The Boy and The Marching Ants
The relationship between war and children
A quiet, little boy gazes out his window in awe of the painted landscape.
He stands, see-sawing a bit to the left, a little bit to the right.
He holds his composure as he studies a line of bold ants marching in the far distance, straight, symmetrical, and without flaw.
The boy teeters; the ants keep marching.
He holds his breathe in hopes it’ll make him lighter — it fails.
He falls and the sounds of the marching ants rupture the walls with such a rhythm, he swears they’re beating drums.
He opens his eyes but nothings a matter.