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radiantfractureANTS.
I came home to the beautiful shed after more than a week away and all seemed in order, except that on the square of blank wall above the kettle was one tiny perfect ant, like a mistyped letter E. I'm afraid I erased it.
The next day, more thoughtless typing. E E E. Erase erase erase.
I tracked them to a clutch underneath the dish-drying pad.
Never have I edited with so much fervour and shame. Dismayed, I took all fabric to the wash, wiped everything within reach, and shook out heaps of diatomaceous earth along the windowsills.
The next day, fewer living letters. E E. But not none. Whatever I did, not none. I erased and steeled myself. I put the few sad plants outside. I examined the tea-basket minutely.
They are such small and harmless-looking ants, but if they write their invisible underscript on my walls and floor, if they form words and infinite modernist sentences, long invasive shrieks, EEEEEEEE, there will be no peace for me. I kill, I wipe, I hope and peer.
They are almost gone, but not quite. I can't work out where they're coming from. They just seem to appear there on the page, every day -- one or two or three, E E E, staggering over the blank wall in search of meaning.
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I came home to the beautiful shed after more than a week away and all seemed in order, except that on the square of blank wall above the kettle was one tiny perfect ant, like a mistyped letter E. I'm afraid I erased it.
The next day, more thoughtless typing. E E E. Erase erase erase.
I tracked them to a clutch underneath the dish-drying pad.
Never have I edited with so much fervour and shame. Dismayed, I took all fabric to the wash, wiped everything within reach, and shook out heaps of diatomaceous earth along the windowsills.
The next day, fewer living letters. E E. But not none. Whatever I did, not none. I erased and steeled myself. I put the few sad plants outside. I examined the tea-basket minutely.
They are such small and harmless-looking ants, but if they write their invisible underscript on my walls and floor, if they form words and infinite modernist sentences, long invasive shrieks, EEEEEEEE, there will be no peace for me. I kill, I wipe, I hope and peer.
They are almost gone, but not quite. I can't work out where they're coming from. They just seem to appear there on the page, every day -- one or two or three, E E E, staggering over the blank wall in search of meaning.
{rf}
no subject
Date: 2018-04-14 03:05 pm (UTC)The trouble is that it feels very mysterious where they're coming from -- they seem to just appear in the middle of the white wall. There are two windows fairly close to the ground on that side where it would be logical to assume they are getting in.
I want to have a good look on the outside of the shed and see if I can see where they're congregating on that side.