A Dream

You walk along past familiar places, the street you grew up on.

“This was your driveway, where you learned to ride a bike.”

“This was your friend Marc’s house. You played catch here.”

“This was where you contracted a cold by eating dirt on October the twenty-third, the year of our Lord nineteen ninety-nine.

Pause. “This is tragedy.”

The group shuffles to a stop.

A swarm of bees surrounds the trunk of a fallen tree.
A mass of bees. A oneness.
Its high-pitched buzz hits you in waves.
Fear washes over you. The tour guide beckons you.

“If everyone took just one handful, the bees would be gone.”

“Won’t you please take a handful?” pleading like a child.

Waiting, no one moves. Heads turn back and forth.

You follow orders. You take a scoop and grasp it tight.

At first they seem to be stinging each other, slowly dying out.

The first sting comes. Sharper than I expected. I feel foolish.

The bees seem to sting in unison now, a concerted effort to escape. I hold fast, unwilling to admit defeat.

I stare down at my hand: a white, swollen, throbbing replica.

The experience dissolves around me in a swirling mess of pain.

I wake up, smiling at the silly dream.

“I have a dream, where one day people will grab handfuls of bees to escape the reality they have been subjected to. To feel the freedom they have always ignored.”

I swell with pride. It quickly deflates as I wake up more fully.

Goddamn. I’m sorry Dr. King. I got carried away.

Awake for ten seconds and I’m already apologizing to dead people. Good start.