Surreal Grotesque - Issue 1

near the front door. I walked like a duck down their creeping highway, straddling the line so as not to crush any of them, singing to myself, “The ants go marching one-by-one hoorah, hoorah,” as I went.

The path of ants ended in my gravel driveway near a clay tennis court colored hill, where thousands of piss ants were swarming, devouring the carcass of a grub that had wandered too close. I squatted down and watched the ants pick and peel away at the creature, zapping it of all life and leaving it as nothing more than an empty husk.

The squirming sea made me shudder in disgust, but there was a familiarity that I felt while watching them as if I’d known them all my life.

I wanted to shrink down to their size and be part of their colony; to help rip the grub up and carry it into the hole. I yearned to be part of that family, a cohesive unit that stuck together and watched out for each other. I longed to feel wanted and a part of their world. I wanted to not feel alone.

I spread the cheeks of my ass with my hands and plopped down squarely upon the ant hill. I leaned backwards until the jagged edges of the gravel dug into my back, rested my head, and splayed my arms and legs to the side as if I were in the midst of doing a snow angel.

Some ants are prone to attack when threatened and will swarm and bite and rip at their predator until it wises up and leaves or else is devoured fully. I wasn’t a threat, however, and so I knew my new family would be welcoming in their embrace of me.

My sphincter wanted to naturally pucker like a sour mouth, but a thousand feelers massaging at once soon relaxed me enough to open me wider than a sloppy party bottom. The ants marched neatly inside me, but soon they were all scurrying about, tickling my shit shooter as they looked for that proverbial bed to call their own. It wasn’t altogether an unpleasant experience, as it felt like getting a 62