Formicidae Insecta

Short story.

Our exchange occurred in a dimly-lit room. Across the rather scabrous surface of an old oak wood table. The very venue of the entirety of our acquaintance. There I was, almost converged upon by a sea of shelved books, laboring beneath an enigmatic dismay. Avoir le cafard, as my mother would tease because the idea was that I didn't have a reason to be so. But so it was, my stead, so I was, indeed. And, further, I had long foregone gaining insight into why I so existed. Such as it was. Yet not without an appropriate dose of anathema...on such curious lack of fortitude. And so, too, of my course of assuage. The one in which I was willing to partake which, I knew, only further accentuated my stead as it was. More so than it availed the relief that I needed from such succumbing in any case.

And so there I sat. Spirituous bottle at the ready for the replenishment of a receptive cup. The natural hums of the night, along with the wooing hum of the ventilation unit hanging above my head, grew nauseating as I poured myself a cup. As I contemplated the forming of phrases. Such that the keys of Remington Portable invited. Ideas that yet eluded me but availed only the words with which they could form. Such as it was, as well disconcerting. A fruitless, tedious toil, only further instigated my abhorrence. As well as levied the weight of my sorrow further down on me. Such feelings, yet, soon began to fade as a stupor took hold of me. The effects of which, as we should know, veer the mind to a curious tangent. A place where there is a sly coupling of clarity and vagueness. Although, the latter grows pervasive henceforth. And as such becomes a sifter of the subconscious. Yielding a kind of unaware, awareness. And, all the same, implores clarity, yet, in tandem, relishes the limbo. Indeed a curious thing. It was at this threshold that I noticed him. Formicidae, Insecta. I imagine that you, too, have made the acquaintance of such a being, or else in passing happened upon one. Almost as red as a fading campfire, and, as well, burdened by a toil he was carrying out. He'd sighed, laboring beneath the weight of such that is a residue of an existence such as mine. A breadcrumb, almost twice as big as he was.

  At first, well, I watched as he squirmed along, baring the fact that I had heard him sigh, to begin with. I imagined he must have felt relief having had championed the ascend to where he now was. When my wonder should have been of why it was possible that I had heard his laborious plea. I imagine you know why. But to be sure, to please my curiosity, I said:

  "Must have been very tiring." The words came in a mumble, drawing from the sentiment of my expressed thought. As I drew in closer to focus the fuzzy blur behind which I watched him.

  "Tell me about it," he said, keeping full focus to the task en vogue. But then he stopped as if he had come to a realization which rendered him so. It seemed an eternity elapsed as I watched him idled.

  "W-why do you remain still?" I asked. 

  "You are quite a thing to behold," he said. "My instincts tell me now that not much from you would prove grave for me."

  "Oh, th-is that so? but I tell you...I mean no harm."

  "My instincts tell me that I mustn't allow myself to believe that. That I should be cautious still. Should I remain still, it's likely you will stop to notice me."

  "Well...you must know that...that plan has long gone awry, haven't you?"

  "A what?"

"I mean that your course of caution hasn't wor-well, never mind that. Must I prove that I mean you no harm? What must I do?" There was a brief silence, and it seemed he pondered the response he aimed to give. Then he said:

"It would mean a lot if I were at the end of this plane now."

  "This o-old table top?"

"This vast landscape, sure," he paused. "Unlike this, and the one before, the final leg of my journey, which begins at the end of this place, is easier."

  "Is that right?" I, too, had pause endemic of a fuzzy feeling our wires had cross. Of the reality of where this interaction between us was taking place. Well, mine as far as he could care, I imagined.

  "Different worlds...though we occupy the same," I mumbled.

  "Say something?"

  "Oh, it's nothing. Say, what is your name?"

  "A name? I-I don't believe-"

  "I will call you Chronos!"

  "Okay."

  "And you will ca-call me Kairos."

  "Kairos."

  "Yes."

"So will you take me, Kairos? I'm quite pressed for time."

"Say nothing more," I said, and, ever so gently, I picked him up. So small, he was, yet vibrant with life. I could feel it running through his tiny, frail body. Um mm...grave indeed, I thought. My body would forever remind me of the feeling of foreboding I felt at that moment. I was sure of it, and I was also implored by his countenance. I didn't ask, as I picked him up if he wanted to do away with his load because he still held on to it. It was only when he was in the palm of my hand that he let go of it. Though Keeping it well within reach of those tiny, sharp fang-like things protruding from his head. 

Within a fraction of a second, we were at the western end of the plane. Assuming he would gather his cargo before debarking, I didn't bother to ask if he wanted to do so, as we were. And so I tilted my hand, placing the side of my palm on the table top. His luggage fell to the table as I did so. Much unlike Chronos who, for a moment, roamed the palm of my hand aimlessly; as if trying to understand where he was. Confused about how he had gotten there.

"Well, here we are," I called out to him. He stopped, freighted it seemed. Then, suddenly, he leveraged those canine-like things, protuberant as they were, into the cleavage of one of the many creases in my palm and clasped them. The sensation produced, admittedly tolerable, was as the prick of a thorn. A savory thing though, to him as he held fast, unrelenting. A delicatessen ploy, though one, I felt, not particularly rooted in malice. But he did cause me pain, no matter how mute and painless, and it wasn't such that I would allow it to continue. And so I proceeded to stop him from further paining me. But before I could reach him, he released my hand and fell to the table top. I attempted a reprisal...but stopped as a realization dawned on me. 'Not much from you would prove grave for me,' his words echoed in my head. And so instead I watched as he gathered himself and scurried to the underside of the table. That was the last time I saw him. With a smile, I poured myself another cup of wine after a sip of which I said: "I, too, needed to be cautious of you, Chronos."  And the ideas flowed.