Within the walls of this house are one hundred billion ants waiting to strike at any opportune moment. Do not leave your food unsupervised. Do not leave crumbs. Do not arouse them. Do not anger them.

Exterminators have all been baffled.

"No amount of poison, repellent, or other form of warfare can fix the problem you have. This house is doomed. The ants have won again..."

They hang their heads in shame and return to their large white van with their business name strewn across the side. They drive home glad that the ants haven't gotten to him, but afraid they will.

They march in sprawling august lines. Singe-file to the food. No funny business, no distractions. There is no time for tomfoolery. The ephemeral ant has only serious thoughts.

I fear one day, starved, they will capture me while I sleep and deliver me to their lair within the confines of this house's walls. I, the ultimate game. Only a fully grown human could satiate their feral hunger.

They arrive from nowhere. They permeate through the walls. Materialize on counter-tops. Manifest in the shadows. Their hunger is relentless and indiscriminate.

I fear for my life. This is no home of mine, nor my father's. There is no asylum here. This is the great Roman Empire of ants. Their greed knows no boundary. They know of nothing sacred. Only the truly inedible is safe.