Smeagol had a hard time making friends because he was so shy. So he amused himself as best he could when he wasn't doing chores. He was fascinated by the ant colonies in the dirt of his yard. Luckily they weren't poisonous ants and he would play games with them.
Sometimes he would block their trails and see how they got around the walls he made. Sometimes he would fill their nests with water and watch them scatter in panic, madly carrying their eggs to safety. And sometimes he would imagine that they were armies and he would engage them in battle.
His method was to kill or maim them at random as if they were soldiers who had been shot. After a good long battle he liked to survey the field of casualties that lay scattered around. There was something grand about it. Many were the dead and the walking wounded that stumbled around on damaged legs and bodies. Sometimes he would burn them with a smoldering stick and watch them suffer and die. And sometimes he would just crush them willy nilly under his shoe as if a great act of God had come down upon them.
He never had any guilt or regret about what he did to the ants. They were just little living toys to him, something fun to play with and then forget about. He didn't think of them as having any value or importance. When he was done he would simply move on to the next thing, whatever that was.
