A Vignette | On Being Stung

I hate that sound. 

The crunch, followed by the tiny prick.  then comes the pain and the fear shooting from under my fingernail up my arm, and lands in my heart like a lightning strike.  That banana candy smell spirals from the place where the bee eviscerated herself by plunging her petite harpoon into my skin.  The scent wafts into the hive, inspiring the colony to buzz with a harmonious roar, communicating to all that an enemy is near.     

I'm washed with adrenaline, regret, anger, and sorrow.  Why did I put my finger there?  Smashing her body and leaving her with no choice but to make the split second decision to sacrifice herself to warn the others and drive my clumsy hand from their home. 

I subdue the smell and the noise with a few light puffs from my smoker.  A hollow gray peace offering.  The pain subsides as the swelling begins.  I blink back tears and move on to the next hive.  

Composed in the "Vignettes in the Vineyard" writing course instructed by Anna Elkins.

Sarah Red-LairdComment