R. Scott Boyer's Blog

Bees, Pt 9 (Finale)

Related previous posts: Bees Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8

Bees, Pt 9 (Finale)

Similar to her time in the pantry, Honey lost track of time in the jar where it lay in the back of the van. A steady flow of bumps and thumps marked their time more than any changes in the light or heaviness in the air. It might have been hours, or even days before the vehicle finally came to rest. Once again, doors opened and closed. A hand reached in and pulled out the jar and thrust it into the sunlight. Someone unscrewed the lid and tipped the contents over. Honey tumbled out in a heap atop her cohorts, many of whom did not move.

“Where are we?” asked the injured drone.

Honey blinked as confusion and grogginess slowly yielded to sunlight and clarity. They were in a meadow. Not just any meadow, a beautiful meadow filled with dozens… no, hundreds of wildflowers! The colors and shapes and sizes made Honey swoon. Here stood a larger abundance of pollen and resources her collective had ever encountered in the canyon.

She took a moment, drinking in the beauty for a long moment. Then her heart sank. The other bees from the jar lay in piles around her. Most were dead. A few, such as the drone, moved feebly. None looked in any condition to harvest nectar or rebuild a hive.

Why had she trusted Belle? What did she think would happen? What had she hoped for? Without her queen, without the collective, nothing remained but purposelessness, despair, and death.

Then she heard it, the distant but distinct call of a queen. So out of practice, it took Honey a moment to decode the pheromonal message:

Come to me. Safety. Peace. Happiness.

Completely forgetting her damaged forewing, Honey launched herself into the sky. Pain followed immediately after, but Honey ignored it. Too excited, too elated, too exhilarated, Honey raced across the meadow towards the source of the message.

Come to me. Safety. Peace. Happiness.

There! In the giant walnut that looked very similar to the old oak tree.. Nestled among a crook in the high branches protecting it from wind a rain… A hive! Small, yes, but filled with a vibrant colony buzzing with health and vitality.

She tasted the pheromones closely. Did she dare hope? Did she dare imagine? She no sense of alarm or hostility at her approach, Honey zipped straight pass the outliners and right into the honeycomb. There could be no mistaking it now.

That scent… That magnificent familiarity could mean only one thing. Honey crawled through the passageways with feverish excitement. Thorax thrumming and antennae twitching, she raced to the queen’s throne at the heart of the hive. With so many other bees in the halls, she had to climb over, under, and around the others to make any progress. But with each bee she passed, she knew it more and more…

The queen’s chamber came into view and Honey’s tiny heart burst with joy. There on the throne, brimming in all her black and amber glory buzzed the queen… Her queen! A flood of mixed emotions rushed through Honey, overwhelming her senses. So many of her brethren had died. And yet, many more had survived. Standing in the queen’s chamber, the rush of bitter and beautiful, pain and pleasure, nearly overwhelmed her.

Certainly, the past continued dark hours, but the future contained not just hope and light but fields full of flowers and a happy, healthy hive to share it all with.

The end.

Bees, Pt 8

Related previous posts: Bees Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7

Bees, Pt 8

By the time all the action started the following day, Honey had no energy left to investigate and no emotion left to care. First, she heard voices – two men that sounded like the same ones who’d dismantled her hive. Their voices were muffled and distant, but thought they sounded deferential and apologetic.

Next, Honey heard the soft voice of the woman who owned the house. She sounded tired, which caused Honey to wonder what kind of night she’d had. I’ll bet she didn’t sleep in a cupboard with her friends dying around her!

Honey felt her temper boil. Mad enough to sting someone. Maybe I can attack when they open the jar! She tried to flap her wings but discovered them too bend and painful to move. She’d just given up hope when footsteps sounded in the hallway. Moments later, the door to the pantry flew open. Belle stood in the doorway, her bent and eyes downcast, so Honey couldn’t see her face.

Belle scooped up the jar and carried it out into the kitchen then on to the living room, where she set it down on the coffee table. The woman and the hive killers exchanged more words, but even at close range, Honey couldn’t understand them the way she did Belle.

The taller workman responded but, again, Honey couldn’t understand him. From his tone and body language, Honey got the impression he didn’t agree with Belle at all. Then the workman tucked the jar under his arm and headed for the front door.

“Wait! What’s happening?” asked Honey. “Where are they taking us?”

If Belle or the workmen heard or understood, they gave no reply. Damn invisible wall! She heard doors open and close, then a sudden drop as the jar was unceremoniously deposited in the back a commercial van. The workman climbed in and they drove off.

Just like that, everything in Honey’s prior life was over. No more house, no more garden, and no more hope of ever being reunited with her hive or queen ever again. Honey cried out in shock and pain.

The injured drone grunted. “Good riddance, I say. Anywhere is better than that place.”

Honey buzzed her good wing in frustration, in terror, at the injustice, at the annoying drone, at the cruel world. As always, none of the other bees so much as uttered an acknowledgement of her heartbreaking pain.

***

Bees, Pt 7

Related previous posts: Bees Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6

Bees, Pt 7

For nearly an hour, Honey watched as Belle moved about the garden, scooping up injured insects and depositing them in the jar. Finally, Belle stood, stretched, and turned towards the house.

So deceiving! thought Honey. I can’t believe she’s leaving! Sure enough, Belle yawned and began to pick her way through the garden back towards the patio door.

“Come back, can’t you see?” Honey tried to rouse herself. “Right here, it is me!” The pain in her abdomen nearly caused her to black out again, but her thorax lifted and, for the briefest moment, Honey’s wings buzzed.

Halfway across the garden, Belle froze. Her head swung and she stared straight at Honey. With all her strength, Honey heaved her thorax and buzzed again. Like a homing hawk, Belle retraced her steps. Honey flapped her healthy wing again in weak sporadic flutters. Stopping occasionally to cock her head, Belle picked a path towards Honey’s location.

At last, the shadow of Belle’s childish countenance caressed Honey’s fallen figure. Honey fluttered one last time and grew still. Kneeling beside her, Belle set the jar beside Honey and unscrewed the slid.

“Don’t worry,” said Belle. “I’ve got you.”

With the fine feminine fingers of a delicate child, Belle reached down and pinched Honey’s good wing in a firm but gentle grip. Then with infinite slowness, she lifted Honey and set her on the lip of the mason jar. Then Belle tilted the jar and let go.

Terror gripped Honey as she slid down the invisible side of the glass jar. But the descent was quick and painless, over almost before it began. Honey landed at the bottom in a pile with the dozens of other bees that occupied the jar.

“What is this place?” asked Honey, exploring the glass wall. “Quite the strange space.”

“Does it matter?” asked a nearby drone with a broken wing.

“Of course it matters! Why go to all this fuss, unless Belle is trying to help us.”

“Right,” said the drone. “Just like the humans that destroyed our hive and drove the other colony to invade.”

“Belle isn’t like that. She’s come to our aid.”

The drone made no reply, instead rolling onto his side with a shiver. Through the glass, the foreign queen’s call rang out, reverberating in the close confines of the container. But there was nowhere to go and no harm to happen, and so Honey let it wash over her and fade away.

Gradually, the jar lapsed into silence. Honey settled down alongside the other injured insects. In time, the jar rose and began to sway. Honey dragged herself over to the glass wall as Belle stood and looked about.

“What is she doing?” Honey asked the room at large. All that greeted her was the labored breath and broken buzz of the injured. Honey watched as Belle scanned the ground then set her eyes on the house.

As they headed for the patio door, the drone whispered, “Looks like we’re the last ones.”

Entering the house, Belle moved through the living room and into the dining. Passing through the kitchen, she set the jar on the countertop, then departed, once again leaving the bees alone in silence.

Time crept over Honey slowly, marked only by the length of the shadows. The room with the jar grew dark as the sun faded. Devoid of light, the air filled with the labored breath and broken buzz of the injured. Used to the warm, vibrant thrum of the hive, the stilted noises in the dark grated on Honey’s nerves.

Better than the cold dark silence of the dead, she reassured herself as the hours ticked by. Despite hope, Belle didn’t reappear to comfort Honey or the other bees. When true night set in, she settled down among her injured companions. No one spoke, not even the dejected and doubtful drone.

***

Bees, Pt 6

Related previous posts: Bees Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5

Bees, Pt 6

Consciousness dawned slowly on Honey. It came first as awareness of the growing glow, monochrome and pale, then glittering and gold as the sun rose over the canyon.

Next, Honey grew aware of the soft sound and gentle vibration of footsteps floating through the foliage as gentle as a deer grazing on grass.

Clearly human, thought Honey, but not loud and clumsy like the beekeepers who dismantled my home. Too exhausted to rise, she lay in anxious anticipation until the person came into view.

Fine, feminine feet… Small, slender side and stomach…

Could it be?

Finally, the full figure floated into frame and Honey saw long luxurious locks.

“Belle!”

In one hand, the young girl carried a mason jar with a metal cap. In the other, she cradled a collapsable net made of mesh.

From across the yard, the echoing roar of the second sovereign rattled the air. It reverberated through Honey, thrumming her thorax and attacking her abdomen until she thought she would die from despair.

Midway across the garden, Bell stopped and set hands to her hem. “What is going on here? This isn’t right.”

“My hive is gone,” cried Honey. “And I’ve been out here all night!”

“Let me see what I can do to fix this,” said Belle. Striding past the jacuzzi and the pool with her giant girl gait, she faltered at the far fence where the foreign matriarch had forged her foothold.

Having clearly grown bold in the absence of Honey’s matriarch, the foreign queen perched with her followers on the property’s periphery. Unfolding the net, Belle cast it over the area, catching the queen and her congregating cohorts. Cinching the net, Belle nodded at the matriarch nestled in the net.

“Well now, you don’t belong here,” said Belle, eyeing the invasive insect. “You should go back to your own home and not fret my friends.”

Holding the net out over the rail, Belle uncinched the cord and shook it. Afraid that the queen and her colleagues might turn and attack, Honey held her breath as the trapped troops took to the air once more.

They rose on the breeze, hovering around Belle, but the young girl held her ground. “Go on now,” she said. “Go find gather another garden. You aren’t welcome here.”

The scathing sovereign soared skyward until she floated in front of Belle’s face. She buzzed and buzzed with irritation and indignation, but Belle held on her hips.

“I know you are only trying to survive, but this is not the place for you,” she said, lifting the net. “Now go on, or I will catch you again and not let you go this time.”

With a final furious flurry, the conquered queen turned and flew off towards the upper reaches of the uncultivated canyon. As she flew, she sent out one final message.

“Peace to you,” came her call. “If you’d been in my place you’d do what I did too.”

Belle watched the swarm go until they sailed out of sight. Then she folded the net and returned to her refuge. Stopping a few yards from where Honey lay, she set down the jar and unscrewed the cap.

Honey watched in confusion as Belle scooped up a fallen bee and placed it in the glass jar. Belle repeated this action three more times with other nearby bees. Then she stood, moved a few feet, knelt again, and repeated the process.

Does she mean to kill? Force us to leave against our will? Honey’s tiny torso trembled. She didn’t know why Belle was collecting fallen bees, only that she trusted her.

“Here!” cried Honey. “Over here!”

But Belle must have been too far away, because she rose from her crouch and moved to a new spot farther away. Honey called out again but raised no response.

Honey sighed and counseled herself to calm. She’s my friend. She’ll draw close again.

***

Bees, Pt 5

Related previous posts: Bees Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

Bees, Pt 5

For three days, Honey huddled in the hive, venturing out only when vital. Thankfully, her queen was merciful, sending her on only brief missions close to the colony, so she could collect and harvest within short distance of the house. Each time the foreign queen sent out a burst, Honey felt it only as a distant wail, a fleeing echo that left little to no impression. Still, she was careful not to venture too far, least the feverish fervor forestall her flight.

On the fourth day, the humans stirred. Emerging from their house onto the patio, Belle and her mother stepped gingerly across the deck. Observing the massacre with dark eyes and deep grimaces, they tip toed among the tiny bodies littering the yard.

The carnage had climbed since the foreign queen’s campaign. Hundreds of Honey’s waylaid brethren lay in the water or in the bushes. Many of the dead piled atop one another on the shore of the jacuzzi, while the private traumas of those still struggling played out inches away.

Honey thought perhaps Belle’s mother would do something then, bring some machine or device to solve the problems. Instead, she made her way to the corner of the roof and stared at the eave guarding the entrance to the hive.

“No!” shouted Honey. “My colony is not the problem! They are!” With her antennae, Honey gestured across to the patio to the canyon. “Make them leave!”

If the human understood her, she did not show it. She pointed and gestured. Belle nodded and sighed. The mother pointed towards the dwelling. With a forlorn frown, Belle slipped back through the garden and returned to the house.

“Wait! Come back,” Honey called to her. “You have to help us!” Belle made no reply as she shut the sliding glass door. Her mother glanced at the aperture again then sighed as if in surrender.

***

Change came early the next day. The sun had barely broken its nocturnal border before the noise announced new arrivals.

Please, please let it be Belle, thought Honey, watching from the shadow of the slanted structure. Instead, two men wearing bulky protective gear emerged. One of them carried a huge hose. The other carried a squat machine with a long cable.

Recognizing their outfits from the workers who chopped down the oak tree, Honey cried out, “They’re here to destroy our home!”

In a blink, the backyard buzzed with bodies bent on business. As the humans set up their equipment, a phalanx of bees took up stations below the eave, directly in front of the entrance to the colony. Seemingly oblivious to the threat, the human advanced across the deck, through the garden, and over to the hive.

“Stay back!” shouted Honey. “We don’t want to hurt you!”
“Stay back!” echoed the other worker bees. “Go away!”

If the humans understood or cared, they gave no sign. Instead, the one with the metal machine set it down and plugged it in. A clamorous cacophony filled the air, attended by a raucous rattle as the device roared to life. Lifting the long lithe hose, the other human approached the hive.

“They’ve come to destroy us,” called the drones. “Fly away!”

From across the garden, the foreign queen serenaded them. “Come to me,” said her message. “Come and combine your colony with my collective.”

“Stand your ground. Don’t turn around!” countered Honey’s queen. “Protect your hive. We can still survive.”

“Flee for your lives! Run away!” came the shouts from drones who had witnessed the previous hive’s destruction.

Already confused by the commotion, bees dispersed in different directions. Some flew towards the humans or into the garden. Others made for the canyon, the other queen, and the pulsating promise of supposed safety.

“Come back!” yelled Honey, watching her colleagues flee as the man with the hose drew increasingly closer.

“We must protect our home,” she said. But this sedate sentiment proved a proverbial private proclamation as the collective consciousness collapsed and the colony succumbed to catastrophe. While other bees flew away, Honey crawled through the crevice, into the confines of the enclosure. Over time, the hive had grown, extending from the narrow eave, past several support struts, into the side of the structure, with the queen tucked away in the secret recesses. Honey rushed to the rear, past horde of cohorts heading in a dangerous direction.

The human with the hose lifted the nozzle and placed it against the hole. A whooshing wind whipped through the crevice. Quickly, Honey took up residence behind a thick beam that blocked the interior from the entrance, acting as a bracing bulwark against the voracious vacuum.

Drones caught in the open were flung by the force of the wind. Honey could neither watch nor help as scores of her brethren were sucked from her side by the powerful pull. She could only hide behind her protective perch and pray as more and more of her friends were withdrawn against their will.

Honey wanted to move, to fight, to fly … anything other than hide. But some insect instinct held her in place. Seconds turned into minutes. Minutes became what felt like hours. The pull persisted but produced no prizes.

The vacuum shut off. Silence settled upon Honey and her space within the supposed sanctuary. Moments later, the noise resumed, but no wind terrorized the tunnel. Honey cautiously crept to the entrance and eyed the humans sucking up battered bees off the ground. Friends and foes, dead and dying, they all disappeared into the horrible hose.

The machine shut off for the second time. The white-garbed humans managed their machine, coiled the cord, and headed for the house.

True silence settled. Not even the foreign queen’s proclamations punctured the peace. With trembling forelimbs, Honey took to the sky to survey her surroundings. No longer were her cohorts strewn across the surfaces or the shores. Indeed, all the insects on the pavers and in the pool had permanently perished. Pivoting in position, Honey crashed into the cavity. Rushing to the recesses, she discovered the deepest distance deserted.

“No, the queen! They took the queen!” cried Honey. She must have been drawn out by the vacuum and captured by that crazy contraption.

Honey’s wings wilted. Without her queen, without her leader, she had no hope, no purpose. With listless flutters, Honey drifted through the cold, dark interior of the hive. A few other survivors lay tucked away in remote cracks and crevices, but all of them seemed too despondent, too devastated to talk to her.

My friends…

My queen…

Honey moved on, drifting desolately towards the doorway. When she reached it, she paused. Without the will to launch herself, she lamely limped to the ledge.

My hive…

My purpose…

Tipping her torso, she folded her forelimbs and plunged into freefall. For almost a full second, she plummeted towards the concrete.

It would be so easy…

Honey fluttered her wings and pulled up. Clear of the concrete, her she skimmed the soil. With a severe summersault, she slammed to a stop beside the sauna. Her right antenna ached from the impact. Her left leg felt bent, basically broken.

I don’t know if I can fly, thought Honey. I should just stay here and die.

A little voice inside spoke up. You could go to the other queen, become a member of that other hive.

Another voice answered. I’d rather die a thousand times!

By now, the sun had set on the canyon. Honey lay on the ground unmoving as light leeched from the land. Color followed, fading from dusk to gray to deepest dark. Honey glanced at the entrance to the hive. Lit only by a pale porch light, it taunted her with counterfeit calm.

There is no help here, she told herself. Only the empty husk of hope. She lay her head down and closed her eyes as night crept over her.

***

Bees, Pt 4

Related previous posts: Bees Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Bees, Pt 4

All that night, Honey cried in her cubicle, crushed by the disorientation she’d encountered and the danger she’d felt.

I can’t go out there again, she told herself. It’s too scary.

Well, you can’t stay here forever, she replied. You simply must go back out.

I can’t, she thought in a fever dream. It’s too dangerous. I could accidentally betray my queen! And so the argument raged back and forth in her muddled mind.

She’d just managed to doze off when dawn broke, and with it, the clear light of purpose. She was a harvester. Her job was to harvest pollen for her queen. Not just her job, her purpose. Her very existence demanded service. And serve she would.

Creeping through the corridors of the comb, Honey crawled to the exit. From this proximity, the message from her queen was beyond doubt. And yet the siren’s call of the other queen lay somewhere in the wilds beyond the garden, beckoning her with alien allure.

I must harvest for my queen!

Honey pushed off from the portico and drifted towards the pool and the surrounding flowerbeds. What greeted her was a sight beyond imagination. Everywhere she looked, bees lay dead or dying. Some lay on the pavers by the water, twitching in uncontrolled spasms. Others thrashed in the water. Having inexplicably flown into the hot tub, these bees were now too wet to lift off.

Mercy! This is worse than the oak tree massacre.

As Honey watched, a drone spiraled from above and slammed into the surface of the warm water. The impact made Honey shudder. The drone surfaced for a moment, desperately beating its wings. But it was no use. With a few final flutters, Honey’s cohort ceased struggling and grew still.

Another bee flew by, zigging and zagging a haphazard line. Clearly disoriented, it dipped and swerved while struggling to remain aloft. A moment later, it nose-dived straight into the concrete. Thankfully, its struggle was brief compared to the companion who’d succumb to the water.

She twitched her antennae in confusion. She understood their disorientation, but why were they crashing? It’s as if they’ve lost their minds.

The answer came in the form of a powerful psionic pulse from across the garden. Not content to beckon bees with a consistent call, the invading queen has resorted to storing up her pheromonal summons and sending them out in blistering bursts, like tidal waves crashing against the shore of the bee’s collective consciousness.

Honey only needed to feel the impact once to know the impact. Any bee caught in the open for long would be driven mad by the mental barrage. The message was simple: Submit or die.

Trying her best to tune out the transmissions, Honey set off towards the nearest flower bed, a cloistered cluster of purple poppies and azure azaleas. Finding the first flower mercifully empty, she hoovered over the stigma then settled onto the stamen where she set about her work. She was less than halfway done when a blaring blast bent the airwaves. She felt it like the heat of a furnace, or the hard winds that herald a hurricane.

The gust pushed Honey to the peak of the petal. Wings paralyzed by the psychic pulse, she clung to her perch with strength born of pure panic. Like the setting of the sun, the fierce emission of the foreign queen faded fractionally. Gradually, the blistering barrage abated. Disoriented and dizzy, she took a split second to summon her senses.

As soon as she felt safe enough to fly, Honey launched into the air, heading straight back towards her hive. All around lay the devastation and death from the latest volley. Dozens of new bees lay among the prior carnage. The few that had been on the ground or seated on plants like her, now took to the sky once again. Almost all of them headed towards the far side of the garden, towards the balcony and the foreign queen.

Traitors! thought Honey. Or perhaps they were just confused. She had no way to know. At least they were still alive.

Little hope remained for the rest. Those who had struck the ground would likely never fly again, while those who had crashed into the pool would find only a watery grave. With a final grim glance at her cohorts, and an extra umph of speed, Honey streaked for safety before another shockwave could strike her senseless.

***

Bees, Pt 3

Related previous posts: Bees, Part 1 / Part 2

Bees, Pt 3

Almost immediately, the collective set about the arduous task of converting the narrow space between the outer and inner walls into a habitable hive. Collecting pollen from the garden, they quickly rebuilt the honeycomb. Within days, Honey had a spot among the colony, a hex cubicle near the back, close to the queen.

What an honor!

By the following week, their routine had returned. In fact, it was even better than before. All of Honey’s friends remarked that the new hive was even nicer and safer than the old oak. They had shelter from the wind and rain, not to mention predators. The queen was free to devote her directives and reassign her resources to regrow the collective and coordinate the colony’s campaign.

As the hive grew, they expanded their search radius. On the outskirts of the property, they encountered workers belonging to a colony from the canyon. Honey and her hive didn’t mind sharing. The garden held plenty for everyone. It was a generation of generosity and growth, and all thanks to Honey.

***

The sound that woke Honey was the second most horrible noise of her life. A mechanical rumble ricochet around the ravine. Flying to the fence separating the walls from the wilderness, Honey witnessed wide-wheeled vehicles descending on the neighbor’s backyard. The same hillside that had held their beloved oak now swarmed with bulldozers and cement trucks. With systematic precision, they tore up the earth. Ripping up everything in their way, the construction converted beautiful wildlife into an apocalyptic scene of upturned soil and dead plants.

Honey shrank back, hovering behind the hydrangeas as humans wielding shovels and pickaxes attacked the earth, digging and hacking at rocks, roots, and other ruined remnants of the lifeless landscape.

Over the next two weeks, Honey and her friends watched as the neighbors converted the rolling terrain into a flat concrete surface with a swimming pool, patio, and pickleball court.

Each night, the hive thrummed with anxiety. Would the humans expand their conquest and colonize the crest of the canyon? There were still many acres of untouched wilderness and wildflowers, but the proximity of the deforestation alarmed more than a few otherwise passive drones. Would the carnage encroach on their domain? Perhaps the humans in Honey’s house would decide to demolish this haven?

In the days that followed, Honey had little time to ponder these possibilities. No sooner had the dust settled from the neighbor’s renovations, than bees from the canyon colony encroached on their high-top haven. Like Honey’s collective, their home had been destroyed by the human’s wanton destruction of the bee’s natural habitat. And so, they sought fresh foliage for foraging.

But unlike Honey’s hive, this colony had failed to find unspoiled or unexplored terrain. And so, emissaries from the canyon’s matriarch carried a message: with their prior resources removed, the canyon bees would now be coming here to pilfer pollen.

At first, Honey didn’t understand the threat. They’d already been sharing the patio’s pollen in peace with the hillside hive. But the true meaning became clear the following day. Instead of a handful of visitors, an entire squadron descended upon their domain. So many arrived, that Honey soon succumbed to a stranger in her own shrubs.

Even more unknown bees arrived the following day.

And even more the next day.

Within a short span, Honey could no longer keep track of which honeybees were part of her troop and which were the trespassers. With so many insects buzzing about, socializing by scent became senseless. Honey had to hover next to another bee and rub antennae with them to know if they were friend of foreigner. Time and time again, she encountered unfamiliar insects who treated her with disdain when she tried to greet them kindly.

Before long, Honey found herself bumping into unknown bees whenever she ventured further than a few feet from her fortress. More often than not, she found a flower already occupied, or located the stigma only to find it drained of its nectar.

How rude! In all her months of life, she’d never known a single member of her colony to completely drain a flower!

For days and nights, her hive bustled with debate as the queen and her advisors deliberated what to do about the other colony’s unwarranted encroachment. They discussed whether to relocate again; to abandon their new home to find somewhere else. But their new hive was so safe and secure, and the garden so generous and green.

“Surely, it holds enough resources for everyone,” argued the optimists among them.

“And what if they were wrong?” argued the pessimists. “They might all starve.”

“What about rationing?” argued the pragmatists. “Alternating harvest day?”

Before the queen could make any decisions, a new set of troubles transpired. The matriarch from the harrowing hive arrived at the far side of the garden. With fierce, formidable, feral pheromones, she sent out messages, not just to the members of her colony, but to all bees in the vicinity. With sonorous scents and blaring blasts, she ordered any and all bees to bring their nectar to her.

When Honey first heard this missive, she didn’t know what to think. Certainly, no one from her colony would willfully give their bounty to a badgering bully. Her fellow workers were neither fools nor defectors. Then Honey ventured out of the hive and into the garden. Instantly, she understood the conundrum.

Once clear of her hive, it became impossible to discern which scents came from which matriarch. Of course, her own queen sent signals to help workers find their way to and from her hive. But the other sovereign also sent signals. Honey received each command as a confounding cluster of conflicting commands.

Come this way!

No, that way!

Fly up to reach us.

No, downward!

They talked over one another, like two marching bands clanging and clashing in chorus. Honey’s poor little head felt fit to burst before she’d even begun to gather any nectar.

What to do? What to do?

At that very moment, Belle emerged from the house and stepped onto the patio. At the sight of all the bees flying in disorganized, drunk directions, she threw up her arms and proclaimed, “What is going on? Why aren’t you sailing straight?”

“We wonder which way to go,” said Honey. “The matriarch’s messages are mixed.”

“You must hurry back to your beehive,” said Belle. Racing about the garden, she made shooing gestures with her hands. “Quickly, all of you, back to your beds before you are too befuddled to fly!”

Having not traveled far, Honey spun on her stinger and rapidly retraced her route. Soon, one signal grew stronger and simple to sense.

That has to be my colony.

She flew quickly towards the sonorous scent. Sure enough, she soon spotted the sauna. In moments, she was back inside her hive, where she nestled into her hexagonal hidey-hole and shivered from the horror of having almost succumbed.

***

Bees, Pt 2

Related previous posts: Bees, Part 1

Bees, Pt 2

Honey huddled for a long time in the remnants of the fallen oak, now reduced to a lump of logs and broken branches. The honeycomb had been carefully placed into a metal box, which was then sealed shut. Some of Honey’s closest colleagues hovered by the hive’s husk, even as it was loaded up and lugged aloft.

An amber ache tore at Honey’s heart over the fate of her fallen friends, but she had no time to mourn her mates. The sun would soon start to surrender, angry auburn and ruby red over the ridgeline. Her hive, her queen, no longer had a home. With all its wild weather and persistent predators, the canyon was no place to be exposed, especially at night.

“We must find cover,” called the drones.

“Search for shelter,” said their sovereign. “Find us a suitable substitute.”

Compelled by her command, drones dispersed in different directions.

Where should I search? thought Honey. Almost on instinct, she headed for the house on the hill. When she reached it, she paused to plan. She knew the gardens, the grounds with its gentle gales and flowering foliage. There was no shelter, no space for her species within those charted confines.

Perhaps if I went further…

“Well, you’re out late,” came a girlish giggle from the garden.

Honey spun to spot Belle standing by the patio door.

“I’m looking for a new location for my colony,” said Honey. “Can you help me?”

Dressed in a lavender gown the color of violets in bloom, Belle looked at Honey with anguish and ailing in her large almond eyes. “I heard the noise from the neighbors and saw them cut down that old oak in the backyard,” said Belle. “I sure hope everyone is okay.”

“Our hive was hacked in half,” replied Honey.

“You must be in serious straits to still be here and not safe in shelter.”

Honey buzzed apologies. “I’m sorry, I don’t have time to talk. My investigation is important. I need to succeed in my search soon.”

“Well, I hope you find what you’re looking for,” said Belle and returned to her route.

With the girl gone, Honey intensified her inquiry. Skirting the shore of the pool, she sailed to the south side of the residence by the sauna. In all her previous visits, she’d stayed clear of the dwelling. There were no blossoms beside the bedrooms, and barren besides.

But now I have need…

Slowly, carefully, Honey probed the premises. The walls were smooth and solid. She landed on the surface, finding it cold and hard as tree bark and just as impenetrable. Up and down, she crawled, all along the surface, tasting, smelling, looking for dryness, a breeze, anything that would indicate an aperture in the exterior.

Honey had almost given up hope when she smelled it. A tiny whiff of wind wafted from somewhere way above, like the faintest whisper in the black of night. Following the draft, Honey crawled up and up until her antennae touched the trough below the top. There, tucked just below the eave, was a tiny hole. Crawling through the crack, Honey emerged into the crevice between the inner and outer walls to find a broad box bordered with dusty drywall.

A hidden hollow inside the house!

With an excited exclamation, Honey hurried from the hole and hightailed it back to the collective huddled around the queen near the felled oak’s stump. Reporting her results, Honey hummed with happiness as the matriarch expressed her appreciation with bulging eyes and twitching antennae.

“Relegate all resources,” came the queen’s command. “Relocate forthright!”

Within moments, the beleaguered bees had assembled for the journey. Rising into the air like an amber cloud, the swarm departed for the hillside. Honey practically pulsed with pride as she led the way across the chasm, up the deck, and across the pool to the house. Rising to the roof, she gestured to the aperture below the eave.

The drones entered first. Fanning out, they explored the dark void for potential dangers while the matriarch remained at the entrance, protected by a phalanx of guards. Returning to the entrance, the drones declared the space not just safe, but perfect for a new hive. Once again, Honey glowed with glee as the queen entered the crevice. Surveilling the surroundings, she christened their new colony to the raucous reprise of flapping forelimbs from her flying friends.

* * *

Bees, Pt 1

Here is another short story inspired by the same backyard that prompted Dandelions. Unlike the Dandelions story, however, this tale is based on a series of real life events. When a hive took up residence inside the wall of as house on a hillside, the question became “why are they here?” That led to an exploration of possible (albeit unlikely) causes. The real-life story took a dramatic (and tragic) turn when the bees started dying – seemingly for no reason. Pondering the possible reason led to this tale about a simple worker bee named Honey, who strives to serve her queen and save her hive from the perils of habit destruction, foreign invaders, and human indifference.

Note – In addition to the joy of crafting this story, I also took tremendous pleasure in incorporating alliteration into Honey’s dialogue. Despite creative writing for over seventeen years , this was my first time exploring rhyme within the overall flow of the story. I really enjoyed the process. It made editing far more grueling, but also provided much more satisfaction with the end result.

This is part one of the story. Additional parts will be posted each week.

Bees, Pt 1By R. Scott Boyer

 

The honeybee came from the narrow canyon below the house. Carried by the wind, up and over the deck, she settled on the flower bed beside the pool. Here, Honey found a banquet of blossoms far sweeter and more savory than the chaparral on the slope.

“Look at all the flavorful flowers!” declared Honey. “Fully fabulous!”

“Well, hello there,” came a voice from the depths of the garden.

Honey spun on her stinger to see a young human female sitting in a bed of peonies and petunias. Dainty, with a yellow sundress and pink bonnet, the raven-haired girl held out a slender hand towards Honey. “My name is Belle. What’s your name?”

Having never spoken to a human before, Honey struggled to say something. After buzzing about for a bit, she said shyly, “I’m Honey. I came to collect for my colony.”

“I’ll bet you came from the canyon,” said Belle. “I heard the neighbors have a hive in that big oak tree in their backyard.”

“That’s right,” said Honey. “We live high in the branches, and there are lots of wonderful wildflowers nearby, but these cultivated crops are superior. Such succulent blossoms!”

“Well, you are welcome to visit whenever you like,” said Belle. “Mom always says that busy bees make for beautiful bouquets.” With that, Belle plucked several of the petunias and placed them in a basket on her lap.

“Thank you so much,” said Honey, and set about collecting pollen.

With a whisk of her wings and an angle of her antenna, she went to work on the goldenrod and echinacea. She visited African daisies, purple coneflowers, and blue flax. Basking in the warm wind, she took time to savor each flavorful flower, each precious petal, and each savory scent.

When she was done, she looked for Belle to say goodbye, but the little girl had Houdinied into her home. With a sad shrug, Honey dropped off the deck and into the wild woods. Navigating by the position of the sun and her keen sense of smell, she traversed the hillside en route to the hive. Despite the vast distance, she easily sensed the collective tucked high in the hollow of the gnarled white oak.

Arriving at dusk, she found her place within the comb and set about delivering her bounty, along with the message of where she’d been and what she’d seen. That night, Honey was the hum of the hive, with every worker wanting to hear about what she’d seen, the scents she’d smelled, and other similar stuff.

The following day, a squad of insect soldiers followed her on a sortie back to the sunny structure. As they approached, they fanned out to either side. Pouring over the railing, they descended upon the bushes and bramble, visiting the dandelions and daisies alike as they set about fertilizing the fragrant flowers. Reporting that night, her companions endorsed Honey’s haven. It truly was a splendid site with plenty of promise.

Soon, sojourns to the gorgeous garden became part of the colony’s calendar. Their sovereign still sent workers to scour their surroundings, but more and more, she sent her subjects to the house as well. Squads arrived each morning, vibrant yellow and velvet in the summer sun. They whisked about their work all day. Then at dusk, they retired to their refuge where they rested and refreshed.

Occasionally, Belle and her mother came to the garden and visited with Honey and her cohorts. Honey would flap a fluttering forewing to say hello. Belle would wave a white willow wand that she pretended was magic and tell Honey how luscious the lilacs and larkspur looked.

“More flowers!” Belle would shout as if seeking to summon them from the soil. “We need more flowers!”

Sure enough, her mother soon planted four more flowerbeds; new species that Honey had never tasted before. First came a trough of black-eyed Susans, and sunflowers. Next came a row of white yarrow with California poppies and sweet alyssum. More bounty for the bees. More happiness for the humans.

For weeks, the pattern persisted. Honey harvested and befriended Belle during the day. Then she rested and recovered in the hive high in the oak at night.

Then, one misty morning, Honey woke to a roaring racket. A voracious vibration filled the hive, as if someone or something were trying to tear their tree apart. Following the flow of flying drones, Honey discovered a human at the base of the gnarled oak. The man wore thick layers of protective clothing and carried a long-handled chainsaw with jagged teeth that spit and howled as he held it aloft.

Buzzzz. Buzzzzz. The chainsaw bit into the side of the oak. The majestic tree trembled in protest, but the human appeared not to hear as hunks of heavy bark and jagged wood tore from its trunk. Drones charged at the human, calling for him to stop his relentless rampage. But the human kept tearing into the tree, ignoring them as easily as one might an angry breeze.

Buzz, buzz went the chainsaw. Buzz, buzz went the bees.

“Defend our dwelling!” shouted the queen.

“Protect our property!” shouted Honey along with the other bees.

With reckless resistance, the honeybees rushed at the human. But her genus was gentle, with no appetite for harming humans, not even ones hoping to harm their home. Angry as they were, few bees actually attacked. The ones that did encountered only thick layers of protective apparel. Try as they might, they had no approach to harm this human or halt what happened.

Buzzz. Buzzzz. With an incredible crack, the base of the tree tore apart. Toppling as if in slow motion, the old oak and all its inhabitants slammed to the ground. Boom! Nestled in the hollow, the honeycomb smashed to pieces, scattering bees in every direction. Some buzzed about the broken beehive while others lay sprawled on the ground, shocked and shaken at the surreal situation.

“The empress is exposed!” yelled Honey.

“Shield our sovereign!” cried other workers.

Male drones took up positions around their martyred matriarch. But the males of the species had no stingers and could do nothing but shout at the human to stay back. Once again, the horrible human paid no mind as he set about cutting up the trunk of their tree.

***

Dandelions – Pt 4, Stars

Previous Posts:  Part 1 – Sun  /  Part 2 – Moon  /  Part 3 – Mouse

The following day played out much the same as the night. Sun spent the entire time staring across the garden at Moon, who basked in her planter box overlooking the garden.

Right as the light faded, Mouse returned to Sun with an offer of help. She could dig deeper around his base or find a way to coat her teeth so they weren’t so sharp. Sun refused to answer. He stood still as a statue, staring across the garden at Moon.

Days went by and Sun began to visibly change. His leaves wilted and his vibrant yellow petals began to fade. Try as she did, Mouse couldn’t get Sun to respond. And so, each night after trying to reach him, Mouse left his side to search for food to feed her children.

After a week, Mouse hardly returned to see Sun. After a month, Mouse stopped visiting all together.

Then one night, a mighty storm came upon the canyon. High in her planter box, Moon swayed in the wind, beautiful and wild as ever. Stronger and stronger, the rainstorm tore through the garden. Its powerful force bent Sun’s stalk, leaning him towards Moon. At the same time, gusts rushed down from the mountain, bending Moon closer to him.

Did he dare hope? It wasn’t much. Sun’s roots hadn’t budged, but his head drew a few inches closer. Perhaps the storm might carry his words?

As the next gust howled, Sun stiffened his stem and leaned towards Moon. He called out, but she still did not reply. Again and again, he called to her. But it was no use. With so many other plants shouting and the howl of the wind, Moon could not hear him.

Then the wind shifted. Racing across the ground, it came from below, pushing him upward. Sun’s buds were gone and his leaves wilted, but his branches were still strong. Holding them out high, he gathered his power and leaned towards Moon with all his might. Pulling and stretching, he reached for her until at last his main root tore free.

Through the blackness, he screamed as the wind picked him up out of the soil and he began to float off into the night. The breeze settled for a moment then changed course. Instead of carrying him away, it hauled him towards Moon.

Suddenly, his untethered roots didn’t hurt so bad. He was close now, surely she could hear him.

“I am Sun!” he calls out.

Pausing in her storm dance, Moon looked at Sun and called back. “I am Moon!”

“I have come very far to be with you,” said Sun, still floating towards her on the wind.

“I am happy you are here,” said Moon, as he drifted closer.

“I have been watching you dance in the moonlight and bask in the sunlight,” said Sun. “You are the most magnificent dandelion I have ever seen. As beautiful as the moon and all the stars in the sky.”

“Thank you,” said Moon, “Would you like to dance with me?”

“Yes, yes! Very much,” said Sun, who still floated closer through the darkness. “Wait for me, I am almost there!” Lifted by the breeze, he gazed beyond the garden to the great house, to the mountains and canyon, all the way to the ocean in the distance.

Then suddenly the wind stopped, and Sun was falling. So slender and light it seemed to take forever, Sun tumbled towards the earth. Another gust tore at him, pulling him towards the house. He almost struck the wall when the wind shifted again. Twisting and turning, Sun angled his branches towards Moon. Holding his wilted leaves up high, he slowed his descent. As he drifted down to her, their heads drew close.

“I am here, My Love,” he whispered.

“Come to me,” said Moon.

Their flower heads touched. His golden yellow disc brushed her pale white globe. With that soft caress, the surface of Moon’s face shattered. A tiny pinwheel seed broke off. It floated up into the night, followed by another, and another.

“Come to me,” whispered Moon again. “Set me free!”

Throwing out his long limbs with their wilted leaves, Sun floated down atop of Moon and wrapped himself around her. Then with all his passion, Sun leaned in and kissed Moon deeply. As he did, dozens of pinwheels drifted from her face into the air.

More and more, the pinwheel seeds of Moon’s face drifted into the sky. Soon there were hundreds, then thousands floating in the night. The garden sparkled, full of pale white pinwheels sailing through the darkness. They swam up, carried by the wind over the garden, beyond the house, and into the canyon.

As they floated away, they rose into the heavens, where they became the stars.

As each tiny Star took its place in the sky, it whispered back to Sun.

 “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

***