| General Fiction posted October 26, 2024 |
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a new beginning
The Crazy Bee Lady
by gansach
I should've listened when that voice inside my head said, "Don't do it!"
But, NO! I had to creep into the Crazy Bee Lady's garden to get a better look at the new water fountain there.
And now what should I do?
My hand hurts like fire and the bee's stinger is still in there and still attached to the bee. It's swelling up. I don't think I'm allergic, but I don't know. I've never been stung before.
Gosh, it hurts!
Oh-oh! I hear a screen door slam. Please don't let the Crazy Bee Lady catch me. I hide my hand. Too late! Here she comes and she looks mad.
"What are you doing in my garden?" the Bee Lady asks.
I swallow. "I-I'm sorry. I wasn't, I just wanted to-to see the fountain."
It's not a tourist attraction!" she snaps.
"I know. I didn't mean to do anything, just look. I-I lost my balance and fell."
She glowers at me. "So, get up and go home."
"B-but I-I put my hand down on a-on a . . ." I can't get the words out.
"On a what?" she demands.
Slowly, I hold my hand out and show her.
Her face changes right away. She makes a little gasp and whispers, "Oh!"
Thank goodness, I think, relieved. Maybe she's not as mean as all the kids say. Now she'll help me.
The Bee Lady cradles my stung hand, now throbbing, in hers. Gently, she picks up the dying bee and carefully plucks the stinger out, keeping it attached to the bee.
I relax a bit. "Thank-," I begin.
But the Bee Lady ignores me and starts crooning in a sing-song voice to . . . to the bee!
"My poor little one, little love, little honey." She turns and walks toward her house.
I stare after her, my mouth hanging open. My stomach is feeling kind of queasy and I'm getting shivery. "But-," I say.
She doesn't look back at me, but calls, "You better come in."
I follow her onto the porch, through the screen door, and into a kitchen. I watch as she goes to a cupboard and gets a saucer. She gently places the bee into it, plucks some petals from a bouquet in a vase on the table, and tucks them around it. Then she takes a pinch of white sugar and mixes it with hot water. She places a drop near the bee's head.
"Wh-what are you doing?"
"Making it as comfortable as possible," she says.
Only then does she tend to me-bathing the sting site, placing an ice pack on the swelling. She wraps a warm shawl around my shoulders and makes me a cup of tea with honey.
"Do you take care of all the bees in the hives out there?"
"Yes," she says. "Bees are one of the most important creatures on Earth."
"Can you teach me?"
Her eyes soften. "Yes."
And that's how my friendship with the Crazy Bee Lady began.
Flash Fiction writing prompt entry
I should've listened when that voice inside my head said, "Don't do it!"
But, NO! I had to creep into the Crazy Bee Lady's garden to get a better look at the new water fountain there.
And now what should I do?
My hand hurts like fire and the bee's stinger is still in there and still attached to the bee. It's swelling up. I don't think I'm allergic, but I don't know. I've never been stung before.
Gosh, it hurts!
Oh-oh! I hear a screen door slam. Please don't let the Crazy Bee Lady catch me. I hide my hand. Too late! Here she comes and she looks mad.
"What are you doing in my garden?" the Bee Lady asks.
I swallow. "I-I'm sorry. I wasn't, I just wanted to-to see the fountain."
It's not a tourist attraction!" she snaps.
"I know. I didn't mean to do anything, just look. I-I lost my balance and fell."
She glowers at me. "So, get up and go home."
"B-but I-I put my hand down on a-on a . . ." I can't get the words out.
"On a what?" she demands.
Slowly, I hold my hand out and show her.
Her face changes right away. She makes a little gasp and whispers, "Oh!"
Thank goodness, I think, relieved. Maybe she's not as mean as all the kids say. Now she'll help me.
The Bee Lady cradles my stung hand, now throbbing, in hers. Gently, she picks up the dying bee and carefully plucks the stinger out, keeping it attached to the bee.
I relax a bit. "Thank-," I begin.
But the Bee Lady ignores me and starts crooning in a sing-song voice to . . . to the bee!
"My poor little one, little love, little honey." She turns and walks toward her house.
I stare after her, my mouth hanging open. My stomach is feeling kind of queasy and I'm getting shivery. "But-," I say.
She doesn't look back at me, but calls, "You better come in."
I follow her onto the porch, through the screen door, and into a kitchen. I watch as she goes to a cupboard and gets a saucer. She gently places the bee into it, plucks some petals from a bouquet in a vase on the table, and tucks them around it. Then she takes a pinch of white sugar and mixes it with hot water. She places a drop near the bee's head.
"Wh-what are you doing?"
"Making it as comfortable as possible," she says.
Only then does she tend to me-bathing the sting site, placing an ice pack on the swelling. She wraps a warm shawl around my shoulders and makes me a cup of tea with honey.
"Do you take care of all the bees in the hives out there?"
"Yes," she says. "Bees are one of the most important creatures on Earth."
"Can you teach me?"
Her eyes soften. "Yes."
And that's how my friendship with the Crazy Bee Lady began.
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Writing Prompt Write a flash fiction story that has 500 words or less. Any topic. |
Placing an exhausted bee onto a flower or petals and offering it a 50/50 mix of white sugar (never brown sugar, maple syrup, or honey) with hot (never boiling) water can revive it. It won't revive a dying bee after it has stung someone, but it can comfort it.
500 words per computer count
image by MSDesigner
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. 500 words per computer count
image by MSDesigner
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