They are the only ones who scare me. I am the one who can kill them. Two whining bees with yellow bodies and a pointy end for me. Two who don’t understand me. Two incessant whiners waiting outside. From a step outside, I can hear them, but I am the only one.

Their fury is undeniable. They give a shot of pain beneath my skin. They fly here and they buzz there and hairy bodies with tickling toes and a prick that sinks down deep with anger. Then their buzzes grow quieter.

Let one forget his reason for being, they’d all fall on their backs and into a ball, each alone on the ground. Hiss, hiss, hiss, bees say in my ear. They mock.

When I am too old and too tired to keep hissing, when I am a tiny insect with too much strength up against the wind and tress. When there is nothing left to swat. Two who fly despite time. Two who buzz and don’t forget to buzz. Two whose only reason is to mock and mock.