Eighty-Nine Ants

A young girl came out of my pupil and told me when I was going to die.  I didn’t believe her.  How would she know?  She made me look down at the ground at a mountain of ants.  They formed a number.  The number was eighty-nine.  I was to live until I was eighty-nine.  I stomped on all the ants.  The blood stained concrete kept my number and I ran off as my heart pounded out of my chest…I caught my heart before it hit the ground and in my hand was a pack of….

This young girl, not sure how old she was, not sure where she went.  Not sure.  When I turned eighty-nine, I died.  I died alone…and was carried off by eighty-nine ants.  Eighty-nine ants…eighty-nine ants.

My whole life I waited to see if this young girl was right.  If this young girl knew when I would die.  My whole life.  I waited.  She knew.  The age of my death, she knew.  But why?  Why did I kill those eighty-nine ants?

But why?