* * * * *
A huge ever growing pulsating bee that rules from the center of the bedroom
[This is mostly true. Mostly.] The alarm clock went off as usual, and as
usual, I rolled out of bed, crossed the gulf of the room where the clock was
and slapped the snooze button, rolled back into bed. It's a ritual I've been
doing for the past decade or so. I purposely put the clock out of arms reach
from the bed in the hopes that the physical act of climbing out of bed would
help wake me. It doesn't work; I can not only navigate the treacherous waters
of the bedroom floor with my eyes closed, but with my mind closed as well.
I've also learned to sleep through other noises that would wake most people,
including the dead. Yet there is one sound that can penetrate the deep fog of
sleep—that of an insect flying.
Odd how the sound of a leaf blower won't disturb me even if it's inside the
same room, yet the soft buzzing of a mosquito drives me insane. Yet the
buzzing I heard this morning after the first hitting of the snooze button
didn't sound like a mosquito.
My initial thought was those XXXX kids, what are they up to now? but for some
reason I rejected that answer. I then thought that perhaps this was some far
off lawn mower or leaf blower but the pitch didn't seem quite right.
Nine minutes of pondering later, I do the roll-snooze-roll routine.
More buzzing. More pondering. Perhaps one of the neighborhood kids on one of
those motorized scooters, I thought. Or if it is one of The Kids, they're
going to get it! Yet more buzzing. It sounds too much like an insect thought.
Like a bee or something. I could delude myself into thinking it was something
else, but the buzzing …
Not even nine minutes have passed and I'm out of bed, turning off the alarm
clock and slowly tracking the buzzing noise. Sounds like its coming from
behind the blinds. Definitely coming from behind the blinds. Carefully I
reach towards the chain to rotate the blinds and right there—
BEE!
staring at me, my visage repeated thousands of times across the facets of its
compound eyes as it cooly reguarded me staring at complete horror at this …
this … invader of my sanctuary. It fluttered its wings, as if to confirm that
yes, I am the one responsible for this buzzing sound, mind if I sting you to
death now? I quickly closed the blinds and fled the room, screaming like a
little girl.
Quick digression: I should mention that I do not know if I am allergic to bee
stings or not—I've never been stung or bitten (except by the occasional
mosquito) and at this late stage of the game, I'm not too keen about finding
out the hard way. Okay, back to the story.
“Um … Spring [1],” I said.
“Yes?” said Spring.
“Could you do me a huge favor?”
“What is it?”
“There's this huge ever growing pulsating bee that rules from the center of
the bedroom,” I said. “Could you take care of it?”
Spring gave me this rather odd look. “A huge ever growing … ?”
“Bee.”
“Bee.”
“That rules from the center of the bedroom,” I said.
“A bee?”
“Yes.”
“I see. And you want me to take care of this huge ever growing pulsating bee
that rules from the center of the bedroom?”
“Please?” I said. Bambi eyes.
A giggle from Spring as she got up from the couch. “Yes, I can take care of
it,” she said.
“You're not allergic, right?”
“To bees, no. Wasps, yes,” she said. We headed up the stairs. Spring
carefully cracked the door to the bedroom open and slipped in. “Where did you
last see it?”
“Behind the blinds.”
“You might want to close the door,” she said. “We don't want it to get loose
in the house.”
“Good idea,” I said. I still don't fully understand how I ended up on the
other side of the door, outside the bedroom. But the door was closed—the
bedroom sealed off, along with Spring. Mano a aguijón. May the best combatant
win. I stood there, just outside the door, anxiously awaiting; listening to
the muffled sounds of the epic struggle filtered through the door, refusing
to imagine what must be going on inside the bedroom.
Minutes pass. More muffled sounds of an epic struggle.
The door suddenly opens, Spring springs out, door shut. Took longer to read
that than it took for the action to actually happen. Spring looks concerned.
“There are now two huge ever growing pulsating bees that rule from the center
of the bedroom,” she said. “And I don't think they're bees. I think they're—
WASPS!
It doesn't look good,” she said. I went to The Kids' bedroom and looked out.
To my horror I saw a swarm of huge ever growing pulsating wasps engulfing the
Facility in the Middle of Nowhere, blanketing the place; the din of buzzing
rising in my ears as my mind tried to retreat into its Happy Place. “We're
going to have to call The Office,” she said. “Maybe they can do something.”
Nuke the site from orbit. A stray thought fired in my mind. It's the only way
to make sure, was the other stray thought. Guess I won't be grocery shopping,
a third thought that crashed into the other two. But then we're out of food!
forced its way throught the other three struggling thoughts and I knew we
were in trouble.
A few minutes later and it's worse than it appears. “Tomorrow?” asked Spring.
She was on the phone to The Office, informing them of the huge ever growing
pulsating swarm of killer wasps that rules from outside Facility in the
Middle of Nowhere. “The exterminators can't come until tomorrow? I see. Thank
you.”
I leave these notes so that future generations may know the horror that was
unleased here at the beginning of the 21^st century.
[1]
http://www.springdew.com/
Email author at
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