Member-only story
The Hornet
The hornet woke up inside a paper cell, which was chewed through the wall to join the hum of the nest.
Its world was made up of sound and smell. It learned to fly in a straight line. An entrance to the hive was defended with its body. A raccoon was stung, with a barbed dagger left in the animal’s nose, with the hornet dying soon after. That was the way.
Bees were hunted. It stood at the entrance of the hive, grabbing workers in midair and tearing them apart for their thoraxes. It didn’t relish the killing; it was simply what it did.
One afternoon, a shadow fell over the nest. A boot kicked the paper globe. The hornet flew towards the threat, stinging the denim and injecting venom until its abdomen was empty.
It plummeted onto the grass, wings shredded, venom sac dry. The nest was toast. The sisters were cast like ashes.
It crawled over to where a chunk of honeycomb lay. A bee, also injured, crawled over a few inches away from its side. Neither cared for the other.
The sun vanished. The hornet’s wings ceased their trembling. Its legs curled tightly.
Some would say the most unfortunate fate is one that sees death chasing for a home that is now gone. The hornet didn’t think so. It died just as it had lived: all sting, no regrets.
