Tuesday, July 21, 2015

Bees


Writers Write added a new photo to the album: Writing Prompts.
10 hrs ·
Daily Writing Prompt
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Bees



Armand pulled down the trap door leading to the attic. The buzzing grew louder and louder with each step he took up the ladder. “The chest is in the attic,” his aunt repeated each time he cinched the rope tighter and tighter around her neck, until she could no longer speak. He let her drop to the floor, grabbed the flashlight from the drawer, and walked into the hall.

He’d seen a bee here and there while he waited for Aunt Hilda to return from the store, but didn’t think much about them. Now, his heart rate had climbed well above the pounding he’d felt while killing her. His mind flashed back to his childhood when he’d been attacked by a swarm and stung almost to the point of death. He spent days in the hospital on an antihistamine/morphine drip. And since then his thirst for pain medicine called to him, constantly.

He smacked his lips trying to moisten his dry mouth, flashing the flashlight haphazardly across the inside of the big, dark empty space. Sitting in the middle of the floor was the chest he’d remembered as a child, he hoped the bearer bonds were still inside.  He needed the contents to pay the drug supplier waiting for him at the pub. 

The bees were attracted to the light, and one stung him. He swatted it and groaned in pain. “I have to get to that chest.” He came through the opening, striding to the coffer, and getting stung several more times. He wasn’t deterred. He reached for the box, flipped the lid open and peered inside.

Old musty smelling clothes sat neatly folded on top, he clawed through them, his tongue swelling, and his eyes closing. The bonds were stacked on the bottom, he had them in his hands. The bees were swarming. They attacked. He fell face forward onto the dusty floor, bees crawling all over him, covering his entire body. The bonds spewed across the floor, with his last breath his fingers inched across the floor, grasping one bond and… he died. 

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