One day there was a worm that lived in a world similar to the one that we live in, actually the exact same one just much lower and closer to . . . the ground, dirt to be specific.
Worms have many enemies that range from the early bird (only him, not the late one) to the biology student that just wants to show someone else everything that should be kept private to a worm. These enemies really shouldn’t be called enemies because this name implies that the worm is able to retaliate and fight back with some sort of chance to win; well this is not the case. I mean really the only defensive measure the worm can use against the bird is hoping that he could cause the bird to choke or could gross out the student with things that he would rather not show anyways. Though there is one such that can be called an enemy, the common black ant. I am not sure if they are both fighting to be at the bottom of the insect food chain or it’s a competition to see who spends more time moving dirt around but there is a sure ire between the two.
On this particular day, this worm was starting his morning after the dew dried up crawling through the uncut grass. He was not a particular violent worm like his brother George, now that name stirs fear in any ant nearby, or his father Harry, who has ants relocate their mounds at the mere sound of his name. No, he tried to stay out of the ant’s way while still trying to convince his clan of the hatred he had towards them legged scavengers.
George and Harry woke up cleaning their rifles and polishing the grenades that would hopefully cause the ants to break formation and scatter. This was part of their daily routine that was as consistent as the growth of a weed in a bare patch.
The local ant troop began before the cock sounded off, each following the patrol of the previous soldier. From time to time they would relocate their resources or gather more to not bring to much attention from outsiders but all worms knew they were just keeping an eye on another one of the legless irritants that they could all gang up on and destroy. This was what they lived for and trained daily hoping their discipline would pay off.
Our worm this morning was being enlisted once again by his father to pick up arms and contribute to the fight. Harry was starting to realize that his son never shared any battle stories and come to think of it, didn’t know if he even had any to count. Today was going to be the day that his son would get his first mound destruction. It was going to be a great day, well so the father thought.
Off the three went out to sneak up on a patrol of ants. “Frag out” . . .
George was anxious to catch the enemy of guard. As expected the ants, pulled back to their fort to regain their force.
Harry looked over at his inexperienced son and told him, this was it. It was he who would take the mound. Harry drew in the dirt the battle plan. Now it was time for execution. George and Harry would offer cover and support but our worm was going to get the kill. He was to make his way to the mound and drive the ants back to their queen with the flag of retreat.
As the enemy was rallying the troops and anticipating the surge. Our feared legless friend snuck his way around the mushroom, underneath the clover and starting his ascent to the top of the mound.
Half of the worm was pulling back, not wanting to make the climb but determined to not turn back in at this turning point in his life, he pressed on. Reaching the top, our worm pokes his pointed head up and peers into the entrance.
The ants study the enemy who just showed his disgusting face; curious of the mode of attack that they will counter. They stare each other off and then it happens. The silence is broken.
“Hi, my name is Steve!”
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