Violent Sunflowers , livre ebook
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English
Ebooks
2016
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128
pages
English
Ebook
2016
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Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne En savoir plus
Publié par
Date de parution
18 octobre 2016
Nombre de lectures
0
EAN13
9781785385865
Langue
English
Publié par
Date de parution
18 octobre 2016
Nombre de lectures
0
EAN13
9781785385865
Langue
English
THE
VIOLENT SUNFLOWERS
Quig Shelby
First published in 2016 by
AG Books
www.agbooks.co.uk
Digital edition converted and distributed by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
© Copyright 2016 Quig Shelby
The right of Quig Shelby to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any person who does so may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Preface
Their nests were being destroyed by nature’s intolerant rage. Amongst ruined fields blighted by drought, only insecticides, chemical warfare, rained down from the heavens above. They saw no future for themselves or their nymphs, and sought prosperity in a new land mosaicked with fields of golden sunflowers and rapeseed. Some were tourists, but most were escapees fleeing from an intolerable life, unable and unwilling to change their own habitat or eco-system.
Insects, who sought freedom in pastures new, chased dreams and opportunities they denied some of their own species. Others felt owed a plentiful life from the cockroaches that had raped and ruined their fields a long time ago. The bugs were marching home to nest.
Soon the termite travellers would reach a fork in the road. One sign would ask what they could do for their adopted home. The other sign, wood-wormed and flea bitten, would inquire what could be done for them. Most chose the latter. And whilst the termites burrowed, hopped, and flew along their chosen path, the invaded hosts wondered what to do. Should they waive welcoming sunflowers in the antennae of the new arrivals or dig in their six legs, belligerent and insectist? The future was an unsown field in which their actions would plant discord or harmony, modernity or hypocrisy.
Chapter One
‘Father, we should go now,’ said Bullet, the young ant. His antennae waved in the cool air-conditioned breeze.
‘Be patient. Let us first cross the barrier,’ replied Soldier.
Bullet sighed, eager to get going and make his mark.
‘Listen to your father,’ said Queen ant.
The ants were staring out of the jacket pocket of the middle-aged businessman. Their large eyes swept in the airport vista.
‘Whoa,’ shouted their daughter, hanging from the top of a pen. She swung full circle, laughing.
‘Careful, antling,’ said Queen.
One slip and she would be on the floor, crushed by the frenetic herd of two-legged mammals.
‘We’re moving,’ said Soldier. ‘Everyinsect hold on.’
The businessman reached for a handkerchief and sneezed. The family of ants fell back, deep inside the pocket. The fabric was luxurious, softer than any cocoon they had known.
‘Is everyinsect all right?’ asked Queen.
They were lying on top of each other, Bullet laughing. Soldier puffed out his chest; his wife may be a Queen but he was the provider, King of the ant hill. Already he was peering out of the top pocket, but what he saw disgusted him so much that he lost his grip and fell back down.
‘What is it?’ asked Mother.
‘Something terrible,’ he replied.
‘A pangolin?’
‘Much worse.’
Worker ants were feasting; helping themselves to syrup spilled on the floor. They were laughing, rolling in the splendour, drunk with their own success. Equality, liberty, and fraternity were not meant for ants such as these. He would raise the issue at the first opportunity, at the highest level.
Queen ant wrapped her six legs around the pen and raced to the top, before also crashing back down.
‘Soldier, we must be strong,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘If this is the life of the workers, then imagine what awaits those of a higher caste.’
Soldier smiled. Of course she was right, but imagine the shame on the family if they should they fail, if worker ants could achieve more than a male and his lofty Queen.
‘Workers?’ asked Bullet. ‘Surely they will help us, serve us.’
‘Don’t worry, Father,’ said the daughter. ‘Once they know of our higher caste they will bow down before us.’
They all smiled, convinced of their rightful place in life, their superiority in the ant world. They were all brown, appearing binocular, but with three smaller eyes on the forehead. They were of a size much larger than the cursed workers, and shone like diamonds.
‘Remember, we must be careful not to let everyinsect know of our ant caste system,’ warned Mother.
Soldier nodded. ‘But the indigenous insects won’t be able to tell us apart, therefore it is up to us to maintain our divine privilege,’ he said.
‘Oh don’t be so serious, Father,’ said Bullet. ‘This is supposed to be an adventure.’
Their transport had stopped in his tracks, and Father gave the nod to make a six-legged run for it. They raced down the businessman’s tie, across the belt, and off the trouser leg that trailed on the floor.
A brush was heading straight for them, pushed by a two-legged mammal across the slippery floor. They were disorientated, sliding and rolling away from the feet that crashed down from above.
‘This way, quick,’ shouted an unknown worker ant.
The others looked at Father. He was hesitant, but the brush was chasing after them. Out of all of them, only he and Bullet had wings.
‘Let’s do as he says,’ said Soldier.
They were huddled inside a foil packet, and could feel themselves lifted into the air.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll be outside soon, away from the two-legs,’ said the worker ant.
‘Which way to the sunflowers?’ asked Soldier.
‘A male, I shouldn’t have expected any thanks,’ said the worker.
‘Looking for trouble?’ asked Queen.
‘Are you going to kill me?’ replied the worker, instantly regretting his hospitality.
The newcomers didn’t know that it was best for species to stick together, that not all the natives were friendly.
‘Not if you show us the way to the sunflowers,’ said the Queen.
‘Follow me.’
They climbed to the side of the bagged refuse pile, and jumped out onto the thick rich soil, their falls broken by the damp welcoming mat of earth. A yellow sun was shining brightly above them, warm and welcoming. The grass leaves towered above, reaching for the sky; this was a land where great heights could be reached. In the distance a daisy swayed in the breeze like a giant carousel, and a fanfare played as the wind whistled through the dandelions. Roller blades were left near the blades of grass, a funfair; their struggle appeared over.
‘See those trees?’ asked the worker, pointing with his antennae.
No one replied. The worker wasn’t surprised; he was too far beneath them.
‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘head that way, through the grass towards the canal.’
‘Then what?’ asked Soldier.
‘Cross the water, and you are nearly there.’
Soldier hugged his daughter with joy, under the beady eyes of his Queen.
‘If only the colony could see us now,’ said Queen, desperate to wrestle Soldier’s attention away from their young, pretty daughter.
Bullet despised Soldier. He was a pompous old fool, an arrogant actor, but still Bullet wanted a life just like his. And Bullet would, his future was mapped out for him, though no success would ever be his alone. Rather, he would live the dreams of his parents; it was a small price to pay for comfort.
‘Wait here,’ said Soldier.
He ran through the grass to make sure the worker had left. He needed to be certain his precious daughter was safe from ants like that.
‘Soldier,’ said Queen upon his return, ‘it is time to say thanks.’
‘You can thank me when we arrive at our destination.’
‘Not to you, my husband, but to the Sky Gods. Although you deserve praise for bringing our family to these fertile soils.’
‘Then we must chant. Bullet, my beloved son, what shall we recite, to whom shall we pray?’
‘I am honoured, Father, that you would consider me for such a task, but I do not feel worthy.’
‘Your humility touches me, as it will the Gods. But I insist Soldier, choose for us.’
‘Then we shall recite my favourite prayer to the Cloud Tiger, The Garden Hose, that he will give us safe passage through these lawns,’ said Bullet.
There was a tear in the eyes of Queen, and they all knelt.
Bullet took a deep breath before quoting the revered refrain.
‘The garden is both wet and dry,
The Universe clear and purposeful,
We meditate upon your will, Cloud Tiger,
That ants don’t come to blows,
Under the garden hose.’
They repeated the verse, their breathing deeper and minds sharper, focused on their purpose. The chant built to a crescendo of enlightenment. When it was over they were at one with the Tiger in the sky.
‘Can you not feel it in the soil, Father?’
‘What is that, my son?’ Soldier was still bursting with pride over Bullet’s recital.
‘The possibilities. Here I can be anything, become anyinsect. This is a land of opportunity. And when I have conquered this new world with my brilliance, I shall reward those that gave us a home.’
‘Fine words, my son, but these new fields are lucky to have us.’
‘Look,’ said Daughter, pointing above their heads.
‘A sign,’ said Mother, the Queen.
Clear and unmistakable, a cotton wool effigy of a tiger prowled across the blue sky.
‘The Gods are watching us over us,’ said
