bugs.

ants.

While I was never really truly awake during school, I cling on to that brief moment in biology when they taught us that our country was once a vibrant, breathing and zoetic environment. That the grass was greener, and that water spilled like dandelion seeds. When the world was a connected continent, and that sea levels were low, and humans with developed tail bones jumped from Africa to Europe. I mention this because I've inhaled a significant amount of red dust, throughout my life, and the air is always dry, and tastes of dirt. I've climbed up the russet water tank, countless of times for the pure enjoyment of imagining the dust clung landscape, without the dust and with more green, and more trees, and even dinosaurs (a man can dream).

What lays ahead of me, is acres of nothingness. Between the dirt that stains us, and crimson skies, there's possibly a human, or a tree trunk or a barn to fill that space. A reminder that the horizontal blur is indeed the horizon and that the sky isn't the limit, but how far our feet will take us is. Tumbleweeds crawl past me, like traffic in the city, they're heading south. The shadows of their insect-like arms, are casted onto the soil. A sort of gothic lick of the lips, black tongue on red lipstick, kind of look. Like aliens frantically waving their many arms. Maybe sign language. Probably to tell us we're vermin scum, blood sucking off a perfectly good planet. Yeah, that's what they'd say. And try to convince me aliens don't exist.

The sky is a snow globe of rusty, wiry red. Probably to fill the up the empty space, and comatose lifestyle. The clouds are more alive then this whole town put together. They churn, and evolve, rolling onto each other, teasing the sun. They're deadset alive. And then, they blow up to the size of poppy fields, expanding like spilled ink on white sheets.

These are the big things. And they always told me to enjoy the little things in life, but nothing is little. Everything is so impossibly, indefinitely big.

There are ants, crawling up the water tank, and diving head first into the water. They can't swim, and there are hundreds of them. They're just following their friend's trail, into the same unavoidable end. It's stupid, looking at them. It's like a group suicide. An undeniable holocaust. Taught at school like it's the peak of humanitarian atrocity. 'In 2014, a bunch of ants followed their ant friends into this water tank, with no knowledge on how to swim. And this big fellow with facial hair that resembles the one of a wet weasel didn't stop them.'

I say all this now, because they'll knock down that water tank, soon. And for the first time, I can actually leave. The wind catches us by surprise, some times. It lifts up girls skirts, and pitilessly ruins hairstyles. What I'm trying to say is while exams were a breeze, this is the real thing. You can only screw up so many times. I just really want to cling onto this.

Hollow banging of steel capped boots on iron bars, I know you're here. Creeping up to meet me. You think I didn't hear you, in my intricate slumber. You ease yourself up and dangle your half shaved legs off the side. I'll miss you when I leave, your stollen smile and dimples that only appear when your laugh is real. The way you insist on standing straighter when your load is heavier than your bones, head up high you'll drown a little slower. How your tongue curves to your canine when you've said something witty or totally inappropriate.

"Couldn't sleep?" you ask, your voice half breaking into a laugh. "Neither could you."

"Now, now Kip, we've already decided I'm more mentally brain dead than you are. I'm even self diagnosed" The conversation halts, "you're not coming back, are you,"

There's tragedy in her voice. I smile at her, there's no point trying to convince her otherwise.

"Yeah, I don't really have much left here, anyway."

She laughs, "you have me," her legs begin to swing, "can I come?"

She's so adorable, it hurts. She's melting sugar under a hot day, a swirl of pink cream and colourful dots.

I nudge her shoulder.

"I don't think that'd be a good idea."

"What about Liana, you guys were close."

"I don't know, Liana was the perfect puzzle piece, to the wrong puzzle," our bodies collided but they did not dance. We were flames licking one another to then, burn out, silently and discreetly. She was a girl with bottle blonde hair, and stray dreadlocks. We spent days trying to fit perfectly together, to curl up into one another's arms without a veil distance between us, but it never seemed to fit. She was always there, and I was always here and we never quite met on the same trail of thoughts and the same trail of minds. She was always that little bit ahead of time.

"What about you and that drama kid?" I ask

You tilt your head back and laugh

"You knew about that?"

"Everyone knew about that," and I assure you, they did.

"Well, it was seriously just a one-off. The peak of our relationship was in the lighting room, under the desk."

"Wow, isn't that place only cleaned, like, once a year."

You squirm, "maybe."

A warm laugh rises to my throat.

"I'm wrecked," you say, "after school, what do you do? You work more, to then get a degree, to then get a job. We'll just slumber in a life that is barely our own and have kids that'll continue that prophecy. It never ends, may as well end it now." She's scratching at her skin like its bug infected.

"Ah, welcome to teenage-hood, my dear." I nudge her because it's true.

I want to tell you that everything is going to be alright, and it will be. But for that to happen, your soul must die. You must surrender to the bigger forces. Things will be alright, you will grow up, live a life of adventures and employment. You might even settle down, and among the mist of what you could've been, you can sometimes even be happy. I wish dearly that you are happy. You're such a beautiful creature of grace and dishonesty, you'll eat my heart up; you'll eat many hearts. Cherish them, and remember them because for people like me, you are a teacher. You are god's little paws, here to slice open my seams. I'll bleed out, but I'll thank you, because you are a saviour.

The ground extends like an accordion, I swear to god we're not that far off the ground.

And I recall Jack crawling up that beanstalk seeking gold and answers to topple back down, a house of cards made from leaves and giant limbs. He uncovered a castle in the clouds but insisted on wrecking it before anyone could ever experience such wonders.

I take your hand and I grasp harder. Your breathing picks up and you tense up like a carrot. I want to tell you that it'll hurt more if you make it. The wind picks up and it's not just your legs that are dangling.

You ate my heart, and now, I'll eat yours.