generated with meta.ai
“God! You look like a mess. At least eat your meal, Mansa. You have no one now.” Mansa slowly blinked his heavy eyelids to find a figure in front of him. He rose from his slouching position and reached out to his delusions. He was looking at the beautiful face of his ex-wife, Sher creased with care and concern.
“You have no one now! You have no one now!” The resounding voice in Mansa’s head went from Sher’s worried tone to his own mean and cynical voice. Mansa opened his eyes again upon the realization that the words had come right out of his lips.
Mansa cupped his wrinkled face in his hands. His frail form was dimly lit by a dusty lamp in a corner of his cluttered home. His hollow eyes fell on his half-eaten lunch and untouched dinner. He had drifted away on his messy table again.
Mansa had slowly become quite the opposite of what he used to be in his youthful years - strong, controlling, and willful. He was a mean husband and father who would have life no other way than his own. He had neither regard nor respect for his family and that antagonistic behavior caused a rift between them. His wife and kids eventually left him. At first, Mansa believed he could live without them and he did until his grey years came. He became sad, lonely, and full of regret until he could no longer tell the difference between delusions and reality. He would often stare into space for hours and speak to himself in the second person.
One evening in the stale-smelling room, Mansa sprawled over his dinner table littered with crust and all sorts of leftovers. He closed his eyes and drifted away. In his vision, Mansa saw a towering brown ant, the size of a human frantically chasing its young. Its head like a globe nodded as it moved. The image was so vivid, surreal, and almost comical that it unnerved Mansa. He opened his eyes to find a small brown ant crawling toward a crumb on the table.
Irritated, Mansa swiped the ant with a finger only to see another one appear. He swiped again and another, followed by four more appeared in a single file. Mansa got furious. With his palm, he wiped the entire dusty trail on the table clean. For a fleeting moment, Mansa felt victorious until suddenly, a feeling of sadness he couldn't explain engulfed him.
The next day, Mansa returned to the table and the sight of the ants returning dazed him. Standing right there, he blanked out. “Hey, the line is back here again, Mansa!” His voice jolted him. He pointed a trembling finger at the trail as though they would hear him and stop but nothing happened. In another fit of rage, Mansa dove onto the table, clearing everything on it. He collapsed into his chair breathless and covered in stains and dust. Moments later, the ants marched on like they never left.
Mansa became seriously disturbed by the resilience of the ants. Despite all of his futile attempts to get rid of them, they were persistent as though he was just a little obstruction that didn't even matter.
Mansa slammed his fist on the table and crept below. He watched as they dispersed and assembled back in line again immediately. Mansa hissed and crumbled into a heap beside the table. He leaned closer squinting at the tiny creatures, Mansa started to make out faces for them. “So you mock Mansa now! Is that it? I clean it but you keep coming back. What is so important?” His voice was now soft and conversational.
Mansa slowly moved closer to the table and began tracing the trail to its source. Behold, beneath another end of the square-shaped table, was a big nest. For a moment, Mansa marveled at how the ants moved in and out of the patterned sand crevices like a little busy city. He then frowned and prepared to destroy the nest. Just as he lifted his hand, Mansa got hit by another wave of dissociation and he collapsed to the floor.
In his foggy state, Mansa saw the giant ant again. This time it was making frantic gestures with its antenna as though it was pleading with Mansa and beckoning him toward a direction on the table. When Mansa’s blur cleared, Mansa was shaken. He crawled to the side of the table where he found a small ant trapped in a spider’s web. He watched as the little one struggled helplessly to cut loose.
Mansa’s face turned sour. He pulled back to the wall and hugged his knees. He looked at the hand that was set to destroy the nest earlier and he felt the weight of his actions crumble him. Mansa began to cry like an inconsolable child. Just like with the ants, Mansa recalled how he had stood in the way of his family's happiness, failed to guide them, and let his anger come between them.
Mansa quickly set the trail right. He lifted the small ant from the web and gently placed it on the table. He watched as it hurriedly joined the line trailing back to the nest. Mansa sat back watching the ants work together with so much unity and connection. A strange sense of peace replaced his turbulent soul.
For the first time in years, a flicker of hope ignited in him. The ants had shown him that even the smallest of creatures have a path and purpose. Perhaps he too could find other things worth living for. Mansa resorted to giving a shot at life again.
A couple of days later, Mansa had opened his windows and tidied his home. He was ready to let fresh energy into his space and heart. Mansa sat on the table and wrote letters to his ex-wife and kids asking for forgiveness. He even invited them over. Mansa wasn't sure if they would come but he was satisfied with the peace that he had found within himself.
As he concluded his last letter, he noticed a small ant carrying a crumb back to the nest and a smile crossed his bright face.
