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Fire Ants

February 6, 2020 5 Comments

Fire Ants
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Grandad helped me build the treehouse.

“Ignore the fire ants,” he said. “Some things you just have to accept. We’ll face it east, my boy. When you’re older, you’ll sleep here; watch sunrise with your arm around your girl. Like I did,” he said, rubbing the wood beside him. The empty space.

We found our bearings with a compass and a squint—skin prickling with ants, anticipation. We worked all day.

The next morning, I woke early, slithered the curtains apart to check our build.

Grandad was in the treehouse, patting the space beside him, eyes fixed upon the sky.

By Dreena Collins

Reader Interactions

Comments

  1. Derek McMillan says

    February 6, 2020 at 9:57 am

    Lovely story.

    Reply
    • Dreena Collins (Dreena Writing) (@DreenaC) says

      February 7, 2020 at 11:22 am

      Thank you! ?

      Reply
  2. lisafriedlanderlicsw says

    February 6, 2020 at 4:36 pm

    Lyrical language gives this a wonderful atmosphere.

    Reply
  3. Sharon says

    February 6, 2020 at 11:02 pm

    Really beautiful story.

    Reply
  4. Vera Kabushemeye says

    February 7, 2020 at 3:59 pm

    That final image was so sweet. I quite like the comparison made by saying, “skin prickling with ants, anticipation”.

    Reply

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