Killer Bees

The following was influenced by Buddy Wakefield.

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I am going to squash a killer bee and watch the honey ooze out. Then I’m going pour the sweet nectar into the water of our love, hold my breath, dive in, and come out like a jellyfish. You may say that won’t help but I think throwing a beehive into water to make a splash last longer is worth all the buzz. Splashing and sinking and solemnly silent, all of nature will watch the skipping insects on the water’s surface. Birds will chirp indifferently, as if by pure chance, the life of a few insects do not matter to them. But they do. The birds still cannot manage to hide their heart beat. Flowers turn towards the water, blossoming ever greatly so that some brave bees could lose their way to death and instead find a mesmerizing temporary beauty. Even the wind will chime, whistling and cradling the last songs of wings flapping together. There in the waters depths, a hive will become frozen in its own liquid jelly. The hive will become a prison of amber; and no matter what lillies grow on top, what fireflies float above, the attempts to dive in and salvage the larvae, the water will always be a graveyard filled with killer bees.