. . .

“Suddenly, a leap by those powerful hind limbs as the jaguar bursts through the vegetation, closing the distance between him and the peccary within a blink of an eye. In an instant, the canines clamp the skull, and the large front paws grab and twist the neck sideways at an impossible angle. The peccary is dead before it hits the ground, its skull pulled apart by the motion of the jaguar’s jaws.”

From Jaguar, by Alan Rabinowitz

The light turned red. An ant scurried up my leg, so I flicked it off. It landed in my car’s change holder and tried to crawl away. His body felt like a pebble as I pressed my finger on its frame. It writhed, twitching in a circle. I pressed until I heard a crack. It was still twitching. I ground my finger the way one would extinguish a cigarette with the tip of a boot. It moved slower, flipping in circles.

Many years ago, I wrote a story where I asked, “What if ants could scream?” How different is that person from me? I got a piece of paper and smeared his body away like an eraser over a spare apostrophe. The story I wrote had many mistakes, but my classmates loved it. The light turned green and it was time to go.