport University with a BA in English. She is currently pursuing entrance into a graduate creative writing program where she intends to continue writing flash fiction, short stories, poetry, and her work-in-progress novel. When not writing, Brenna can be found reading, figure skating, or playing D&D.
Abbie Doll is an artist residing in Columbus, OH, with an MFA from Lindenwood University and is a Fiction Editor at Identity Theory. Her written work has been featured in Door Is a Jar Magazine, Full House Literary, and The Bitchin’ Kitsch, among others.