Thousands of small, black ants were swarming over the kitchen’s granite counter-top. Looking at his tanned forearm, he began crushing ants under his thumbs.
Yes, there was no doubt; each time he killed an ant, a black spot appeared on his arm. There seemed to be more and more ants, too.
Discounting what he was seeing, he kept killing ants. His arms blackened, and then his hands. He refused to stop even when he felt tingling on his face and an itchiness on his back and legs.
He would get rid of the little bastards.
He would win.