Uncle Milton has let us Down

If you haven't read last night's post, then you maybe-kind-of-should before you read this one.

The one surviving ant survived the night. Many times I begged him to have just a tiny morsel of meatloaf. He refused. He walked to a corner and stayed. He would only come out to try and 'wake' his friends. I told him that if he survived until today, I would make bread pudding and we would partake of it together.

By early afternoon, I could take it no longer. He looked pale (he really did), weak, and frail. He had covered himself with the white sand and didn't even care enough to wash it off (ants bathe themselves). I told Jack that maybe it was best if we set him free, along with his friends. I don't know, maybe he can survive. Alone. In the fall. It's possible!

We took him to the front porch and Jack dumped him into his garden. He also poured all of his friends with him. He felt the urge to say a few words. Or rather, sing a few words. It went something like this:

I hope you have lots of fun
in heaven
in heaven
I hope you really groove
in heaven
in heaven
yeah, yeah

It was quite beautiful and moving. The dead ants blew in the wind and the barely-surviving ant just stood shell-shocked at yet another change in scenery.