The ants flow across the concrete like an oil spill from my Dad's old Chevy; marching as orderly as any army with a column to the food source and one back again. I should just be filled with wonder I guess, that these insignificant insects with mush for brains can accomplish this task but I'm not. The day is stretching before me like a prairie road into the horizon and I can't be bothered to walk it. But I can't fast-forward time either. I want instead to go back in time to the day I told Dad he could stick it. Stick his chore list where the sun don't shine. I was expecting fireworks but all I got was ice. Then my electronics disappeared, my allowance was stopped and I have to get the bus to school rather than him giving me a lift. Nothing's going to change either 'till I figure out why he's so angry. So now I intend to mess with this column; break it with barriers, crush some of them, see if I can make them go in a circle.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, December 15, 2014.