Me, We, And the Bees

There are bees falling from the sky. Well, they're falling out of the bathroom vent. Close enough.

​Sometimes they fall with death already over them, but sometimes they fall with their wings still buzzing them across the floor. They hold on to life more fervently than anyone or anything I have ever seen. The amount of energy they're mustering up just to die faintly in the background would probably be to much for us brittle humans, proportionately that is.

When I wake up in the morning and head to the bathroom, I have to look where I step. Can bees still sting you once they're dead? Even if they can't, I feel a deep respect for these little creatures and would never be able to forgive myself if I were to step on their corpses. They fought too hard for their teaspoon of honey. I feel guilty for being part of the species that steals it from them.

The exterminator came and placed poison in our vents. "They'll be dead in 72 hours," he said. Nothing to worry about. They were just looking for somewhere to build a hive. They were just trying to build a life.

After the exterminator came, they fell more frequently. Aren't bees in danger of dying? Aren't we in danger of dying if they're in danger of dying? There should be a sense of guilt when you feel as if you're contributing to the demise of the human race, but that doesn't come to me.

We cheat, we steal, we murder. Humans have ruined everything because we wanted everything to belong to us. We fell in lust with the things that were placed in our view and we lie to our souls and say it's love. But love doesn't cheat, or steal, or murder. Love doesn't result from those, either. Humans are lust and maybe we deserve to be extinct.
​
But not these bees. I should have left them to fall naturally from the sky. One or two wouldn't have been the end of the world. Daily burials wouldn't have killed me. But this steady stream of bodies floating down from the ceiling just might. I have no regrets.