Made of Bees

Been swimming in my head a bit...

Lorn opened the back door and stepped inside. The shock of the temperature drop was a welcome stilting, but it wasn't enough. He tracked his grass-stained shoes to the window unit and positioned his dripping face in front of the blower. The chill ran though his joints in an oddly-ecstatic jolt and he picked up his phone. All he could smell was gasoline.

"Wouldn't get too close to that," said the imp sitting on his computer desk, in a tart, British accent. "S'full of bees."

Lorn passed him a sideways glance. "Bees?"

"Yes," he said, standing up off the mouse pad. "Yellow. Black. Stingy. Hurt quite a bit." He leaned on his tiny cane. "Did I say stingy?"

He checked for voicemails. Nothing. Rachel should've called. Scanning texts he said "Bees, really. My phone's got bees in it?"

The imp's eyes grew two sizes. "Oh, my, no."

"Yeah. Thought so."

"The cooling unit's full of bees. Your phone's made of bees."

"Oh, fuck, Jacob. My phone? Bees?" He sat down at the desk within range of the AC fan.

Jacob leaned back on the full 24-ounce can of Labatt Ice. "You carry a tiny computer that's connected to the entire world via voice, via text, via your stupid Angry Birds. No cords. No wires. And it buzzes."

Opening his Blogger account, Lorn didn't even twitch. "Yeah, so there's that."

Jacob stood, "Bees, you git! Bees! Your phone's made of them!"

Eyes. Rolling. "Yeah. Bees. Awesome. I'll take note."

"Well then. Okay." Jacob reached behind the pile of unopened mail and presented a thimble to Lorn. "Pour us a pint then?"

"It's a thimble, Jake."

"Then a thimble. Lorn? Lorn?"

"Okay, just a minute."

"No, Lorn, it's the bees."

Lorn grabbed the can as Jacob fell to the desktop. He cracked the top.

"No. Lorn. The bees. The bees."

And before Lorn could focus, Jacob's body collapsed, convulsed, pulled into the fetal position and then POP! turned into over a hundred bees, all angry, all hungry. And buzzing.

And how they stung!

Lorn dropped to the ground, thinking first of escape, then of survival. Sting. Survival. Sting. Did Jacob say *sting* anything about how to *sting* deal with *sting* these *sting* *sting* damn *sting* bees *sting**sting*? Maybe *sting* the beer *sting* is *sting* would be *sting* beer...

Maybe *sting* the phone *sting*

The remains of Lorn were never found.

Jacob never existed.