evolution
You’ve got to change, adapt. The only way to survive is to change. My species is known for it, in the era of industrialism, landscape artists and exterminators. You have to be able to roll with the punches. I don’t personally know any species that has stagnated because none exist! And then, of course, there are the cockroaches, born exposed to the elements. Everyone knows the Earth is theirs and will be forever. Fuckers survive anything. Meanwhile, my litter is being obliterated, one by one, because of our affinity for water. Homes of the most annoying species that walk the Earth hold whole rooms dedicated to water, and we blindly go in search of it. And they have no qualms against smashing us on sight. It’s one angry species against another.
We were here before anything, before roads were paved and concrete came to be. Before bricks were laid, fences built and metal monsters roamed the Earth. Not one species is any good; they eat us, squish us, or destroy our home looking for food. I was always shocked at how bad a species could get, though. When you’ve figured out with increasing clarity how to kill yourself and others like you in the quickest way possible, you become your own largest threat. I may hate my enemies with a passion, but any one of my species, any ant, is a brother. Maybe it’s because we can’t afford to lose anyone.
Feeling like Indians on a reservation, there has always been talk of rebellion. Let’s storm the castle kind of mentality. It was never worth it though; bug bombs, poison sprayed directly in our faces, a cunning, flat thumb and you were done. Doing it was more of a morale boost, until everyone died and some hypnotized ant tried to kill the Queen.
Ants don’t get depression, but everything started to seem so bleak. It was even worse when it rained. Staying inside was bad enough in our cramped existence, but the added danger of death made any storm excruciating. That became the only excitement now, the threat of danger. Venturing into someone’s home was stupid and almost certain death. The rain, though, had existed longer than us, and several ants became comfortable with it. It was nerve-wracking at first, and the elders forbid it. Young ants found a way around it and before you knew it, they were playing roulette with raindrops.
It was kind of exciting, and I would watch with one eye closed, as we all did. One day, one got grabbed, and we all gasped and held our breaths in silence. Before anyone could say a word, several ants approached the ant trapped and slowly sucked the water away, freeing him. Alive and scared, we cheered as he returned to the hill.
It’s a game all the young ants play, and I’ll always think back to the way that ant was saved. To me, that very moment was the spark of evolution. Changing and evolving, it’s what we do. Maybe we will survive as long as the cockroaches.