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Only the sounds of soft breathing penetrated the air of the contained space known as the 'slave bunker'. The stiff stale air that was so evident the first night he arrived was now hardly an after thought. Basil looked over to the other slaves that were at eye level, and sighed a deep, heartfelt sigh. His recuperation time period was over, and would begin work the next day, whether he was ready or not. So sleep was of upmost importance. But it wouldn't come easily. Gaining any sleep with ease hadn't happened since he arrived, and it wasn't just because of the too small of bunks the ants had to sleep in. It was the event of five days ago that plagued his mind. It still hurt like a thorn in his heart, and he only had himself to blame, or so he thought.
Basil's mind began to wander, in like a personal dictation mode.
Not long ago there was a time in my life when being alone was all I ever wanted. But I also knew many ants who's personal lives gave way to their jobs. It's not like you plan for that to happen, but as you get into that rut, that repeated schedule, certain things start falling to the wayside. Family, friends, hobbies, and personal activities become less of a priority.
Then, before you know it, many of the friends you used to spend time with, you hardly see anymore. That's why I always made it a priority of making regular visits to friends back on Ant Island. I've also come to appreciate the friends I've made there, as well as the many members of that colony. Once I wanted to be left alone, now I can hardly imagine the very idea of not wanting social contact. Others may have been a frustration in the past, but now I find them essential, and simply don't feel complete without them.
I know full well the need to be productive and to support oneself as well as their colony, my only plea would be for others not to make the mistakes I've made, and to always set aside time for yourself, family, and certain hobbies. I know that some may not have that option for a time, but don't simply let that happen forever, I implore them. Unfortunately, this place seems like hardly the setting for making friends, but then that maybe an essential ingredient for survival.
"You shouldn't get emotionally involved" was Holly's sarcastic suggestion the last time they saw each other, or at least it was how he thought he remembered it. It was only a couple of months ago they met.
Holly had come to the colony in a desperate plea for sanctuary, with reports of her family and entire colony being captured and sold by slavers. She managed to escape, but returned to help the others, only to get captured herself. She escaped again, and came to Ant Island for help. But since she had lost her way, she couldn't go back for them. It was soon after this that Holly met Basil. She was still feeling bereavement at the seeming loss of her family. Basil noticed her in a delicate emotional state outside of her chamber. He stayed to comfort her as she told him her entire story. He could hardly comprehend such a painful experience, however, he almost felt like he was part of the experience she had gone through. It was very easy for Basil to put himself in other peoples places and situations.
He then told her about his separation from his colony, and it seemed from that point on they had a lot in common. She took a seemingly genuine interest in him, and they became good friends in short order. Holly even painted a picture of Basil's last home, West River Colony, or as he called it West Colony, for short. It provided comfort when he felt those occasional twinges of homesickness now and again.
With the arrival of the grasshoppers to the colony to protect them, Basil, like everyone else was on their toes about the threat of slavers. Combined with the situation that Holly had been through, and the three teen-aged girls who arrived from the city, who managed to escape becoming slaves themselves, everyone was on alert.
But how could he have predicted that one of his own kind would betray him. Holly. Basil looked up to the roof of the bunker, and let out a pain angst sigh. "How could I have missed it?" He pleaded within himself. He then looked down at Walter, who showed the horrible lash marks on his back. Basil swallowed hard, and looked away for a long moment, allowing his mind to go blank.
"It was all an illusion." Basil shook his head again. "And I was living a lie. I meant nothing to her, simply a way to get what she wanted, nothing more." But was the true? Did she really have no feelings for him, just a way to preserve her freedom? He shared so much with her, his interests, his love for his family, and some of his deepest feelings. She seemed so genuine in her concern and friendship, but all of that must have meant nothing to her after the way she betrayed him.
Perhaps any life before now was a lie. Maybe he only imagined having lived in other colonies, only to cover up the painful reality that he'd spent his whole life as a slave. That he was nothing of any value to anyone, except as a possession. No. He knew he had a life before now, and had to keep the memory of those events no matter how painful they were. He couldn't deny who he was.
It then returned to his mind the most painful realization. "No one could have known what she did to me." No one was there to witness his capture by the slaver stink bug, and Holly certainly wouldn't volunteer any information to his whereabouts. Chances are, he would simply turn up missing, and without any leads, the colony would have no way to find him, or even know what happened to him. Eventually they would give up hope, and have to go on with their lives.
His situation then grew as hopeless as conceivable, and knew from that point on that he would never see either colony again. Hadn't he paid enough for losing his family in the first place? He acknowledged that it was his selfish behavior that earned him his punishment, but he made a genuine effort in making up for his mistakes. He no longer felt any feelings against anyone, and Ant Island had made many friends. Including Walter's step-sister, Willow. Despite his premeditated desire to never befriend someone of that age, did.
But none of that mattered anymore. He had no way of knowing how to get home, and it was still a veritable impossibility to escape, as Basil and Walter had failed to come up with any kind of plan, despite their short but effectively used time in recuperation. It would seem that this was where Basil would spend the rest of his days, and most likely a much shorter life. He looked around the room once more, than stared at the wall his bunk sat next to. A tear rolled gently down his right cheek, and upon running across the cut he received from the broken bottle, produced a sharp stinging sensation, a cut that seemed so stubborn to heal. He winced and stifled back any more tears, it would seem that even they would be the cause of more pain.
Eventually he managed to drift off into a short, restless sleep.
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