My Autobigraphy

I have a voice now because I am dead, and I think I may have taken the soul of the person who killed me. Seems she dreams in English too. Born black and active, I have always slaved for my Queen. Not that it bothered me but I found it strange when my parents told me stories of deep woods in which they used to work. There are no deep woods now, I mean well when I was alive. Only stairs to climb. And so many of them. 

I had inherited the necessary sweet tooth from my ancestors and it attracted me like black to white. I gained strength from all the sweetness around, till this morning. Our captain had landed upon a brown jaggery mine and all of us toiled to get it in our camp. We were careful to not attract much attention and were doing it rather well until I chanced upon an even bigger brown mine.

In a much docile manner, I digressed towards that alluring lump only to find that it tasted slightly salty. In two minds, I wandered further. Deeper, I mean. It was a kind of well, with a sticky substance. I was sure it was jelly of a new flavour. I went on. Little did I know I would be trapped for my greed. Here in heaven angels are laughing at my death.

I ended up in a human-being's ear. Little did I know about how curiosity killed the cat. It sure killed me, an ant.

My autobiography is ant-sized thus.