Ralph and the boys watched two ants fuck in the sandbox. Their little bodies on each other like they had been sewn together twin style. They wondered if the ants could feel the heat the way they did, but all that sun seemed to smile on then, because they were going at it for the longest time. Nearby the rest of their ants were coming out of their mound, going about their day as usual. Ralph’s cousin, Crystal, stood over them, tugging on the belt buckle of her denim shorts. She spun around and pointed to the question mark on her butt, How do you like me now, Ralph? I bet you don’t have any of these. The boys kept their eyes intently on the ants, because even though they liked girls, two ants fucking eclipsed a cute girl, especially if she was someone’s relative. Those two ants were the color of blood, or of fire, and despite the way they laughed, they imagined them monarchs, knew that somehow they were both a king and a queen in some undeniable insect dimension. But for some reason, Crystal couldn’t take it, there, take that, she said, with a piece of stick, her wooden scepter, she twirled her little body, X’d them out into some dirty ether, some kind of ant heaven, and they wondered if their colony would mourn them the same way.
About the Author
Monique Quintana is a contributing Beauty and Fashion Editor of Luna Luna and blogs at razorhousemagazine.com. She holds an MFA in Creative Writing Fiction from CSU Fresno, and her work has appeared in Huizache, Bordersenses, and The Acentos Review, among others. She is a member of the Central Valley Women Writers of Color collective, the Latinx Authors Collective (LACO), a Squaw Valley Community of Writers Fellow, and this summer, she will be attending the Sundress Academy of the Arts Residency in Knoxville, TN.