Attack of the Ants


The street preacher was right. We have been sinning and this is the divine punishment unleashed upon us as a consequence. The gates of hell have been unlocked and some of Satan’s vilest subjects have been vomited onto the streets of Galway. We all laughed at the street preacher, but nobody is laughing now.

The street preacher foretold of this as he roared vehemently about the sins of the Galway Girl who took a strange man home to her flat on a fine soft day-i-yay.

“She had never met this man before,” he yelled, “and yet she spent the whole day with him eating Twirls and engaging in all manner of other sinful business that I dare not speak of for fear of filthying my divine mouth!!”

“You’re off your head!” shouted a local youth, and right then is when the gates of hell opened and some of the most hideous creatures I have ever seen burst forth into Eyre Square and the preacher screamed delightedly.

“I’m ready,” he cackled, “take me now as I’m ready to meet with my maker.” At this, a giant mantis gobbled up his head while the rest of us sensible folk made a run for it.


A local Buckfast connoisseur was the next victim. Some kind of spider-like thing injected him with its numbing venom. Oddly though, it had no effect and the man carried on, drinking and smiling, as if the whole affair was some kind of very funny joke that only he understood.


“Are you not going to make a run for it?” I yelled at him, breathlessly.

“Son,” he said, in a sort of John Wayne drawl, “if you’d lived my life, walked in my shoes, and suffered the torment I’ve endured from the women I’ve loved, you wouldn’t be the slightest bit bothered by a few overgrown insects.”

Clearly, this man was immune to fear. Perhaps there is some protective holiness in the Buckfast, I think, before doing a Mo Farah down the road.

However, having recently acquired a love of photography I can’t resist taking a few shots as I run. Photographers are all a bit mad, you see. We risk our very lives in the pursuit of getting “the shot.”

Happily chomping on one sinner after another, the giant beasts move down towards the Spanish Arch, and I’m pushing and climbing through people frantically.

The Guards are out in full force but they can’t really do anything because they don’t have any guns.


The creatures turn by the Spanish Arch onto Merchant’s Road and I am confident of escape when I trip over and come very close to being devoured.

Luckily though, what looks like an angel or a fairy with bright red hair happens to be close by with her camera and she blinds the dastardly insect with one flash of it and it is the momentary distraction I need to regain my footing and escape in the direction of Eyre Square.

When I reach the Square I see that the beasts stop following me and for no obvious reason take a right into the station.

They must be getting the train back to hell, I think, relieved.



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