victor

Victor Thomas

Micro-story

Micro-story

He stopped and inspected the small trail before him. He was here to collect butterflies, but he always stopped to watch the ants for a while, especially when they were driven to frenzy by damp air, and the threat of rain. The tiny highway zoomed with traffic. No police were necessary to keep this road orderly. The ants followed the path, rushing in both directions, without even a white line to guide them. Occasionally two would seem to meet and stop to chat, reporting on the road ahead, before they rushed off to their tasks. There was reason for caution. William could see where a small tragedy had occurred. A group of ants were still milling around the disaster area where several broken bodies lay, the work of some careless bicyclist no doubt. He watched the area closely. Ants were still scattered around the vicinity, performing cautious loops of exploration. No more sudden death came to the wanderers, so a few brave souls walked into and across the cluster of bodies, and then traffic resumed. One ant walked holding an insect leg aloft, as if in triumph. The spoils of conquest, taken back to be shared amongst the nest. His brothers stepped quickly out of his way, sensing his importance and making his way clear. William followed him and found the nest. The ants must had definately decided rain was coming. They were building the small fortification ants all over the world had relied on for countless centuries. Ants from Brazil or Canada would have recognised and admired it, could even have placed the next grain of sand.

William continued along the gravel path, moving towards the wild edge of the park where it joined natural bush. He was here for a reason. The park was only lightly populated, as he’d hoped. The crowds that thronged here on weekends were at work or school. He passed a suited man on a bench, hurriedly consuming a late lunch and pretending to be relaxed by his surroundings. Two women, or teenagers really, pushed old prams past him. Their faces marred by chunks of metal that would have been better used holding their ragged clothes together. William assumed they’d come back after dark to meet other ravenous businessmen.

The bush was alive. The butterflies flittered drunkenly back and forth, and bees buzzed with heavy determination. A bee suddenly swooped toward him, making him duck out of the way. William smiled. He wondered if his presence, a large black horror, would be included as a step in the intricate dance the bee performed when it reached the nest. The bees weren’t beautiful, not like the butterflies, but William liked them. Their dances of communication were so different to human speech. They were exact, precise, and real. An Everest of communication compared to the pointless clouds of human speech that melted and dispersed as you tried to understand them.

William unfurled his net, moved carefully into the thick bush. Stepping over a discarded condom he moved toward a red bottlebrush that seemed to sway under the weight of it’s winged guests. He inspected an outlying leaf, and wasn’t surprised to find it littered with eggs. Insects at least took responsibility for their young, finding a nice leaf to secure their children’s future. And then he saw it. Yellow and red wings fluttered lazily as it’s long tongue searched the flower for nectar. He lifted his net and stalked toward it.

He freed the wings and grasped the long central pin that skewered the butterfly’s body. Lifting it gently he placed it in the neatly labelled wooden cavity, empty for two years now. William closed the glass front of the case and turned the small key with a satisfying click.

One ant walked holding an insect leg aloft, as if in triumph. The spoils of conquest, taken back to be shared amongst the nest.

Cool Poem

Cool Poem

Appearing suddenly
Magician and rabbit combined
it stops as though politely waiting
for silent applause to subside
then stalks a perfect piece of grass
to bask in sunshine, and feel the Autumn wind
in silky strands of inky black
Narrow eyes suspicious of the noise, the speed, the violence
of the dogs that play with leather, wood
beyond sheltering trunks of trees
as though leather and wood
were more important than grass,trees,sun
Dogs assessed, dismissed and then ignored
it sinks deeper into softening grass
barks barely bring a twitch,
made distant by the waves of roaring warmth
Encouraging a strangers quiet approach
with morsels as an offering
graciously accepted for a time
and then a start
as if some trick is recognised
it completes a perfect circle of politeness
and wanders off to find a quieter place