Memoirs of Ali
Chapter One
“Of all the hidden worlds – none so hidden as ours.”
I would often repeat this thought to myself during the hours, the days, the weeks I spent confined to my own world inside my egg. If I were more of a liar or a tale-spinner than I am, I would even go so far as to say that it was my very first thought, but I am no storyteller at heart and a terrible exaggerator, so I will stick at all possible to the bare facts, no matter how boring or unappetizing you, my critical hearer, will find them. For I am an insect – a praying mantis by the name of Ali. Being such, my first thought was more likely to be “my left foreleg itches,” than anything of profundity. I was a terribly base creature back then, and I still am.
I am sure that none of my siblings did much meditating on the questions of “how” and “why” during our time in our eggs, either. However, we did not get bored, and I find it amazing how often people ask me that. We had never been properly entertained. We could not become bored. You cannot miss what you have never had.
Still, it was somewhat a relief when I finally sensed that Hatching Time had come. I did not know what to expect, of course – I knew nothing of light, or hunger, or sound, the freedom to move about, but I was sure that something was waiting for me out there. Whether that something was going to be worth the effort of hatching, I was not sure. Certainly we were not going to have any help or guidance along the way. I had a vague idea that we had once had a mother, but she was gone; I learned later that mother mantises die very soon after laying their eggs. Her presence was gone from our lives before we could even properly sense it.
Finally, after the long silence, we began to feel the first cool, glowing vibrations of spring in our bodies. These feelings incited a new sense of urgency in us, and soon we were all bursting out of our eggs like lunatics, all of us convinced that if we did not breathe the cool spring immediately we would all perish. One by one we tore free of the foam sac our mother had encased us in and burst out into the light. Some of us hatched quickly. Others lingered, and a few didn't hatch at all; their eggs were beaten into a pulp by the eager feet of the living, while the dead fluids of their remains spilled out, never to see the light. We had no grief. We were filled with new strength and our hearts hammered as we spilled out into the open light, leaving the membranes of our eggs forgotten behind us.
We now stood in the branches of a tree, with the world beneath us. It was bigger than any of our minds could possibly grasp. A stream was sprawled out below, banked by the damp forest earth, and above us was the sky, a great mass of blue that none of us could quite understand, cradled by countless trees. We were transfixed. For a while we stood, motionless, drinking it in.
For a while. In due time we became aware that we all were bitingly, terribly hungry, and that even the huge world around us was not bigger than each young mantis's desire for food. But there was none to find, none that we knew of – until a certain sister of mine, a slender warrior with shadowed eyes, spoke.
“There is food here,” she said, waving her antennae. “We are surrounded by food.”
There was a pause in which we all looked at each other rather nervously. Then my sister's eyes flashed murderously and she lashed out at the mantis closest to her, one of my smaller brothers. She grabbed him by the neck. Something fluid and yellowish burst there and spilled out – and he was dead, with my sister gnawing on his head with satisfaction.
After that it was chaos. A few of my other siblings joined my sister in killing as many as they could touch, while others hung back, either nervous about killing or terrified that they would become food themselves. I will not be so proud as to not admit I was in the second category, cowering under a leaf and scared out of my wits. Eventually I was able to climb quietly down the tree trunk, deserting the hungry melee going on above. My legs were shaking. I had not lived an hour and I had already barely escaped from death.
I was in shock, still damp from the egg and burning with hunger. I had no usable wings to speak of and my body was still weak and vulnerable. I was utterly alone. Soon I had fallen into torpor, hidden in the shadow of one of the tree's roots.
* * * * *
When I came to I was miraculously still alive and untouched, but hungrier than ever. I struggled to get up but was barely able; the ground pitched beneath my feet and shadows erupted in front of my eyes as I stood. I could feel the small about of energy I had left leaking out of me alarmingly fast.
You're dead, my gut told me, and I had to agree. My home tree loomed above me. Perhaps if I had been a bit braver, instead of cowering under that leaf like a fool, I wouldn't be in this situation. Despair washed over me, but just then I caught a wondrous scent on the air: a delicious, meaty smell that sent a kind of crazed energy surging through my limbs. I stumbled in the direction of the smell and found its source almost immediately: a large, fat, grubby caterpillar lying dead on the ground, with two slimy, pierced holes in its side.
Without stopping to think of any risk, I buried its head in my jaws and began to chew, relishing the taste of meat and the strength I knew it would give me. Looking back now I realize it was probably muddy and rotting from its time on the cold earth, but to me who had never eaten anything else in my life, it was wonderful.
I was still to weak to leave my place by the roots, and my stomach was starting to ache from the sudden excess of food, so I rested for a while longer, although this time I pulled up some leaves and twigs around my root to hide me from sight. Once I had again come out of torpor, I had recovered a good deal of strength – along with an embarrassing amount of enthusiasm.
“I'm ready to hunt!” I called to the world at large, shoving aside my hideout of twigs and scuttling out into the open. The spring light felt wonderful and it was few seconds before I had recovered my dignity – if I had any back in those days, which is open to doubt.
When I had my head on straight again I saw, to my vague surprise, that yet another caterpillar was lying in the exact same place the previous one had been. I cocked my head, circling it and poking it and wondering exactly how it had gotten there. Perhaps this was the way things worked – perhaps I could remain here as long as I wanted and caterpillars would keep arriving for me until I died. Something told me that this wasn't quite the case, but it was a pleasant idea . . . I shouldn't bother myself, I thought. Just go with it.
Over the next few days I watched my siblings beginning to crawl down the tree trunk and out into the world themselves, hurried along by my warrior princess of a sister, who I have come to know as Violet, although she had no real name for herself. Already she had grown to a formidable size, and her her white skin was turning into hard gray plates. What promised to become a beautiful pair of wings sprouted from her thorax. She brutalized several more of our kin while I watched, but no one gave me any notice. Feeling brave one evening I managed to hurry out and nibble on the foreleg of one of my fallen brothers, but in the already-spoiled opinion of my considerably dreadful childhood, I thought his meat tasted awful.
One by one my kin disappeared. Caterpillars continued showing up by my hidey-hole, but I noticed they were getting smaller and skinnier each day. Soon, I guessed, I would have to begin to hunt, so I started to practice. Hiding still and silent, blending into the roots and earth around me, I struck out at ants and gnats as they passed. My early attempts would be humiliating to speak of, but I improved with time and I barely noticed the day when the caterpillars stopped appearing. It seemed I was finally going to start living the life of a normal praying mantis in the forest.
Or so I thought. Soon after the day the caterpillars stopped coming, though, I met my benefactor.
Wow. This was 
