Xenocide

Food. Warmth.

These were the thoughts that scurried through his brain. Over and over.

Times were harsh. Friends and family were disappearing; and no one knew where they went. Those sent on foraging missions disappeared, and some were found -- dead -- after an extremely long time.

It had been generations since the world had been warm. He had been born in hardship; suffering was all that he knew. No one alive knew what it had been like before. But they all agreed on one thing: life had been much better then. It was much worse now.

It wasn't like they hadn't tried. There had been attempts to go to better places; but none had been successful as far as they knew. There had only been one survivor from their expeditions -- and he had arrived half-mad, half-dead and died quickly afterwards. The only things he spoke of was some poison air, a great white light and giants.

Giants! Hah. There were always rumours, but none had been proven. All they saw was simply a result of nature... Giants. Stuff of dreams and nonsense. All of them dismissed all claims.

But there were always those awful rumours, always whispered. Of the mountains moving, killing them, hitting them. Covering them with their poisonous breath... But that was all they were -- rumours.

He was suddenly woken from his reverie by his brother. It was happening again! The gate to salvation -- to heaven was opening! And he had been chosen to investigate! He was afraid, true, but it was for the good of the colony.

He quickly, nervously, scurried through the gate.

Where I stepped on it, and ended another pain-in-the-neck ant's life.