Sting (Part 2) – Requiem

It buzzed and bridled, waspishly, flying near the small round ‘O’ of the boy’s mouth. Sensing his pheromone washed discomfort it tried a different tack, flying up the wind -billowed tunnel at the bottom of his tee shirt. Dodging and darting to avoid the walls of the rapidly shrinking cotton cage in which it found itself, the wasp sought a safe landing place. Finally it nestled with fierce aplomb in a saline-soaked rivulet on the meager dusty chest.

For an infinite moment, the cosmos stopped, listening and waiting. One heart beat. Two…three…

The wasp’s modest universe suddenly exploded in a cataclysm of sound and motion. The fleshy island on which it sat heaved and shook, wrapped in a rising wailing shriek. The dim white sky above abruptly collapsed, momentarily flattening and nearly crushing the tiny ferocious spark within. Nearly, but not completely. Limbs mangled, and shredded wings now useless, the tiny insect T-Rex lashed out in a paroxysm of twitching rage. Skewering the boy’s nipple in convulsive absolution, the wasp’s abdomen heaved and thrust, piercing and re-piercing the swollen poisoned flesh. On and on and on, in jack hammering, penetrative ecstasy, life force nearly spent. Finally, a blinding flash of light restored, a brief caressing breeze, and then, its head crushed by the mother’s thumb, surrender to the darkness.

The boy and the wasp had become one, eternally bonded on a field of feverish dreams.

copyright r.b.franklin 15/12/05
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