Boy, did I ever have it made. I was situated very nicely on top of a slightly fuzzy, pleasantly fragrant, curved edge of something; “raspberry” I’d heard her call it. Another lovely aroma, that of my beloved soil, emanated up from the ground four feet below. Until the weather got pretty cold, my perch would sometimes whip around in strong winds, but the human covered my perch and those of my buddies up with a white fabric that created a warm, mostly still, and deliciously perfumed place for all of us to hang out. There were a lot of us, and boy, I cannot say this enough, did we ever have it made.
Until we didn’t. One day, my perch was suddenly ripped from its hold to the plant that bore it. I and my raspberry were thrown rudely into a little greenish box with other berries. I freaked out and scooted into the hollow in the berry, a hollow that hadn’t been there before the assault began. I got right down into the bottom of that hollow, and considered my options. That’s when I heard the others.
“Where are we? What’s happened? OMG ARE WE GONNA DIE?!”
I was in a little green box that was fast filling up with raspberries, and in the hollow of each berry was another of my kind. We were under attack!
I began scurrying down into my hollow as far as I could, being careful not to scoot up into the sunlight where I could be seen. I’d heard tales of what happened to others of my kind who were found by humans, and it was not pretty. I was afraid to go up to my once safe slightly fuzzy and curved surface. I decided to hunker down and wait.
Everything got still. The smell of the human got stronger though, and soon I could see the tips of her fingers bringing my berry close to her face. SHE WAS GOING TO EAT ME!
“Hey! HEY! DO YOU NOT SEE ME HUNKERED DOWN IN HERE?!” I called out to her. That’s when I saw her eye loom large just above me.
“Oh! Ick! I almost ate an ant!” she said, to herself apparently. Humans like to think we can’t communicate, but they hear us, just not in their words. We can go straight into their minds, no verbalization necessary. Even though humans think we can’t talk, they talk to us all the time – go figure. Whenever this particular human was in her garden, she talked to plants, encouraging them to grow, and comforting them when they felt a bit low.
When it came to insects, though, she was less kind. Some insects she would brush into containers of liquid that killed them. Hearing their death screams was awful! Other times she would just crush them outright.
I figured it was time for a few ants to die. I prepared myself to meet my maker.
But instead, she started looking into all the berries in her little box, and found one ant in the hollow of each one. I was shocked but delighted when I heard her use the voice she usually uses when she talks to her plants: sweet, nurturing and kind.
“Here ya go little fellow. Just scoot right out of my berry please. Oh! You don’t want to leave? Maybe this will help?” and she puffed a bit of air into my hollow. I wasn’t afraid anymore, so I scooted happily up to the edge to greet her. She bent closer to the ground, blew gently enough on the berry to dislodge me but not harm me, and off I went to the soil below. I was soon joined by my buddies, all grateful to be alive, and none the worse for wear. I even lived to tell you this tale.
This is my entry to The Hive Garden community's weekly creative garden challenge. For this week's challenge, we were tasked with writing a conversation with an insect. It just so happens that I had this conversation with a few ants just the other day, and hoped to write about it, so when I saw the prompt for this week, I sat right down and wrote this tale. I hope you liked it!
