Author's Notes: There will be no previous chapter interpretation because I hardly remember what it was about and what I was trying to get across. Actually, for the sake of my sanity, I think I'll stop that whole previous chapter interpretation jazz. It's just getting too complicated with all the time in between the publishing of my stories. So… sorry.
For Father's Day
It was only when he looked up that he realized something was wrong. The table was crawling with ants. They were climbing on his and his family's food, darting across the gossamer, white tablecloth and their silverware as they ate, just barely missing their mouths. They were infecting everything: the coleslaw, the mashed potatoes, the banana nut bread, the turkey slices, even the soup, and especially the sugar. He couldn't see a grain of white sugar for all the auburn, moving thoraxes piled on top of it. Just where had all these ants come from, and how so suddenly? There were millions on the table, and it looked like they had been living there for months. But they weren't there when he had sat down to eat, and that was only ten minutes ago.
He frowned his face and looked at the wall. There was something else wrong: the window was shattered, and glass was all over the floor, just waiting to be stepped on. It had obviously started raining in the past ten minutes, and the wind was blowing so fiercely sideways that it was practically raining horizontally—and raining in the direction of what had been the window. The floor was being soaked and the wind whistled fiercely. So fiercely, in fact, he was surprised he hadn't heard it before then. But anything could come through that window now, and anyone could get glass in their foot as easy as can be. Thankfully though, so far everyone seemed to have taken caution and avoided getting near it.
Something buzzed from above him. He looked at the ceiling and awed at how many flies were clinging to it. Like miniature vampires, they stuck to the wooden ceiling supernaturally, upside-down and with all the ease in the world. There had to be thousands of them there, glistening black and sometimes a greenish purple when one flexed its wings. But they were all sitting there, most of them perhaps sleeping, waiting for when their moment would come. He scowled at them all, for flyspecks were so hard to clean off of anything, and would be doubly hard to clean off of a ceiling when there were so many. But what were they all doing there? How did they all get there? It wasn't like this before he'd eaten dinner, and all of them couldn't have possibly entered the room in that amount of time—even with the open window. Insects didn't go out and about during the rain.
"Goku, honey," his wife sweetly cooed as she spooned more food on his plate and picked up her own utensils. He turned his attention from the mass of filth above him to her, and she smiled warmly at him, scooping up a portion of her coleslaw with her fork. Goku watched the ants weaving about in it. "I really want you to know that you really are something special. Truly. You do a better job defending the Earth and this family than anyone ever could. I'm so very proud of you. It makes me feel so privileged to be able to say that yes, in fact, I am your wife."
"Yea Dad," Gohan agreed, smiling gently and scooting his chair backwards. He took his cup in his hand and exited his seat to go to the kitchen and get more drink. "Thanks for everything. You really protect us from everything. You're the greatest Dad ever. Happy Father's Day."
Goku watched his only son step over such sharp shards of glass before reaching the kitchen door, leaving a trail of bloody footprints behind him. He ached on the inside, turning to Chi-Chi and watching helplessly as she stuck the insect-infested coleslaw inside her mouth and then smiled in a mixture of sheepishness and love. He knew her tongue must have been itching from hundreds of tiny legs struggling all over it.
"Wish I could do more," he admitted to her heavily, watching as reached for the sugar dish and spooned out not white crystals, but writhing, armored bodies into her tea. She laughed softly, tipping the ants into her drink and stirring the spoon around in it, the metal clinging daintily against the glass.
~Pudgoose