Bee Grudged

The creature basked in the sensory experience that was home, almost oblivious to the otherwise hypnotic aroma of clover which wafted in from beyond the hive’s entrance each summer.

To most fauna beyond the narrow and disguised access, this was an old tree clinging to its few remaining vital branches.

Rejuvenated, the worker set to follow the next wave out to forage for more nectar and the inadvertent spreading of pollen on which the rest of the planet depended.

Its world ended when a great hairy paw collapsed walls, mashing bee with wax and bark as the bear claimed honey.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

Window Towards The Barn

She consoles the dust for being lonely. The rust for being needy. The rot for becoming unstitched by rain. It is easy to whisper these things on the day of rest. When even birds decline seeding and bees stay inside hives. There was little moving in the sparse outside, save a cat prowling between an empty peach bucket and a splintered fish pole leaned against fence rails, its frayed point vanishing in the tale’s middle.

She sits with tears on her cheek. Cheek on her hand. Pinkie finger tracing glass. Watching her three level acres all forlorn, infertile, sour, outworn.

From Guest Contributor Catherine Moore

Catherine is the author of three chapbooks including “Wetlands" (Dancing Girl Press, 2016). Her fiction appears in Tahoma Literary Review, Illinois Wesleyan University Press, Tishman Review, Mid-American Review, and The Best Small Fictions of 2015 anthology.

End Of The Line

Grace ran her finger over the word.

TERMINATED

She over-pronounced each syllable. The word crashed off her computer’s screen. The “t” chipped the floor with its hook. The “e” cracked the tile, and the rest of the letters tumbled into the void.

“Didn’t tell me in person.” The night beacon, bedroom clock blinked 11:15.

In her unkempt kitchen, she knelt beside the sink. Ants crawled, a living chain of perfect order. They bypassed her bait. Scouts explored on. Workers followed trails through the cracks. But in the hive, the queen risked nothing.

Life balanced on the pinhole of a hilltop.

From Guest Contributor Embe Charpentier

The Responsible Monarch

"The queen bee thinks nothing of sacrificing a hundred soldiers to protect the hive. The queen ant goes even further, commanding thousands of her drones to forfeit their lives, all in the name of the greater good. But what you'll never see is the Queen putting herself in danger. The Queen knows that without her, there can be no society."

"I know. As Queen of England, I'm an important symbol. But I don't understand what that has to do with me having one more piece of sponge cake."

"We don't want Charles inheriting one day sooner than necessary, your Majesty."