A Day in the Life of a Bee

    Multifarious hexagonal holes lined the walls as the recruits saluted their stinger. A swath of carpenter bees hung from the top, their gleeful smiles adorned to their face like it was stuck by a glazed honey wand. Today was selection day, and the crowd had congregated to feast their eyes upon our rueful selection process. In the back corner, we could see the genealogical birth process slowing like an action scene post-explosion, and the male and female components present in fertilized and unfertilized eggs were put on standby as all mother and father bees were sworn in for the ceremony. As the queen bee, who hadn’t moved from her stand dormant for the last 2 years, commenced her arduous journey through the hive, each of us soldiers, including me, posed our stinger in grace.

    Suddenly, as the queen knighted the final bee, a rumble like the skirmish of two godly creatures knocked the hive into a branch with a mighty THUD. The gather of Apidaes, Andrenas, Colletes and Bumblebees whizzed around like ash from a pyro-massacre, and from the corner of my right Ocelli, I caught a glimpse of a giant, his eyes with a gleam of a thousand stars and his jet-black hair the density of a million swabs of pollen. His beam pulverized my clan, and my stinger was decapitated from his monstrous demeanor. 

    We knew what had to be done. Instantaneously, the lot of us spiraled out from the hive like a great claw it grew to grasp the humanoid, yet in the spur of mass disarray and exclusion, we zipped past, a tornado having swept the boy off his feet and shooting him to the ground with an agonizing launch. 

    “MMMM, honey…”, the boy’s mouth oozed a salivating splatter of acid, and with one fair swoop, he gulped the lot of honey bees down with ease. His tongue a whip through which he could slash through hard concrete, and his teeth bared like a ravenous hyena, there was only one modem operandi out of this demise.

    The whole lot of us, under the command of the still sluggish queen admiring an adjacent flower petal, unclothed our stinging knives from the arena of our glutes, and charged with the might of an army of Trojans. The boy was swarmed, cut off from every possible angle through which he could escape, and the prevalence of fruition was no longer available as he plummeted down to a paltry corpse.

    The crisis was averted, the hazards were clear, and the boy, in all his once glorious certainty, was but a morsel under our might. Once more, we glorified automatons of nectar, triumphed in the light of our fellow comrades.