Clinging

All we have is each other.

There are only four of us now, although I suspect we will soon be three. Grandfather stays to the shadows all the time, and he has not spoken in weeks. He does not seem ill, or weak- just... gone. As though his spirit has gone walking and left his body as a place-holder in our diminished tribe.

But at least his body is warm: we need that warmth through the long cold nights.

We still don't know what happened, or if there are any other survivors hiding somewhere in this now blighted landscape. Whatever it was that did this- whatever alien thinking was behind this destruction- it (or they) apparently did not feel we were worth explaining things to. Maybe it (or they) didn't even realize we were here... or maybe they did but saw us like we see crawling ants. There, but not really counting.

I vow to take more care for the ants, in the future.

(Clinging)