I walk. Step, step. It feels easy, like breathing. My feet know this path. Why? Because every ant before me walked this way. It feels solid, like a well-worn stone step. I follow something I can’t see—a tiny smell on the dirt, thin as a spider’s thread. But it feels strong, like a rope pulling me home. It’s warm, like a hand holding mine in the dark.
We ants live by this smell-rope. It’s everything. Our map. Our dinner bell. Our safety. We trust it with our whole lives. We never question it.
But today… something breaks.
The rope goes slack. The scent, clear like water just moments ago, vanishes. Like a whisper swallowed by silence. Maybe the wind took it. Maybe the rain erased it. I don’t know. All I know is—it’s gone. My world falls quiet.
My head feels fuzzy. Lost. I turn, trying to feel that rope again. I spin—a small, searching circle in the dust. My feet tap-tap-tap, desperate for meaning. Where is it? It has to be here. My body keeps moving like it still believes, but inside, I don’t know anything anymore.
Then, another ant sees me.
He doesn’t see my confusion. He sees motion. Purpose. He thinks I know the way. And because he trusts, he joins behind me, following the faint, confused scent trail I am accidentally leaving now.
He’s the first link in a chain I never meant to make.
Another ant sees us. Two walking together? Must be the right path. She joins too. Then another. And another. Soon, we are a long snake of ants, slithering across the ground, all following the ghost of a trail that no longer exists.
A heavy chain now, built from my mistake and their trust.
No one looks up. No one asks.
But the truth sits inside me, cold and hard like a pebble in my stomach—we are going nowhere. Just walking in a circle. A loop I started. The circle tightens, like a noose pulled slowly closed. But stopping feels wrong. Stopping feels like falling off the edge of the world.
The sun warms my back. Then it cools. Then darkness comes. Then light again. How many times? I’ve lost count. We just walk.
Legs that once felt light now drag like wet sand. My body aches. Deep, dull pain in every step. Maybe rain will come. Maybe a bird will scatter us. A tiny hope flickers… but nothing changes. The ant behind me walks, so I walk.
Then, it begins.
One ant—far behind—just… stops. Softly. Like a dry leaf falling. Legs fold. Body still. He walked through light and dark, followed the path I made, and now he walks no more.
Another one drops. Then another. Quiet, slow collapses. Like little candles going out, one by one. I see them when the circle brings me back around—piles of sleep, growing.
And then it hits me. Fully.
This isn’t a path. It never was, not since the rope vanished. It’s a drain. A trap. I led them here. We’re not walking forward. We’re circling a hole.
So many of us. Shoulder to shoulder. Yet we feel so alone. Our purpose has leaked away, and only the walking remains.
I’m so tired now. My body wants to stop. But stopping means facing the silence. Stopping means admitting I led everyone wrong. That I broke the trust. That I started the chain.
And that feels colder, scarier, than walking myself into the dust.
Each step now is like lifting my feet from tar. My heart beats slow. Thud… thud… fading. Soon, I will fall too. Quietly. A soft drop into stillness.
As the fog thickens in my mind, tiny pictures flash. Warm sun. A drop of nectar. The dark, earthy smell of the nest. My place. My job. The food I never brought back.
And just before the stillness claims me, one final question burns through the haze:
Did any of us—starting with me—ever have the courage to just stop? To lift our head, admit we were lost, and maybe… maybe find another way?
Or was the circle I started always meant to be our end?
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Excelente. Un saludo
Isn’t this the voice of the ant asking us all with courage!?. Or is it only me that hears the ant voice?.
Maybe the ant always had a voice. Maybe we just needed to go quiet enough to hear it. You heard it. I heard it too. And maybe that’s how it starts—not with a loud trumpet of courage, but with a soft whisper crawling through the dirt, asking, “Are you sure this is the way?”
It’s comforting to know someone else paused long enough to listen. Perhaps the ant was never lost. Maybe we were.
And now that we hear the voice of breakthrough, what happens next!?.
The voice of breakthrough—like a tiny ant shouting through a megaphone made of a leaf. We hear it, we nod… and then we panic because there’s no instruction manual.
What happens next? Well, maybe one of us dares to step out of the circle, trembling like a student who forgot the homework but still raises their hand. Maybe we follow curiosity instead of the smell of someone else’s feet.
Or maybe—we all stop, look around, and awkwardly pretend we were never following anyone. Just independent thinkers, walking together… accidentally… in the exact same circle.
Either way, the real breakthrough might be admitting that we’re all just ants trying not to look lost in front of the others.
And, I’m afraid if this is a loop!?.
A loop? Oh no. You mean we just took a full philosophical lap and ended up back where we started? Classic ant move.
But hey—if this is a loop, at least it’s the scenic kind. Better than marching in circles of nonsense. We’ve upgraded to existential spirals now. Slightly dizzy, but much deeper.
Shall we keep looping until someone dares to blink and walk sideways?
We have got no other option, I suppose. But can we make it fun listening to stories from each other until someone dares to walk sideways?
Why I feel it’s not all about ants??
Shhh… don’t tell the ants. They still think it’s their story.
But you’re right. The moment someone feels a little too seen while reading—it’s no longer about six legs and antennae. It’s about us… walking in circles, pretending it’s progress, and calling it destiny.
Ants just gave us the costume. The drama? Pure human.
Everyone knows they’re living in a already drawn circle… But no-one wanna wait and give it a thought about it… Even if we think, nothing will change.. 🦋
I like your writing skills sir… 🇮🇳🌙
Yes… that’s the heaviest part, isn’t it?
It’s not ignorance that traps us—it’s awareness without action. Everyone knows they’re walking in a drawn circle. But the moment you pause to question it, the silence gets too loud. The weight of “what now?” presses harder than the comfort of routine.
And even when we do think, it’s like whispering into a storm. The world doesn’t stop spinning just because one ant has a thought. So we tell ourselves: better to walk than to wonder. Better to ache in motion than to freeze in fear.
But still… I believe there’s power in the thinking. Not because it changes the circle immediately, but because it breaks the spell. One ant thinking is a flicker. Two is a crack. Three is a question. And maybe that’s how it starts—not with a leap, but with a pause that dares to echo.
You paused. And that echo reached me.
Are you the first ant that pause.. Or the second one making a crack.. 🦋
First ant? Me? Please. I was just minding my business, marching like everyone else. Stopping requires a functioning brain and the guts to use it. I haven’t had either in years—and frankly, it’s been bliss.
Decision-making? It’s an extreme sport. One wrong turn and suddenly you’re responsible. No thanks. I’ll take my loop with a side of ignorance and call it a lifestyle.