WRT 212


Short story step 1

Bugs have always been a huge part of Argyle’s life. She was often found sitting outside for hours watching anthills. The only way she’d stop would be when her mother dragged her inside. The way the ants worked, always something they needed to do for their colony. Argyle enjoyed every second of it. Anytime she wasn’t talking about bugs, she was hoping someone would bring them up. She quickly learned that nobody wanted to hear about it.

Nothing had ever confused Argyle more than when kids would run away screaming when she tried showing them a beetle during recess. That was the first time in her life someone had shown such a distaste for the one thing she loved so dearly. It wasn’t long before she was “that one kid,” always alone, but not necessarily unhappy. She had insects to keep her company. The most they would do is fly away, not out of disgust, but merely because that’s what they do.

It was 4:33 AM, and finally the first day of summer. She was already dressed and ready for the day of course. How else would you optimize your time to observe and tend to a fire ant colony otherwise? She had dropped a couple mealworms for them not even a couple minutes ago and was already mesmerized by the way they swarmed their prey. Her mother had planned a bright and early breakfast before her first day of work. She’d been stressing about leaving a fourteen year old home alone ever since she landed the job. Instead of her mother working endlessly closed away in the office at home, she’d be doing it at an office. Argyle would reassure her, “don’t worry, the Phoenix Empire will keep me company,” which would do absolutely nothing to quell her worries.

Only a handful of times before had Argyle been left home alone, and for not nearly as long as eight hours. It wasn’t as big of a deal to her as it seemed like she should be. She could snack on breakfast leftovers until dinner, maybe give the colony some too, and read the new book she got for her birthday last month. Argyle smiled to herself as one of the workers mercifully ripped the head off the mealworm. Today was going to be the best day ever.

This went on until about 7 until she heard the bedding rustle in the room next to her. Argyle sighed with relief; she didn’t have to spend a painstaking ten minutes trying to wake her mother while her phone alarms went off every three minutes to the most obnoxious sound you could pick. Grudgingly, she decided to leave the side of the glass tank to help her with breakfast.

With only one expired ingredient they had to go without, a first degree burn, and a very messy counter, breakfast was complete. Bisquick pancakes, scrambled eggs, and sausage patties were laid out on the table, dressed with a tablecloth that was ripped up on Argyle’s side. She always finished her food first and could only be excused when her mother had finished as well.

“Listen, Argyle, I need you to be extra good today.” She said in between bites. “I have to leave in,” she looked at her watch, “four minutes! Remember, don’t open the door for anyone, keep your critters contained, and don’t forget to drink water.” Argyle nodded throughout her little spiel, having heard it nearly everyday.

“Yes, yes. My “critters” are always on their best behavior. They’re very polite.” She stated matter-of-factly. 

“Okay, great.” Her mother shoveled the last bite of her pancakes in her mouth and hurriedly grabbed her purse and car keys by the door. “Hold down the fort! Love you.” She blew a quick kiss and just like that, she was out the door. The moment the door closed Argyle rushed up the stairs, almost falling in the process. It was her awaited day with her colony and nothing would stop that.

Except for just maybe the fact that she had left the lid of the tank open.

And the line of ants filing out of the side.

And the fact that there was already an absurd amount already on the desk.

Argyle was frozen in place. A million thoughts were rushing through her head and she couldn’t distinguish a single one. She shook her head and as quickly and carefully as possible she put the lid back on, scared to death to hurt any of the ants. Or get stung, that’d be pretty bad too. Now, all that was left to do was to get the escapees back into the tank… the endless dark orange specks all over her desk. She grabbed a vial from her basket of ant supplies as calmly as she could (not at all), and tried to redirect some into it. She was able to get a couple, but they mostly moved around it or tried to move on it. Argyle really needed to keep the fact that these ants sting in the front of her mind instead of “oh my God, what if I crush one?” 

Her futile attempts gathered only about ten, which she dumped right back into the tank with thankfully no more escaping. The one of only three things her mother asked her to do was happening while she was still home. Argyle was definitely not having Aunt Megan babysit. Not again. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath through her nose, and dramatically out her mouth. Think. She had to think. How many stings until you had to go to the hospital? It can’t be that many. People do this all the time. Stick their hand into a tub of fire ants on YouTube for views and clout, exclaiming about how much it hurts and how it was a bad idea.


Short story step 2

The moment the door closed Argyle rushed up the stairs, almost falling in the process. It was her awaited day with her colony and nothing would stop that.

Except for just maybe the fact that she had left the lid of the tank open.

And the line of ants filing out of the side.

And the fact that there was already an absurd amount already on the desk.

Argyle was frozen in place. A million thoughts were rushing through her head and she couldn’t distinguish a single one. She shook her head and as quickly and carefully as possible she put the lid back on, scared to death to hurt any of the ants. Or get stung, that’d be pretty bad too. Now, all that was left to do was to get the escapees back into the tank… the endless dark orange specks all over her desk. She grabbed a vial from her basket of ant supplies as calmly as she could (not at all), and tried to redirect some into it. She was able to get a couple, but they mostly moved around it or tried to move on it. Argyle really needed to keep the fact that these ants sting in the front of her mind instead of “oh my God, what if I crush one?” 

Her futile attempts gathered only about ten, which she dumped right back into the tank with thankfully no more escaping. The one of only three things her mom asked her to do was happening while she was still home. Argyle was definitely not having Aunt Megan babysit. Not again. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath through her nose, and dramatically out her mouth. Think. She had to think. How many stings until you had to go to the hospital? It can’t be that many. People do this all the time. Stick their hand into a tub of fire ants on YouTube for views and clout, exclaiming about how much it hurts and how it was a bad idea. She shivered at the thought of the gross pus-filled blisters that they give.

Her heart almost stopped as she felt some tiny legs tickle her hand. One curious worker had wandered onto her hand that was regretfully resting on the desk. Her antenna wiggled in the air, figuring out where to go.

“Please, please, please go anywhere else but my hand.” Argyle gritted through her teeth, both in awe that she was able to technically hold one of her ants and the fact that she felt if she breathed the wrong way it would somehow set her off. She had moved very little, taking in the new and strong scents. It was strangely calming. This one ant, one of hundreds, decided to climb over this strange sweaty mound. She hoped that deep down, this worker somehow knew how much Argyle loved and cared for them. She got more comfortable with the idea of a venomous ant crawling on her far more quickly than she should’ve. She shouldn’t be comfortable with it at all in the first place.

Indifferently, it seemed to have had enough of her and crawled off. Argyle held in a sigh of relief. She as swiftly as possible brought her arm to her chest, clenching onto it for dear life. There was no way that if she was stung she was going to the emergency room. Her mom would kill her before anything else would. It was the ultimate rule that she had to agree to to even keep the ants: they will cost no more than the enclosure and food, especially not hospital bills. The only medical expense that was acceptable was the boxed hydrocortisone cream in their medicine cabinet. 

She hesitantly let her hand back down to her side. In the past ten minutes she had done about nothing to fix this. Think, but think harder. Argyle’s eyes wandered to the floor. Right, the whole point of this operation was to not infest the entire house. She was okay with her desk but she didn’t imagine it going over well with her mom coming home to easily aggravated bugs wandering around. She whipped her phone out of her pocket and opened Safari, hurriedly typing “hos to repl fire ant.” As usual, with any of her ant questions for Google, the first option was a list of ways to get rid of them. Useless Google. After some scrolling, a vinegar solution seemed to be the most viable option. Maybe even the worst, too. Argyle stepped back slowly from her desk, not taking her eyes off of it until she was at her doorway and then immediately rushed down the stairs to the kitchen. She slid to the cabinets and frantically looked for any bottle that was vaguely vinegar-esque and the beat up box of baking soda. All her luck of the day seemed to be used on the two sitting close to each other in only the second cabinet she went through.

Her vision nearly blacked out as she shot up to stand and reach for the cups, hoping her muscle memory would guide her to one. Now was not the time for iron deficiency. A couple dishes fell in the process and that was a problem for future Argyle. Her vision restored, she eyed equal portions of water, the vinegar, and baking soda and swirled the cup around. Mixed enough for her.

There was some minor spillage onto the stairs to add to the list of cleanup and lies to be made about why the house stunk of vinegar. A little extra of her luck was used on the lack of intelligence of her colony, seeing none that had traveled to the ground. She circled the legs of her desk with the elixir, nose scrunched at the pungent smell. That should keep them at bay hopefully until they’re all back in the tank. Which was still causing her problems. She can only contain them in her room for so long until they realize a ring of soaked carpet won’t stop them from exploring new territory.

Argyle scanned her room for ideas. A mini broom and dustpan sounded like a good idea, sweeping them off her desk and dropping them right back into the tank, but they’re small enough to get stuck in the bristles. Any sort of suction might hurt their fragile bodies, and it would take hours to suck them up with a pipette one by one. She hypothetically had the whole day, and as much as she loves spending time with them, she was really looking forward to the new book she got at her birthday party. The weather was a perfect balance of summer and spring. The week ahead didn’t look any better than this and precious sunlight was dwindling the more she spent panicking about escaped ants.

Though, there’s been a solution the whole time. It crept in the back of her head and gave her chills. The easiest way to resolve it was to squish the escapees. The mere thought made her cringe. These ants were her life, how could she do that to them? It’s what her mom would make her do, but she’s not here to talk some sense into Argyle. She knew it was the most logical solution. Any normal antkeeper in a situation like this would suck up their pride and just do it. 

Now the floodgates have opened. What if maybe it wouldn’t only be for the greater good of her house, but for the colony too? Is there any harmful bacteria on her desk the ants would bring in? Their colony had grown so much ever since it was just the queen and her eggs, she refused to end that now. Not over some stupid mistake that they had no control over. 

Circling back to her desk, she noticed one of the smaller tanks she had used when the colony was establishing itself. Imaginably, she would use a piece of cardstock to swipe them right into it and shake them over the tank to get them out. It was an option Argyle was much more inclined to as opposed to cleaning up their bodies. She took the birthday card from said gifted book that stood in the corner of the desk and the small tank from the basket. With another dramatic deep breath, it was time.

She started with as little groups as possible that were closest to the edge, hoping with all her heart that they wouldn’t start marching up the card to figure out who the hell was pushing them into the abyss. The first couple of batches went smoothly. It looked as if they were mingling in the container, all extremely confused as to where they ended up. 


Short story step 3

The moment the door closed, Argyle rushed up the stairs, almost falling in the process. It was her awaited day with her colony and nothing would stop that.

Except for just maybe the fact that she had left the lid of the tank open.

And the line of ants filing out of the side.

And the fact that there was already an absurd amount on the desk.

Argyle was frozen in place. A million thoughts were rushing through her head, and she couldn’t distinguish a single one. She shook her head and as quickly and carefully as possible she put the lid back on, scared to death to hurt any of the ants. Or get stung, that’d be pretty bad too. Now, all that was left to do was to get the escapees back into the tank… the endless dark orange specks all over her desk. She grabbed a vial from her basket of ant supplies as calmly as she could (not at all), and tried to redirect some into it. She got a couple, but they mostly moved around it or tried to move on it. Argyle needed to keep the fact that these ants sting in the front of her mind instead of ‘Oh my God, what if I crush one?’ 

Her futile attempts gathered only about ten, which she dumped right back into the tank with thankfully no more escaping. One of only three things her mom asked her to do was happening while she was still home. Argyle was not having Aunt Megan babysit. Not again. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath through her nose, and dramatically out of her mouth. Think. She had to think. How many stings until you had to go to the hospital? It can’t be that many. People do this all the time. Stick their hand into a tub of fire ants on YouTube for views and clout, exclaiming about how much it hurts and how it was a bad idea. She shivered at the thought of the gross pus-filled blisters that they cause.

Her heart almost stopped, as she felt some tiny legs tickle her hand. One curious worker had wandered onto her hand that was regretfully resting on the desk. Her antenna wiggled in the air, figuring out where to go.

“Please, please, please go anywhere else but on my hand.” Argyle gritted through her teeth, both in awe that she was able to technically hold one of her ants and the fact that she felt if she breathed the wrong way, it would somehow set her off. She had moved very little, taking in the new and strong scents. It was strangely calming. This one ant, one of the hundreds, decided to climb over this strange sweaty mound. She hoped that deep down, this worker somehow knew how much Argyle loved and cared for them. She got more comfortable with the idea of a venomous ant crawling on her far more quickly than she should’ve. She shouldn’t be comfortable with it at all in the first place.

Indifferently, it seemed to have had enough of her and crawled off. Argyle held in a sigh of relief. She as swiftly as possible brought her arm to her chest, clenching it for dear life. There was no way that if she was stung she was going to the emergency room. Her mom would kill her before anything else would. It was the ultimate rule that she had to agree to keep the ants: they will cost no more than the enclosure and food, especially not hospital bills. The only medical expense that was acceptable was the boxed hydrocortisone cream in their medicine cabinet. 

She hesitantly let her hand back down to her side. In the past ten minutes, she had done nothing to fix this. Think, but think harder. Argyle’s eyes wandered to the floor. Right, the whole point of this operation was not to infest the entire house. She was okay with her desk, but she didn’t imagine it going over well with her mom coming home to easily aggravated bugs wandering around. She whipped her phone out of her pocket and opened Safari, hurriedly typing “hos to repl fire ant.” As usual, with any of her ant questions for Google, the first option was a list of ways to get rid of them. Useless Google. After some scrolling, a vinegar solution seemed to be the most viable option. Maybe even the worst, too. Argyle stepped back slowly from her desk, not taking her eyes off of it until she was in her doorway, and then immediately rushed down the stairs to the kitchen. She slid to the cabinets and frantically looked for any bottle that was vaguely vinegar-esque and the beat-up box of baking soda. All her luck of the day seemed to be used on the two sitting close to each other in only the second cabinet she went through.

Her vision nearly blacked out as she shot up to stand and reach for the cups, hoping her muscle memory would guide her to one. Now was not the time for iron deficiency. A couple of dishes fell in the process and that was a problem for future Argyle. Her vision restored, she eyed equal portions of water, vinegar, and baking soda and swirled the cup around. Mixed enough for her.

There was some minor spillage onto the stairs to add to the list of cleanup and lies to be made about why the house stunk of vinegar. A little extra of her luck was used on the lack of intelligence of her colony, seeing none that had traveled to the ground. She circled the legs of her desk with the elixir, nose scrunched at the pungent smell. That should keep them at bay hopefully until they’re all back in the tank. Which was still causing her problems. She can only contain them in her room for so long until they realize a ring of soaked carpet won’t stop them from exploring new territory.

Argyle scanned her room for ideas. A mini broom and dustpan sounded like a good idea, sweeping them off her desk and dropping them right back into the tank, but they’re small enough to get stuck in the bristles. Any sort of suction might hurt their fragile bodies, and it would take hours to suck them up with a pipette one by one. She hypothetically had the whole day, and as much as she loves spending time with them, she was looking forward to the new book she got at her birthday party. The weather was a perfect balance of summer and spring. The week ahead didn’t look any better than this and precious sunlight was dwindling the more she spent panicking about escaped ants.

Though, there’s been a solution the whole time. It crept into the back of her head and gave her chills. The easiest way to resolve it was to squish the escapees. The mere thought made her cringe. These ants were her life, how could she do that to them? It’s what her mom would make her do, but she’s not here to talk some sense into Argyle. She knew it was the most logical solution. Any normal ant keeper in a situation like this would suck up their pride and just do it. 

Now the floodgates have opened. What if maybe it wouldn’t only be for the greater good of her house, but for the colony too? Are there any harmful bacteria on her desk the ants would bring in? Their colony had grown so much ever since it was just the queen and her eggs, she refused to end that now. Not over some stupid mistake that they had no control over. 

Circling back to her desk, she noticed one of the smaller tanks she had used when the colony was establishing itself. Imaginably, she would use a piece of cardstock to swipe them right into it and shake them over the tank to get them out. It was an option Argyle was much more inclined to as opposed to cleaning up their bodies. She took the birthday card from the said gifted book that stood in the corner of the desk and the small tank from the basket. With another dramatic deep breath, it was time.

She started with as few groups as possible that were closest to the edge, hoping with all her heart that they wouldn’t start marching up the card to figure out who the hell was pushing them into the abyss. The first couple of batches went smoothly. It looked as if they were mingling in the container, all extremely confused as to where they ended up. She wished she could explain to them what was happening. She swiftly opened the lid of the terrarium and shook the collected ants into it like a salt shaker. Argyle was too focused on them landing safely, she didn’t realize one had hung on to the side. She was far too captivated by their wiggling antennae, blissfully unaware of this worker marching up the container to her hand.

Pain shot through her arm, and her muscles tensed.

It was really happening, wasn’t it?

She could only brace herself for the sting.

The container clattered against the desk. It felt as though something had lit her veins on fire. She could barely manage to close the lid again on the terrarium. She nearly fell to her knees as it stung again, and again. Tears welled in her eyes as the fire spread. All she could do was weakly shake her hand, and even then, the ant was already gone.

She rushed to the bathroom, bashing her shoulder in the doorway in the process. She scrambled to put on the cold water and shoved her hand directly below the spout. Relief flooded her body, the cold water quelling the flames. Argyle let the water run for what felt like an eternity until it wasn’t helping anymore. She looked up into the mirror, and all she could see through her muddled vision was her eight-year-old self.

She was at school. They had just let them out for recess, and the cheering of her classmates and tiny shoes stomping on the asphalt echoed in her mind. She was just as excited as the rest of the time. Not for the swings, tag, or hopscotch. The past couple of schooldays she had been watching a black ant colony build its hill. When she first found it, there was nothing but a small single mound of dirt. That day, it was the biggest anthill she’s ever seen. They even made another entrance. Somehow, she felt proud of them. She fished through her pocket for bits of Ritz crackers she brought for them. Argyle’s cheeks started to hurt from the sheer happiness she felt watching the ants pick up the little bits, the way they signaled to the others that they had found food.

“What’re you looking at?” Argyle jumped and whipped her head around. She hadn’t anticipated anyone to be bothering her, let alone one of her classmates.

“Um…” her cheeks flushed, “I’m just feeding the ants.” He giggled and crouched down beside her.

“That’s stupid.” He stated matter-of-factly. She had nothing to say to him. She looked back down at them, trying to focus on the way the ants tore the cracker apart. “Aiden, did you hear me? That’s stupid. Stop.” She shrieked bloody murder as he crudely punched the anthill.

Her only instinct was to shove him as hard as she could to the ground, to which he shrieked too. He got up and shoved her right back onto the now squashed hill. She could only think about how they were squirming underneath her as her teacher rushed over to pick him from atop her.

She laid there and quietly sobbed as her teacher scolded him for roughhousing. Their voices faded as she stared at the sky. She didn’t want to get up and face what she had done. The only reason she looked forward to coming to school was ruined. Sure, they’ll just rebuild it, but it wasn’t about that. Someone had gone out of their way to hurt something so small and helpless. Argyle vowed on that day she would care for the uncared. The ugly, the creepy, the crawly.

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