It Began With a Cliche

It Began With a Cliché







I don’t mean to start this story with a cliché – but it was just another boring day. The sun was out and the air was alive with the sound of lawnmowers moaning and humming like obnoxious neighbours. Looking down my street it seemed that everyone was hard at work on their gardens, perhaps high from the thick odour of cut grass. Inspired by this mass labour, and perhaps also somewhat driven by this summer aroma, my mum wasted no time in telling me to get out our own lawnmower and get started on the garden. My attempts to wrangle free of this chore were extinguished by the look on my mother’s face. Defeated, I put down my Gameboy and slouched to the garden shed muttering to myself.

It took a while to get the damn thing started as usual, and by the time it finally stopped spluttering and began to roar I was too also inches away from howling in fury. Infuriated, I began to push the stupid thing around the lawn, severing the glistening blades and imagining them screaming under my mighty machine. After a moment I realised I was enjoying myself, imagining that every leaf I rended was falling to the great weapon that I alone controlled, helpless limbs being torn apart and sent flying with my every lunge. Grass is one of the most versatile organisms on the planet, but under such a brutal attack it stood no chance at all. I found myself laughing, though luckily any audible evidence of this was masked by the loud roar of the machine that I was beginning to form quite a curious bond with.

I was enjoying myself so much that it took a while for me to notice the increase in noise level. The buzzing was growing more intense, more furious. I dismissed it initially, deeming it a product of my imagination and provoked by what I remember as my very first erection – despite being fifteen at the time of this event. Visibly protruding behind my shorts, I realised that no amount of noise would be able to mask this sight from my mother. Suddenly faced with the all-too common anxiety and self-consciousness of an adolescent youth, I cut the lawnmower off and was about to head back into the house when I noticed something odd.

The buzzing, still loud. It sounded as though the lawnmower was still on even though I knew I had just turned it off. Too close to be coming from my neighbours’ gardens. I turned to machine confused. I tapped it with my shoe. It was definitely off.

It was then that I realised what the sound really was. My erection disappeared in an instant. I slowly turned behind me towards the overgrown bushes that marked the boundary between my neighbour’s lawn and my own. My jaw slowly dropped, a gagging sound came from my throat. The need to run screaming overcame my body, but my motor functions just would not respond. Instead I just stood there, frozen in horror at the great sight that towered over me.

An arc of angry bees filled the sky, meters from my body, a furious myriad. Already a few had settled on my bare legs and were brazenly ascending my body like tiny commandos. Even though I was certain I would not be able to run even if I tried, I remembered reading something that suggested that not provoking them would be my best bet. Apparently bees respond to spikes in body temperature so I just stood there even though the impulse to start screaming and flailing threatened to take over. Slowly, more and more of them settled on me. By the time I decided that standing still was not a good decision, it was far too late to start running. It did not take long for my entire body to become engulfed in them, and soon I was wearing some sort of obscure bee suit. The buzzing in my ears was now a roaring, as though the insects were threatening me not to move a muscle. They hijacked my body as though it were a vessel. Terrified, I obliged, succumbing to these tiny but numerous terrorists.

I waited in terror for either the bees to grow bored with my body or for my mother to notice the horrific circumstance that I had somehow gotten myself into. After what felt like hours I realised several things, one more curious than the other. First of all, the bees were showing no signs of leaving my body, it was as though they had decided on using me as their new home, a living vehicle or something. Second, my mother was probably consumed by the television, it being a Saturday afternoon when most of the shit she watches was on back-to-back. This meant that she wouldn’t be coming to save me any time soon. If anyone was going to come to my help, it would have to be one of my neighbours.

The third thing that I noticed was the most surprising of all: I was no longer afraid. In fact, I kind of enjoyed the bee’s company. It felt as though we had formed some sort of coalition, a mutual respect for another. Something told me they were waiting for me to make my move. The bees had accepted me as their leader, most likely because I had remained cool when they swarmed over my body. I took a cautious step, gradually raising my shoe and planting it down slowly a pathetic inch ahead of where it had originally rested. The bees did not sting me. In fact, they seemed to encourage me with their now-pleasant buzzing. An overwhelming sensation that I was following the correct path came over me. A smile spread across my obscured face as I took another step, then another. Moments later I was walking down the street at my normal pace, my destination already decided, my new acquaintances eagerly hitching a ride.

Gradually I became accustomed to the buzzing in my ears. We had become a stunning amalgamation, the bees and I. People watched in horror as we passed. I heard something smash as it fell from trembling fingers. A woman screamed. A car screeched to a halt. A man was yelling for me not to worry, that help was on its way. A smug grin spread across my face again as I ignored them all, certain they would never understand. I was concerned only with my destination.

I approached 227 Clachan Avenue with a brazen stride that my body had never been familiar with before. Casually I admired the bees swarming over my arm as I rang the doorbell and waited for a response. My body pulsed and swelled like disturbed water, an angry but loyal tide. I ran a gentle hand over my chest, caressing as many of my brothers and sisters as I could. There was a click as the front door opened.

“Malcolm,” I grinned. The horror in my nemesis’s face was extremely satisfying. It took a moment for him to register what the horrific mass towering before him actually was, and a further while to decipher whose face smirked at him from behind the armour of bees. His eyes widened when realisation kicked in, but his expression was peppered in a strong disbelief. I imagine this was the first time this had actually happened to anyone. Ever.

“R-Richard?” he stammered, moments from fleeing, his pathetic little mind struggling to comprehend the surreal scene before him. I had never seen him look so at a loss, his face usually twisted into an evil smile as he kicked the shit out of me in the playground or flushed my head in the toilet after he had pissed all over my hair. Now the tables had turned, a scenario I had envisioned a million times over in my head. His expression was priceless. He knew that everything had flipped, knew that his time as ruler was over. He began to stammer an apology, his pride and self-respect out the window, hoping for some mercy. He was moments from pissing himself. I wasn’t going to give him the chance.

Like a pitcher sending a championship-winning baseball, I hurled an armful of furious insects at Malcolm. Even more of them flew from my body to join in, keen to hurt the man responsible for my physical and psychological torment. Screaming, he toppled to the floor kicking and squirming as my drones and workers stung at his exposed skin and infiltrated his clothing to stab at his extremities. I even noticed a suicide swarm of them stuffing themselves down his throat, muffling his howls of pain and horror. I felt only the caress of victory as my opponent grew still, his faint cries trailing off as death took his hand.

We left his mother screaming over his welted and protuberant body and made our way down the road. The sun was still out, smearing across the sky in its final crimson hour. I was beginning to feel a little hungry so I decided that our next stop should be the local convenience store nearby. More cars screeched to a halt, more items were dropped by screaming ladies. But still I casually carried on. The buzzing throbbed like an arterial river in my ears, a million tiny heartbeats pulsed in phase with my own.

There was a tinkle as I entered the store. The people in the shop grew silent as they noticed me, their attention ensnared by the hum of my brethren. Soon this was synchronised to the hum of the fridges, all conversations snuffed out with our arrival. Only the sound of settling saloon doors was missing. To my amusement one of the customers passed out and crashed into a display of Cola as I passed, sending products flying through the air and rolling down the aisles.

I made my way to the fridges and took some fresh fruit and a sandwich. I then made my way down the aisles, customers stumbling backwards away from me, until I came to the honey. I took five jars for my bees and unscrewed the lids. I poured the thick goop over my body, being careful not to smother any of my insect friends. Greedily but thankfully they ate. Their buzzing became like the purring of a cat at this point. I stroked the pulsing mass again, my affection for them indescribable in mere words. I felt like I could cry with the love I had for them. When they finished eating we made our way towards the exit, our objectives cleared and our liberty unprecedented.

When I pushed open the door I was greeted by the sound of sirens and megaphones. Squad cars and police officers surrounded the building in a tight semi-circle. Behind them an awesome corona of gold blinded me and limited my sight, the setting sun joining the police effort to bring me down. Nestled amongst the officers, my mother and father held each other tight and shouted to me. Their voices went completely unheard under the mayhem, although I did catch ‘we love you’ at one point. It was the first time I had heard it coming from their mouths for as long as I could remember.

One of the officers was telling me to remain calm and stay put. What was it about people and telling me to remain calm? I was perfectly calm, having the time of my life, in fact. I had never been this happy before, never so content. Never felt such empathy for anything else, my life being a pool of misanthropy and cynicism. The bees never judged me, never laughed at me, never told me I was grounded, never pissed in my hair and spat on my back. These people would never understand. I caressed the swarm across my chest again and muttered soothingly for them to stay calm. I was certain we would get out of this.

It was then I noticed the men in beekeeping suits approaching from my side, in their hands canisters I recognised being full of a gas fatal to my little brothers and sisters. Already they were in range, and before I could cry out in horror a jet of thick white gas smothered my body. Handfuls of my bees fell to the floor stone dead, exposing a portion of honeycomb that had been built across my chest. An uncontrollable fury overcame me, what I can describe only as a bloodlust. I let out an animal howl and went for the closest of the beekeepers, taking him to the floor in a brutal shoulder charge and tearing at his mask with savage stabs of my hands. I watched the horror in his face as the hat came loose and my brothers and sisters smothered him. I heard the same muffled cry Malcolm had emitted as the bees stuffed themselves down his throat. I stood and turned to the other beekeeper, my breathing hoarse and savage. I threw myself at him, my fingertips itching for the edges of his mask.

There was a gunshot. I heard it clear as day, but didn’t feel it. All I remember is suddenly being on the floor with aching ribs and blood over my fingers. My bees swarmed around my body, buzzing with concern, creating a shroud that the officers could not see through or hope to penetrate with their bodies. I felt an overwhelming sadness. Tears spilled down my face at the loyalty and love I had for my little companions. I raked the shroud with my fingertips compassionately, feeling their soft bodies and wishing that I could embrace them. I knew that they were moments from death too, their puny little lungs no match for the fatal gas that the beekeepers brandished. The thought of parting with them killed me, more so than the bullet or anything physical could ever do. I promised my brothers that I would join them in heaven one day, and that we would become one again.

I looked down at my body, took in the great empire that my bees had forged over my torso, an empire that would soon fall. My entire torso was entombed in honeycomb, each cell teeming with pollen, honey and squirming larvae – youngsters who would never have the chance to experience this wonderful world the way the others had. Curled around my stomach was the queen bee, her sad eyes watching me as the energy drained from my body. I knew she would be killed too, her entire legacy wiped out in a single moment. I cried for her, and also for the rest of my brothers and sisters and the unborn little ones who were to be taken before their time even began.

I began to fade from consciousness. It was a gentle process, like when I take my medication and it just begins to kick in. The fight drained from my body, and suddenly I had not a care in the world. I let what I thought was my last breath escape my lips. The comforting moan of bees began to fade out until there was nothing but silence and darkness.

They were gone when I awoke. I looked around at the bare rooms of the hospital ward, then down at my bare arms. I felt so inept. So naked. Everything sounded so empty without the constant purring in my ears. I felt like I wanted to cry, but nothing came out. A bleak apathy had consumed me. Soon a doctor entered the room. He explained to me what had happened, that I trod on a bee’s nest while I was mowing the lawn and become engulfed. Apparently I had panicked and began my rampage through my neighbourhood, lost to delirium, that my actions were not my own. I knew that what the doctor spoke of was wrong, but I kept my mouth shut. He expressed some puzzlement at the fact that I had not been stung once, but aside from mentioning it that one time I never heard about it again. Later, my parents entered and smothered me in hugs and kisses. I never felt any of them. I assume they thought when I cried that it was for them, but the tears that spilled down my face were only for my little lost brothers and sisters.

So here I am months later, alone, in my garden. Every day I mow the lawn, repeating my actions, my thoughts, even trying to achieve the same erection that I had before the insects and I had amalgamated. But still, nothing comes. I have tried to reintegrate back into my old life but I cannot even look into the faces of my friends and family, their presences boring and sickening to me. They say it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all, but I say that’s bullshit. Every day is a wait, an expectation for things to return to the same level that it had once been. I know it will never happen though, but still I try day in, day out - waiting, waiting, waiting...

Trying to live even though you know that your best day has already passed and that things will never get any better is torture, a slow descent into madness and depression, a steady spiral into the blackness of the mind. Every day I wait for either my bees or death.

Every day I wait even though I know that what I desire will never return to me.









3000 words