Persistence

It was black, which showed up well against my white, tanned skin. I felt the ant move as it struggled up my calf, over the long hairs. I craned my neck to look at it from a different angle. Sitting cross-legged on the ground helped me to do this without looking like a gymnast.
The ant climbed higher and higher up my calf until I had to pull my shorts back from my knee to watch it. Not wanting it to go higher, I put my hand down to stop it. The ant was a determined fellow, though, and started to go around my hand. The ant’s determination was very amusing. It forced me to move my hand to continue the block.
I decided to name the ant Jerry. Jerry was the name of a friend of mine who liked to play video games. When we’d play this one game, Warsong, he always cheered for his little soldiers, saying they had persistence.
“Perrrrrsissstaannnce!” I cheered under my breath. Jerry kept going, and when he got tired of running clockwise, he turned around and ran counterclockwise.
My amusement continued for several revolutions of my leg, but after Jerry changed directions four, and then five times, amusement slowly changed to disgust. Jerry was persistent. True to his name, he refused to climb on my hand so I could deposit him on the ground. This was bad for him because it left me with only a few options. I really did not want Jerry, or any ant, to explore my genitals, but I didn’t want to kill him either. What could I do? Monica, a friend of mine, let ants crawl on her because she said she thought they were cute. She might also think Jerry was cute, but the ants that crawled on her were respectful and restricted their movements to her feet and ankles, and hands and forearms. Those ants weren’t as rude as Jerry, who simply wouldn’t take “no” for an answer.
Push came to shove and I crushed him under the tip of my index finger. Pressing harder, I waited until the skin on my leg turned light red, then I let up. I looked down on the black, segmented body. Jerry was alive. It shouldn’t have surprised me, since he didn’t get his name from being a couch potato, but it did surprise me. Even as I watched, he tried to walk forward on six short, broken legs. He didn’t get anywhere, of course. He simply lost his balance, fell, regained his balance, and fell again.
My disgust turned to shame. If Jerry really wanted to complete his job that much, who was I to kill him for it? Even more, who was I to put him through this agony of half-life. I don’t know how, but somehow I’d broken none of Jerry’s body segments, while still breaking all six legs. I could have picked him up carefully, but I didn’t. I had tried to kill him.
Brave, persistent Jerry didn’t deserve to be in agony, so I resolved to end the agony as soon as possible. I put Jerry between my thumb and my index finger, picked him up, and squeezed him again. Before, when I’d crushed him, I’d done it on my lower thigh, where there was no bone. Now I hoped to finish the job with my bony fingertips.
After several seconds of pressing, I let up and looked at Jerry. His body segments definitely broken now, I could still perceive movement. His mandibles were opening and closing, and his neck craned in a way so he could try to bite me. I felt his anger and hatred. His head shivered as he tried to go beyond the maximum range of his flexibility. Sorrowfully, I scolded myself for having the malice to actually crush him a second time. With a being like Jerry, there is always the chance of recovery.
But not now. As I watched, his head shivers slowed and ceased, though his mandibles didn’t stop opening and closing. I realized that now it truly was too late for Jerry. That he would die on the tip of my thumb whether I liked it or not. With my fingernail, I pressed down on Jerry to slice him long-ways, then I scraped him onto the sidewalk.