Before the Abomination

An ant looks over the abomination.

Upon the folds of flesh the ant can see its previous life precariously perched, and it desperately tries to spot the precise ledge from which it had fallen. Scanning its eyes over the obscene creature before it, it struggles to remember any concrete details. It finds familiar locations but cannot seem to recall the exact nature of its earlier existence.

How long had it dwelled upon the abomination? The ant ponders this question to itself, amazed that it could have gone about its daily business, unaware of the hideous animal beneath its feet. In a daze, the ant wonders if the abomination could consider the ant anything but a parasite.

What is the ant to do?

It stares over the pulsating flesh, knowing full well that it could climb back to where it had once stood; back where it had been told it belonged; back where it could no longer see the vile expanse of the deformed organism.

The ant dreads the idea. Instead it continues to watch the abomination, realizing that the twisted mass of flesh cannot be stopped by the likes of a single ant. One ant could spend an eternity gnawing away at the disfigured life-form and would not even scratch the surface. It would take hoards of ants to tear through the skin and legions to actually harm the thing.

Perhaps the ant should hurry back to its family and friends and tell them about the being thriving just outside their awareness. With sinking spirits, the ant realizes that it could not place such a burden upon its loved ones; it would be cruel to inflict his own fate upon others. Besides, they had no more power to stop the monstrosity than it did. The knowledge would only bring suffering.

So what is the ant to do?

In the end, it lays down to die alone, knowing it cannot vanquish his foe. In its final moments, the ant takes faint solace in the fact that at the very least, its corpse won’t feed the abomination any further.