Home for Dinner

Ha! They can't break me - tying me down in the desert, staking me out like a beached starfish, leather thongs at my wrists and ankles. They think I'll admit to sleeping with wives. Oh, they were good all right — especially the chief's niece. Now there's a hungry lady. This is poorly planned torture. I can survive out here for three or four days, more than enough time to fray through these leather bindings. Look there, the sun's rising. I'll be a free man in time for dinner.

~~OOO~~

Seven young tribesmen tightly circle the fire - positions of honor generally reserved for elders. They've been seated all night; the elders sit outside the ring of seven. They will acquiesce and yield their positions of prominence until it's over.

The men share silence as the sun breaks the horizon. No squeaking crickets, the screech owls quiet, the night creatures have finished their tasks. An ant creeps up the bare leg of the youngest man in the circle. He pinches it between thumb and forefinger and holds it up for all to see. Unruly laughter erupts from the seven.

Moments later the first scream echoes over the ridge. Pleas follow. Begging morphs to desperate babble. The man will live until midday - maybe a little longer as the ants eat their way into his writhing body, take pieces of him back to the nest. However, the screams that bring such joy to the aggrieved husbands will only last an hour before the man goes completely hoarse.