Healing Machine for Matthew: For the grief of having your hair cut as punishment for cursing.
Every hair cut against its will is reborn as an ant of the same color. That's why we only have ants the color of hair. The ants born from your cruelly cut middle school hair have multiplied into a vast and powerful colony since the day of their transfiguration, just as your rightful anger has spread deeper and deeper into the ground of your being. The colony, red ants of course, is now connected through an enormous network of underground veins and arteries to all the other red ants on earth. One day in Beacon you see a massive anthill in front of a barber shop. You step into a cafe; get your coffee and two packets of sugar. You crouch over the anthill like a little boy, and the creatures wiggle their antennae in recognition. Carefully, you pour the sugar into the anthill. News of the feast passes in a flash from the ants at the surface to the sea of ants below. For a moment, you feel them shimmering underneath your feet, holding up the earth you stand on.