The Ant who ate the Sun

in Scholar and Scribe3 months ago

"Stop trying to finger me." her voice is definitive, but her enchanting scent confuses the message that Anthony receives as he eyes her greedily.

With trembling breaths, he nods that he hears the assertion, yet his proximity does not alter. Yes. Waiting is noble, and waiting is free, but waiting and waiting... that's no way to be!

Throwing caution to the wind, he ignores her. Sinking his fingers into her gooey depths, the brownies scream in protest. "Keep your filthy mouth off of meeeeee-" her words are lost in the gnashing of his teeth, chocolatey from her guts.

He didn't like girls telling him what to do, least of all ones made of flour and cocoa!

Photo by ivanovgood

Mom would be mad, but whatever. When wasn't she mad?

There was last week when the dryer wanted to feel truly full. "Make me wonderful Anthony, what goes inside?" a helping of mashed potatoes, a hammering of chicken thighs. Turn it up, watch it go. Keep looking- suprise!

Messy messy, that's not how one makes friends with mom. It was fleetingly worth it. Sometimes art is a bomb. At least Anthony thought so, as he haunted the house that once was a home.

Yesterday, he had an awful adventure. All the doors locked, all the windows secure, abandon! Yes indeed, he was abandoned for sure. Spiteful cat, nasty creature, it mocked him from within.

A little orange face against impenetrable glass, Anthony pounded and pounded. He gave up at last.

Grabbing the vase that contained the biggest patio plant, Ant threw the damn thing. That was that. A sprinkling of glass, a horrible scream. Take that idiot, for ruining my dreams!

Mom's voice, she talks like mist. There is never enough time to gather a sip of her meaning before the sun fried it away. "I can't live like this anymore John!" she is evaporating so fast today.

"Buddy?" uh oh! here's trouble, "What were you thinking?" it's super dad! He's the Daddest of Dads except he's not his. Usurper of Dadhood, he removed the father he once had.

"You almost killed the cat dude." what sixty-year-old man talks like that? Anthony foams in the anger that carries him like the sea. Rushing past John to get where he needed to be.

Mom! Why did you leave me out here, how could you lock me out? His fists hit a new barrier, her bedroom door, he kicks and shouts.

Photo by Humusak

So, yes. He ruined her brownies, despite their frantic plea. Anthony looked down at his victim without remorse. She's not making anything nice, unless it's for me.

That was his mantra, the firmest of theories.

She put up walls, he tore them down. She locked the door, he found a way around.

He crept out from the kitchen, up creaky stairs. Hello, my favorite, are you there? Yet doom met his gaze in the form of a man.

John stands, arms crossed, like he's capable of shit. "How've you gotten in this time?" asks the stammering twit.

Anthony ignores him as deftly as ever, shoving past him, when he sees it. Momma's door is open, but there's no momma here.

"Anthony, please-" his voice is heavy from the pressure of the tears, "Give the meds a chance again son, she can't take much more of this..." he trails off, visualizing his fears.

His stepson, his enemy. He'd known him since he was five. Despite his best efforts, Anthony fought every kindness he tried. eyeing him up, he makes one last plea.

"I want my mom, where is she?" he shakes in the violence that's barely held at bay. "and don't call me son, you ass clown, you're no dad to me."

The war is lost, it's useless. John faces failure. Anthony storms off back down the stairs, only God knows to where.

Photo by E2OMedia

"HEY" you, yeah you. You sneaky little shit, you've caused too much trouble. "What did you get?"

The deer looks crazed, its restless, legs sweeping the ground like a ragdoll. It walks right up to him, and then straight through him.

He tastes the ticks in its fur when it tells him the truth, just a baby deer. It's funny how minds work, what we can understand on a whim.

"You're the anti-christ, Anthony. You realize that, right?" it's startling information, but it doesn't give him much of a fright.

"The apocalypse is a personal experience, deer baby." He says, spiting chewed bugs onto the ground. "I don't have a lot of time for this, unless- maybe?"

He cocks his tangled head, stuffed with all the smarts, and all the madness, minted the day of his birth. He begins to laugh wildly, tension swept away in mirth.

"The anti-christ you say?" he can't help how funny that sounds. "What does that even mean you nugget, and where can my momma be found?"

Photo by adege

The sandstorm starts abruptly, stinging his tired eyes. The deer, no help, so useless. Wanders off, no big surprise. He stands alone in the swirl, a scream building in his chest.

He only opened his mouth, his anger did all the rest. He sucked up all the sand, leaving him in a landscape unknown. The desert is the desert, I guess, he didn't feel more or less alone.

He couldn't stop inhaling, pulling up the corners of the rest. He sucked and pulled, and siphoned. Building the world inside his chest.

Still unsatisfied he sucked some more, pulling the clouds up from the sky. Yet there was one thing, which really caught his eye.

The sun, you bitch. You dried up my mother dear. "You won't give her back, will you?" he vocalizes the fear.

Nodding, resigned. He does what he can. As he sucks up the sun, he's still just one man. Alone, abandoned. He fills up on star, sharing his darkness forever. What's near? What's far?

My little free write for today. They keep coming out like poems 😂 Hope you enjoyed it, thanks for reading along!


Trippy and psychedelic, I likey! 😃👍

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