Holiday Fable

Winslow wriggled and chewed slowly, deliberately, without much thought except that he was thirsty. He knew because his skin felt dry, more like a snake than a worm.

Shriveled.

Desperate times require desperate measures.

Winslow nosed his way up toward surface moisture that would feed him while he fed the soil.

“Hi! I’m Adrian! Are you looking for straw and grass and seeds so you can turn dirt to soil, too?”

The ant’s booming voice pounded Winslow’s senses, but Winslow knew enough to be polite.

“I can eat straw and grass and seeds,” Winslow replied, even though he preferred his vegetation decomposed.

“We have plenty back at our anthill. We share with everybody. You should come back with me,” Adrian insisted. “Don’t worry. I’ll carry enough seeds for both of us. I’m stronger than you.”

Winslow couldn’t find the words to resist so he followed as Adrian scampered ahead.

As he slithered, Winslow concocted his plan: He would remain near the exit and unobtrusively leave the anthill as soon as he could politely depart.

Adrian led Winslow through a maze of ant-sized tunnels into an expansive lodge humming with activity.

Overwhelmed, Winslow wasn’t sure he could find his way out.

Ants quickly surrounded Winslow, hovering over him and peppering him with questions, but never expecting an answer.

“Where are you from?”

“What do you do for work?”

“Do you think it will rain?”

“Don’t you love our pretty anthill?”

Winslow rose and peered beyond the crowd and wondered at all of the effort spent on placing green leaves and red berries just so.

He turned to Adrian and asked why the ants worked so hard at decorating.

“Because they make celebrations seem special, Winslow.”

Adrian’s voice conveyed slight contempt.

Confused, Winslow asked what the ants would do with the decorations later.

“Oh, we toss them out of the anthill when we don’t like them anymore,” Adrian explained.

Winslow considered the waste, both of leaves and effort, but he kept his thoughts to himself and looked for the lost exit.

Before he could wiggle away, Adrian pushed a berry into his nose.

“You must try this morsel. It’s my favorite treat of the season,” she insisted.

Other ants brought their favorites, too, demanding Winslow eat their offerings.

Winslow tried hard to appreciate their generosity, even as his stomach burped, twisted and cramped.

“Follow me!” Adrian shouted over the din, piercing Winslow’s eardrums.

The colors and bright daylight streaming into the anthill battered Winslow, but he let Adrian show off the glitter and sparkles.

After all, he could see how happy it all made Adrian.

“This is our pile of gifts for one another. We love picking out perfect gifts as much as we love to receive them,” Adrian explained. “I have the perfect gift for you, Winslow. Put it on!”

The woolen tie scratched Winslow’s skin and sometimes he had to wriggle backward just to keep it in place, but he tried hard to appreciate Adrian’s gift.

Then Winslow realized he didn’t have anything to offer Adrian. He didn’t bring food or a thoughtful present or even a sparkling trinket.

Thoughtless, that’s what he was. A thoughtless, undeserving loser.

Shrinking into himself, the tie slipped off.

Winslow didn’t know where it went.

Adrian brought it back to him, her face pinched with hurt.

Winslow felt his heart race and he couldn’t keep his tail from twitching like an agitated rattlesnake.

He felt himself disappearing until only a molecule of his old self survived amidst the chaos of the anthill on the surface.

Winslow made a plan: He would wait until the ants fell asleep. Then he could find his way back to his dark, quiet, peaceful underground.

But the ants never slept.