Orgasmic waves of nerve shredding intensity racked his stick-figure body and overwhelmed him. His sense of oneness, self-fulfillment and total being was messianic. He gazed out across the high rise jungle of his city, high in the iconic structure that dominated his office view. Lord of all he surveyed in the redness of the setting sun, he was replete. His shriveled hands clamping together, locking his arms in unbreakable unison around the metal framework of the high dome of Flinders Street Station. As his heart spasmed Trevor knew he was no longer Trevor, he was extraordinary, amazing, beautiful, transcendental, something totally awesome: He was beyond complete.

Dawn warmed his rigid frame. As the sun rose higher a new life stirred. His head exploded and a fine pink-grey powder billowed out over the frantic wings of startled pigeons.

…

He had always dreamed of a holiday in an exotic location but exotic was costly and beyond him. The quiz wasn’t.
‘What were the gorillas in?’
It was a lame question and everyone knew the answer but you had to fill in the form, post it in and get lucky. Trevor did all three.

It took him a while to get the passport, organise the itinerary and get time off work but it was worth it. This was the trip of a life time. Africa, money to spend and special access to the gorillas, the mist and the rest of that wonderful jungle he had longed to see.

The jungle was amazing and Trevor, always with an eye to detail, never stopped asking his guide questions. Gorilla viewing was fun, his heart thumped as a big silver back male ran banging and crashing through the vegetation towards them before it abruptly stopped to eat.
‘James! Awesome, that was a scare. Why did he do that?’
‘I do not know. They are like us in some ways. Not everything we do has a reason. They seem peaceful Mr T but you cannot be too careful. Even if they don’t mean to hurt you you could end up going back to Australia in a box!’ His big smile, gaps in bright white teeth, exploding across his Congolese face.
Nestled in the under story with the gorillas something caught Trevor’s eye.
‘James, what on earth is that?’ Trevor said and pointed at something on the end of a leaf waving slowly at the top of a nondescript bush.
‘Mr T, you do not know an ant when you see one?’
‘Well yes, but what is it doing?’
‘The jungle is full of mysteries Mr T, perhaps it’s doing gymnastics.’
Deep loud laughter resounded through the forest. Gorillas’ looked up but kept eating. Human tourists had become part of their landscape and were mostly ignored.
‘Perhaps Doctor Bjung at the resort could help. He is a medical doctor, not a biologist but he knows many things.’
‘Thank you James, good suggestion.’
Trevor carefully plucked the leaf making sure the dead ant remained fixed to its mount by its rather nasty looking jaws. He gently wrapped it in a tissue and placed it in the inner pocket of his sleeveless jacket.

Doctor Bjung studied the ant through thick scratched lenses.
‘You have a rare find here sir.’
‘Really? Why is that doctor, it looks just like an ant?’
‘Here in the Congo we call them crazy ants.’
The doctor continued rotating the leaf, looking at the ant from all angles.
‘Crazy? You mean crazy as in mad crazy?’
‘Correct sir. Very crazy. These ants live in small colonies in rotting logs on the forest floor. They have no interest in climbing trees, all their food is in the leaf litter.’
Trevor looked puzzled.
’I’m sorry Doctor Bjung, I don’t understand. I found this ant at the top of a small tree.’
‘Exactly! They live on the forest floor but every now and then they go crazy, they forget about collecting food and run around until they find a tree. They run up the tree until they get to the top and then they die.’
The doctor’s broad smile and look of mock surprise accompanied a high pitched chuckle.
‘So why do they die? Trevor felt compelled to ask.
’I have no idea sir but as a medical doctor I would have to assume it has a sickness. Something that makes it crazy enough to go high to die. They always go to the highest point of what ever they run up. Maybe they feel better if they go higher but they die anyway.’ he said handing the specimen back to Trevor.
Trevor smiled and accepted his ant back with a nod of gratitude. He folded it into its tissue and tucked it back in his jacket.

The days in the Congo were gone in a flash. Before he knew it the trip of a lifetime was over and Trevor was touching down in Melbourne, passing through customs and catching a taxi back to his bluestone terrace house. Home. Unpacking the next morning, he laid out his clothes for the laundry and went through the pockets. Puzzled, he unwrapped the bulging tissue to discover his illegal ant still holding fast to its illegal leaf.
‘Damn! I totally forgot about you. Don’t tell customs you’re here will you.’ Trevor smiled and chuckled a little madly as he thought he heard James laughing off in the distance.
’I’ll deal with you later, I’m late for work.’ he said and carefully put his rediscovered friend on display on the marble mantlepiece and trudged off to work, wishing now he’d flown in on the Saturday, not the day before he was due back at the old grind. His office had a nice view of the redeveloped Yarra River South Bank and Flinders Street Station but it was no compensation for the magnificence of the African wilds.
It was a long day and he was glad to be home. He wished he was still in Africa. Missing it, he turned to his souvenir. It was a big ant but not so big he could see it clearly up close. Rooting around in a draw he found his magnifying glass.
‘Now my little lovely, lets have a close look at you.’ Holding the leaf up close to face, he held the glass between him and it. Lots of little bumps and spikes on the legs and body became more obvious.
‘Wow, you are an amazing little ant aren’t you.’ He puffed gently and the pinkish powder obscuring the facets of its eye and details on the head and thorax took to the air and even more details were revealed.
‘Too good, far too good to surrender to customs or burn you to ash. Maybe I’ll find a way to have you preserved.’

…

Morning. Distant church bells hail the 8am bustle. A flurry of pigeons bursts out of an attic space high above the clocks of Flinders Street station, chased by a loud noise; a peculiar mix of cork-pulling and branch-breaking. A super-fine pink-grey powder billowing on the vortices of pigeon wings. A quick circle within the dome and the birds settle. Thousands upon thousands of commuters treading the familiar pathways from platform to street and street to platform. None look up.

In the Congo, high in the canopy, an ant holds onto a leaf for grim death, its stick-figure body racked with waves of insect pleasure. As the sunrises its brittle body rents open as life supplants life and the fungal control of the brain completes its task and spores rain down on the ants of the forest floor.