Leaving Well Enough Alone

The monolithic ant mound stands colossal and stubbornly inert. There's not a living thing on this parched, stucco, gated community, masquerading as a dead artifact in the dead desert.

It fits into the desert. Fits all too well. It is contiguous with the hot, steaming dirt, in both geographic continuity and a promise of action should the right disturbance occur. Heat lines oscillate horizontally off of the mound. It articulates thermal innuendos along the desert floor. It radiates as a prelude for someone careless enough to read the story that follows.

Yet, now, all is quiet. All is well. Serenity bakes into the mound the pent kinetic energy that is cocked and ready. Its inertness is a warning of things best left alone.

Until all Hell breaks loose.