Aswanda

Aswanda was a reggae ant. She had left the nest at a young age and taken up residence in a reggae bar on the Caribbean Island of Jamaica. She lived her life scurgle-ing spilt beer and pecking at pretzel dust, while listening to hot reggae music.
Aswanda thought it was a good life.
It has been written that once an ant leaves it’s nest it becomes disoriented and dies. Fortunately, Aswanda had never read this. Actually Aswanda had never bothered to learn how to read.
She lived under a discarded newspaper at the bottom of a cardboard liqueur box under the bar. Aswanda was able to make it up to the bar and back again without being eaten by lizards who also inhabited the reggae bar on a count of her incredible speed and dexterity. She had been called “Flies Like Lightning” back in the old days when she still lived in the comfort of the nest. She had comfort but couldn’t deal with the regimented life ants are accustomed to; hence her residence in a reggae bar. There were no spiders to bother her because this particular reggae bar was owned and frequented by superstitious naked apes who despised spiders and thought that they brought bad luck.
Once a young little spider was hanging out under the bar and about scared Aswanda out of her wits.
“Take a rest missant,” the young spider said. “Yer gettin’ yerself all excited over nuttin’, ya know. Dis here spider don’ eat no ants.”
“Well thassa nice thing to hear early in da mornin’,” Aswanda said from a safe distance off. “If I were a spider I wouldn’ be a hangin’ around here ya know. These here big’uns kill yer kind jus’ fer the hellavit. Be mindin’ yer own, an they’ll come’n chase ya down. Kill ya dead. No remorse neither. So ya better git.”
“And what about you?” The young spider said. “Bet they sees yer little self and yer a goner too.”
“Yeah mon, but I’m small an speedy, an thems that have seen me don’ take no notice.”
Just then the naked ape that set up the bar opened the door and came in. Aswanda went one way and the young spider another and thankfully for Aswanda she never saw the spider again.
Aswanda would climb all the way up onto the liquor shelf after she’d skurgled enough beer to be feeling good and from there she could watch the band and look in the mirror while she was dancing. Aswanda would dance around the bar or wherever she was when a good song came on. In this manner she stayed fit and trim, living to be 109 in ant years. You’d never have guessed it by looking at her.
She died while the band was playing at 1am. She was dancing around when a clumsy naked ape put his beer mug down on her head. She never saw it coming and was killed instantly. You and I should be so lucky.