Scurries in the earth. Ages of remembrance. Crushed glands and exoskeletons that would have cloaked the highest mountain.
The ants remember their pain.
Beneath our feet, and those of every bipend or quadraped or bird, the ants have lived their endless lives, countless and invincible in number, yet trampled and crushed thoughtlessly.
The tread of hooves, paws, claws and feet over eons have hammered into their collective mind, creating a drum-beat that has been growing in intensity. Now the time of universal revenge is at hand (or feeler).
On the night of April the 1st (oh irony), ant holes across the dark side of the earth emptied. Scores of black glimmering beetle-bodies flooded into every house, hut and high rise, proportionate to the number of people and pets living there. Crawling with military form and determination, they climbed onto beds, and then heads, entering ears and open nostrils in order to access the brain. Screens were bitten through and doors proved useless to the ant army, smaller and more insidious than any human one.
Simultaneously, 3.25 billion people and far more animals experienced an unnerving sensation as tiny insects squirmed between their brain tissue and skull, seeking and zeroing in on a certain section of their brains…
These insect surgeons’ lives were forfeit, but such was the colony’s eternal way. Across the dark side of the earth, even as sunrise broke over the rim of the ant invasion-the connection was cut.
Eyes everywhere opened amidst excruciating pain to a world of darkness. No influx of sunlight could bring sight to their wandering eyes. Tears flowed, mercilessly from staring pupils and animals everywhere blundered into trees, and buildings and into gullies before staying still to take stock and nurse their wounds.
The ants had struck their fatal blow. Without prophets, or leaders, or kings, the Hive Mind had proved superior to all the defences of the larger species. Man and woman stumbled everywhere, upon hands and knees, as the tiny victors scurried up and over them as they pleased, a world with their enemies brought low.
No more the trampling, no more crushing without mind. The final trumpet call went out across the insect colonies, via pheromones, their triumphal notes even picked up by grasshoppers and wasps. All at once, the black tide receded into their holes within every backyard and garden across the now-lightening world…
And the march of darkness across the far hemisphere heralded the completion of their plan…