Child

Ants

If you can bend sound, maybe you can bend other things too, like light, or even metal. You try light first. Holding a magnifying glass over an ant, and moving the light spot without moving the magnifying glass. It works a little bit. You practice, every day in your private attic room. But you never tell anyone. You excel at bending sound. You are improving at bending light. You believe something is happening when you try to bend more solid things, like paper and water, but you're not excited about it.

One day, when you're using your powers to look round corners at home, through a crack in your attic door, you see Ramona holding up a letter. She's talking to someone on the phone and you engage your long-range hearing. She's mad about something. "She's too late." she says. "They've been mine for so long and she didn't even care. She can't just swoop back and reclaim them now." she waits for the other person to speak. Then she slams the letter on the table. "Of course I know how that feels! I'm experiencing it right now!"

She looks up and you quickly shut the sliver of trapdoor you had open. Ramona hangs up the phone. She comes up to say goodnight. You go to sleep uneasy.

The next morning, the letter is gone and Ramona tells you it's nothing important. You don't ask her again.

***

You're sixteen on Wednesday. Ramona lets you stay home from school as a birthday present. You've always hated going to school. Sitting with your bare scalp in front of children with big grins full of foam and false knowledge. You want to stay home with your books and your ants.

The ants run across your windowsill and you don't try to burn them. You're over burning ants. You can bend full images now. Look around corners, show yourself what's really there. You can also change pictures, show other people what isn't really there. You've been studying Morse code in your spare time because you have no friends, and you think the ants are trying to communicate with you.

Two ants travel across the windowsill, with a gap of three centimetres between them. I, if you're being extra observant. Then theres a gap in the ant trail and three ants come, three centimetres between them. I-S. Then there's a bigger gap and you wonder if you were reading into it too much. They're just ants, aren't they?

But then a bunch of ants go across together in a small swarm, followed by a single ant chasing behind them. N. A gap and then another lone ant. E. Another gap. One ant leading a small swarm. A. Then one, a swarm and one again. That's R. I-S-space-N-E-A-R.

That couldn't be the start of the message. They do it again. Four ants. Three swarms. Two swarms. One ant. H-O-M-E. Two ants. Three ants. I-S. One swarm and one ant. One ant. One ant and one swarm. One ant, one swarm and one more ant. N-E-A-R. HOME IS NEAR.

"But I'm already at home." Silly ants. No, silly Child. Of course they don't know Morse code. And of course they don't know anything about you. Home is near.

You pick up a book about bugs. Home is near. You find a dead beetle and put it on display on your bookshelf. Home is near. Ramona calls you down for dinner, which makes you sad because your home day was over so quickly, along with it your birthday. Home is near. Ramona tells you about her day at work. She's involved with the police, but she tells you she is definitely not a cop. Home is near.