I'll write you a short story
Virgo
05-26-2020, 03:53 AM
Okay everyone, I got another short story I'd like to share. It isn't the final battle for the win, it's unrelated. It wasn't solicited. This is the first story I wrote in diary/journal form. I just wrote it, today, "off the cuff." To my readers @Bookworm , @CellarDweller , @"Pyromancer" , @Cridders88 this is a very different story to my last one. It doesn't have any GS characters in it. It's written in 1st person but the main character is not supposed to be me. As a disclaimer, this story is 100% fictional!
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           My new job is awful. The whole factory reeks of chicken shit. All I can hear the moment I walk in is cheep cheep cheep cheep cheep. I’m never eating chicken again after what I saw. At first the foreman tried sticking me with the pencil sharpener ”“ that’s what they call this awful device where we hold baby chicks’ beaks up to what can only be described as a pencil sharpener. Except it doesn’t sharpen their beaks, it chops the tip off. I couldn’t do it.
           Instead, I was stuck in the tubes. It’s a station at the factory where baby chicks go down on the conveyor belt. My job is to check their nads and stick the poor little boy chicks up the tubes. The chickens have been genetically engineered for nothing but egg laying, making the boys useless. They get sorted out as they slide by us, get sucked up a tube, and dumped into a dumpster. It still pains me to do it, but the foreman was pissed he had to move me.
           I don’t get along with the guys at work. They’re just like the guys who used to bully me in high school. One of them, Chris I think his name is, ate my lunch, and another, Adam, “accidentally” dumped a barrel of chicken shit on me. It was so disgusting. I vomited a million times. I couldn’t eat when I got home, because the only thing I had in my fridge was chicken.
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July 1
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           I got fired today. The foreman hated my guts for not being able to chop off the beaks at the pencil sharpener, but he was at least willing to move me to the tubes. The manager though fired me for . . . I’m not sure what. He’s Adam’s dad, and Adam hates me because ”¦ I’m not sure why. Maybe he knows I’m gay. Dumping a barrel of chicken shit on me wasn’t enough, so he had his dad fire me.
           I feel like one of those boy chicks I had to stuff up the tubes. That’s really what I am, I guess. Something that is just a byproduct, and not fit for this world. I just wish society had tubes that could take care of me. Just get sucked up, dumped into a dumpster, and carried into a furnace. Instead it has to keep me alive and eat me at slowly as possible.
           That’s what wasps do, I read. One species of wasps lays its eggs inside a living caterpillar. After the eggs hatch, the larva instinctively eat it in such a way that’s as drawn out as possible. It sounds like an excruciating death. Another kind of wasps paralyzes its prey and takes it back to its nest. It must be horrifying to wake up inside a wasp nest. I guess the way humans treat chickens isn’t that much different. Unfortunately, if humans are wasps, I’m a caterpillar.
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August 25
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           I can’t believe I’ve been neglecting my diary. Where do I begin?
           I still haven’t found another job yet, or at least a job that pays well (I found something). I was homeless for most of July and the first half of August. Being homeless was a nightmare.
           At first, I won plenty of pity. I almost say that with pride, because once you’re homeless, you go from a poor, pitied, down-on-your-luck victim to a filthy, stinky, lazy hobo real fast. It starts with the beard. Once your facial hair grows in, that’s when people start walking on the other side of the street once they see you. Once your clothes are stinking of sweat and urine, that’s when the churches stop feeding you.
           Sleeping was a nightmare. Teens and college kids like to hunt you out in the alleys and throw shit at you ”“ I men real, digested, brown, shit. Whether it’s chicken shit or human shit, I never understood why people love throwing it at me. I guess it’s because humans are supposed to be monkeys, we evolved from monkeys (technically apes, not monkeys, but monkeys just sounds cuter). Monkeys throw poop, so it only makes sense that humans throw poop.
           I must have passed out. Maybe it was from starvation, maybe it was from the July heat, or maybe it was from the maggots I ate in the trash can. Whatever caused it, it saved my life.
           I woke up in the hospital. At the hospital, they bathed me and shaved my face ”“ returning me back into a poor, pitied, down-on-my-luck victim.
           Ma took me back in. She really let herself go. She’s turned into a hoarder since dad died. I only lasted a few days. I went back to the streets. Before I could revert back into a filthy, stinky, lazy hobo, a man who passed me on the streets offered me a job. It doesn’t pay me much, just $25 a week, but gives me food and lodging.
           The man’s name is Dr. Kaffman. He’s a scientist (a biologist, as he likes to call himself, but to me, he’s a scientist). He studies wasps, of all things to study. He’s going to Alaska to study those gross disgusting things, and he needs me to help with the grunt work. I hate wasps, but it beats turning back into a hairy, stinky bum and getting shit chucked at me in my sleep, and it beats murdering poor boy chicks and getting chicken shit dumped on me.
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September 5
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           Alaska is very beautiful. The aurora borealis is so pretty, I cried the first time I saw it. Me, the doc, and his other workers (all grad students, I’m the dumbest in the group), are staying at a place in Wasilla ”“ that’s where the lab is. We have greenhouses way, way, waaaay up in the far-flung wilds, and have to take Jeeps or four-wheelers to get to them.
           The greenhouses are filled with wasps. We wear beekeeper suits whenever we go in, and thank God, because the wasps are fucking huge! I saw one the size of a kitten ”“ I shit you not! Their stingers look so sharp, I swear they can puncture our beekeeper suits.
           To be honest, I prefer sleeping in the streets. Doc and his students are nice though. It’s great to work with people who don’t eat your lunch and dump barrels of shit on you.
           Doc has quite the personality. On our first visit, he grabs a cat-size wasp by its wings. He smiles wide behind his glass visor. The wasp’s stinger whips back and forth, trying to puncture him. “This here,” he says, “is a drone. It has the easy life ”“ all he’s got to do is have sex with the queen. Once he’s done fertilizing, his body releases chemicals in his body that start a quick dying process.”
           I’m not sure to feel envy or pity for the drones. On one hand, they’re literal sex slaves who are fucked to death, on the other hand, all they have to do is fuck for a living, and have an orgasm so good, it kills them. A hell of a way to die.
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October 13
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           I think I’m in love! One of the grads, Melvin, has been dating me. He’s 25. I’m 26, so that makes him the first person I dated who’s younger than me. He acts like he’s older than me though, but probably because he’s so much smarter than me ”“ I mean, for fuck’s sake, he’s a doctoral biology student, and I’m a bum who eats maggots from a trashcan. He said he doesn’t care though.
           Doc says he’ll get me a job as a janitor for the university lab back down south. It pays minimum wage but also tons of benefits like health insurance. I’ll get incremental raises every year. Melvin actually gets paid to go to school, smartypants. He tells me he’s drowning in student loans and is planning on teaching after he gets his PhD so he can have them forgiven. I told him I don’t care, I love him.
           Yes, I actually said it ”“ stupid, stupid, stupid me!
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October 14
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           He loves me too! He said the only reason he didn’t tell me when I told him last night was because he was in shock.
           “You’re soooo cute,” he said, “and I’m just a nerd. I can’t believe a cutie like you would like a guy like me.”
           I laugh my ass off. “Mel! For fuck sake! I was homeless this summer! And look in the mirror, you’re hot as hell!”
           We had sex. We’re sleeping in the same room for now on. He’s brushing his teeth right now as I’m writing this. We decided we’re going to live with each other when we return home. I can’t believe I have a boyfriend!
           He really is too good for me. I’m the loser, not him. I don’t know what he sees in me. He said the only thing he wants me to change is my face, he likes scruff. As much as I love him, it ain’t gonna happen. Not after what I went through on the streets. As God as my witness, I’m going to shave and shower every day for the rest of my life. He still likes me even though I’m clean-shaven, and I still like him even though he studies mutant wasps.
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October 21
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           I swear to God, the world is ending!
The wasps got bigger. It was hard to believe how big they were when I first saw them. According to what I wrote in September, they were the size of kittens. Well, now they’re the size of full-grown cats ”“ no, I ain’t talking cute little munchkin cats, I’m talking fucking Maine Coon cats! The size of dogs, pretty much. And the queen ”“ well, I wish it was the size of a dog.
           We get to one of our greenhouses up on the preserve. None of us want to go inside it. We see a huge dog-size wasp smash against the glass pane. Tap tap tap! It’s giant stinger taps against the transparent walls.
           Doc just smiled nonchalantly. “Time for science!”
           No one wanted to go in there. “Dr. Kaffman,” said one of the grads, “this is getting out of control. It needs to stop.”
           Doc shook his head. “We’re too far in to stop now.’ He pointed at me. “What about you? Don’t tell me you’re going to quit on me, too.”
           I wish I could quit. It was fun at first, but $25 a week is not worth getting killed by giant wasps. Still, it’s only a temporary gig. I need that janitor job back down South. I want to make my future with Melvin work. “No,” I said. “I’ll suit up.”
           “Good,” said Doc. “Just give them their food. We need to check the progress on the other colony.”
           I suit up in my beekeeper suit. Before I put my helmet on, Melvin gave me a long, sloppy, wet kiss. It was so sloppy, it grossed out Doc, and he’s about as gay-friendly as straight men come. “You don’t have to do this,” said Melvin.
           “A job is a job,” I said. I put my helmet on, grabbed a crate of meat, and entered the greenhouse.
           The entrance is a safe room designed to prevent any outside insect from getting in (and any inside insect from getting out). I enter a code on a security panel (9-0-2-1-0, Doc’s favorite show, why, beats me), and the final door swings open.
           Bzz buzz zuh buzz! Bzz buzz zuh buzz! Bzz buzz zuh buzz!
           It’s all I could hear. The constant buzzing of the wasps, only this time, it was all in unison, rhythmically orchestrated and in a resonance that made chills run down my spine.
           Bzz buzz zuh buzz! Bzz buzz zuh buzz! Bzz buzz zuh buzz!
           I entered the hive section of the greenhouse. I can’t for the life of me say why, it was like I was in a trance. The constant Bzz buzz zuh buzz overpowering my thoughts and ushering me forward.
           All the plants in the greenhouse are gone. Everything was covered in the grey paper wasp nesting. There was lots of larva squiring on the floor. It reminded me of the maggot covered food I had to eat when I was homeless, except this larva was long as nightcrawlers and as fat as a Persian cat’s tail.
           From the swarm, I see a queen wasp descend onto the larva covered floor. It was larger than me. Yellow and black were always my favorite colors because they were the colors of Hufflepuff from Harry Potter ”“ not anymore! The stinger at the end of its tail looked sharp enough to slice through my head, and I have a feeling its poison packed a deadly painful punch, too. Its mandibles looked like they could rip through steel.
           The tightened, thin section between the thorax and the abdomen has always creeped me out the most when it comes to wasps. How those two parts stick together, I don’t know, especially when it came to this giant thing. But it’s eyes, those I will never forget.
           On the floor, it walked towards me on its six legs. Its long antennas brushed across the face-shield of my helmet, leaving a scratch. I was paralyzed with fear, in my trance-like state, I just stood there, staring into its giant eyes.
           Bzz buzz zuh buzz! Bzz buzz zuh buzz! I drop the crate of meat in front of the queen. I walked back into the safe room. Once the door swung shut, I no longer heard the rhythmic, hypnotic “bzz buzz zuh buzz.” I activated the exiting control, and the room filled with pesticides, hopefully, for the love of God, killing any of those things that snuck out. I went back outside, hosed the pesticides off my suit, and returned to Doc, my boyfriend, and the others.
           I road with Melvin on a four-wheeler to our other greenhouse. The “other colony” as Doc calls it. We road behind the others so we can tail them far enough behind to talk to one another without being overheard.
           “I swear,” I said, “Mel, I shit you not, it was bigger than me! What’s going on?”
           “To be honest,” said Melvin, “I don’t know. I was told we’re trying to make a genetically engineered wasp that’s capable of making its hive out of plastic. The wasp paper in its nest at least is organic and recyclable, effectively making them recycling machines.”
           I hold on tight to his waist as we zip through the rugged terrain. “Then why do they gotta be huge? What’s up with that?”
           “I said I don’t know,” said Melvin. “Me and the others think Dr. Kaffman is lying to us. Rumor is this is all a project to make killing machines for the military. Just imagine those things getting loose, and you get the idea.”
           I did get the idea, and by the time I got to the other colony, I KNEW it was the idea. Our second greenhouse was destroyed. A crater was left where it once stood, and smoke bellowed up from the white ashes. US soldiers and military vehicles were everywhere.
           A uniformed soldier stopped us. “Civilians,” she said, “return home immediately. The nation is on lockdown. It’s not safe.”
           “What happened here?” asked Doc.
           “That’s classified information,” said the soldier.
           “I have security clearance,” said Doc. He pulled out some papers and showed the soldier. “Who did this?” he asked.
           “Russia,” said the soldier. “I guess Alaska was too close for Putin’s comfort.”
           “Do they know about my other colony?”
           “Don’t know,” said the soldier. “We’re scrambling the skies now, so if they do, it’ll be harder to bomb it. I doubt the Russians will nuke the place, but we are in the middle of nowhere. We’re sending a team in now to move them to a base in Nevada.”
           “They need to be handled properly!” cried Doc. “They’re very intelligent! They can’t be treated like animals!”
           Doc and the soldiers in charge continued squabbling. Eventually, an army lieutenant demanded me and the grads leave, since we don’t have any security clearance. We leave Doc at the smoking crater and return to Wasilla.
           Wasilla is crazy. People are going apeshit. Back at our apartment, Melvin and I try watching the news. Despite the soldier telling us it was Russia who bombed our greenhouse, the media and government is saying it was a terrorist attack. We try the web and find all sorts of conspiracies swirling around social media and the fringe news networks.
           Normally I take everything from conspiracy websites with a grain of salt, but Melvin and I couldn’t believe how close to the truth some of them were. There was “speculation” about scientists genetically engineering giant killer wasps.
           “Why else would they bomb a college greenhouse in the middle of Alaska?” quipped one site.
           “No plane was hijacked,” said one, “so don’t tell me it was jet fuel. So please explain to me how some backwards terrorists managed to make a crater that big? Only a military superpower could pull that off, and they didn’t like whatever it was we were building up there.”
           Me and Melvin are both scared. Melvin’s telling me he’s not scared, but I know he is. I gotta go to bed, he wants me to snuggle up to him right this second. I can’t blame him. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to sleep alone again.
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November 26
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           Welp, it was Thanksgiving today, and I’m not sure if it was a happy Thanksgiving or not. Don’t get me wrong, my life with Melvin back down South has been everything I had dreamed it’d be. I haven’t seen Doc since the greenhouse blew up, but I got that janitor job at the college. I have a clutter free apartment with a loving boyfriend, and my mother is finally starting to get help with her hoarding problem.
           I had Thanksgiving at Melvin’s parents’ house. They were very accepting, although his dad had that disappointed “What did I do wrong?” look on his face. He’s probably trying to not think about all the sex me and his son have been having (and it’s a lot!).
           So why am I not sure if it’s a happy Thanksgiving? Because of the fucking wasps. Giant wasps have been spotted all over the country. People are going missing. Death by anaphylactic shock (in other words, getting fucking stung to death) is skyrocketing. There are tons of videos posted online of giant man-sized wasps.
           At first all the major news networks like CNN and FOX were reporting them. In no time at all though, “experts” started dismissing them all as CGI. If it weren’t for Melvin, I’d probably call it CGI too, and say what I saw back in Alaska was a nightmare or hallucination. But him and I both know it’s the truth. Only us and the conspiracy nuts are the ones who know the truth ”“ the wasps escaped.
Monkey I was, Insects we are
June 30, 20XXÂ
           My new job is awful. The whole factory reeks of chicken shit. All I can hear the moment I walk in is cheep cheep cheep cheep cheep. I’m never eating chicken again after what I saw. At first the foreman tried sticking me with the pencil sharpener ”“ that’s what they call this awful device where we hold baby chicks’ beaks up to what can only be described as a pencil sharpener. Except it doesn’t sharpen their beaks, it chops the tip off. I couldn’t do it.
           Instead, I was stuck in the tubes. It’s a station at the factory where baby chicks go down on the conveyor belt. My job is to check their nads and stick the poor little boy chicks up the tubes. The chickens have been genetically engineered for nothing but egg laying, making the boys useless. They get sorted out as they slide by us, get sucked up a tube, and dumped into a dumpster. It still pains me to do it, but the foreman was pissed he had to move me.
           I don’t get along with the guys at work. They’re just like the guys who used to bully me in high school. One of them, Chris I think his name is, ate my lunch, and another, Adam, “accidentally” dumped a barrel of chicken shit on me. It was so disgusting. I vomited a million times. I couldn’t eat when I got home, because the only thing I had in my fridge was chicken.
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July 1
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           I got fired today. The foreman hated my guts for not being able to chop off the beaks at the pencil sharpener, but he was at least willing to move me to the tubes. The manager though fired me for . . . I’m not sure what. He’s Adam’s dad, and Adam hates me because ”¦ I’m not sure why. Maybe he knows I’m gay. Dumping a barrel of chicken shit on me wasn’t enough, so he had his dad fire me.
           I feel like one of those boy chicks I had to stuff up the tubes. That’s really what I am, I guess. Something that is just a byproduct, and not fit for this world. I just wish society had tubes that could take care of me. Just get sucked up, dumped into a dumpster, and carried into a furnace. Instead it has to keep me alive and eat me at slowly as possible.
           That’s what wasps do, I read. One species of wasps lays its eggs inside a living caterpillar. After the eggs hatch, the larva instinctively eat it in such a way that’s as drawn out as possible. It sounds like an excruciating death. Another kind of wasps paralyzes its prey and takes it back to its nest. It must be horrifying to wake up inside a wasp nest. I guess the way humans treat chickens isn’t that much different. Unfortunately, if humans are wasps, I’m a caterpillar.
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August 25
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           I can’t believe I’ve been neglecting my diary. Where do I begin?
           I still haven’t found another job yet, or at least a job that pays well (I found something). I was homeless for most of July and the first half of August. Being homeless was a nightmare.
           At first, I won plenty of pity. I almost say that with pride, because once you’re homeless, you go from a poor, pitied, down-on-your-luck victim to a filthy, stinky, lazy hobo real fast. It starts with the beard. Once your facial hair grows in, that’s when people start walking on the other side of the street once they see you. Once your clothes are stinking of sweat and urine, that’s when the churches stop feeding you.
           Sleeping was a nightmare. Teens and college kids like to hunt you out in the alleys and throw shit at you ”“ I men real, digested, brown, shit. Whether it’s chicken shit or human shit, I never understood why people love throwing it at me. I guess it’s because humans are supposed to be monkeys, we evolved from monkeys (technically apes, not monkeys, but monkeys just sounds cuter). Monkeys throw poop, so it only makes sense that humans throw poop.
           I must have passed out. Maybe it was from starvation, maybe it was from the July heat, or maybe it was from the maggots I ate in the trash can. Whatever caused it, it saved my life.
           I woke up in the hospital. At the hospital, they bathed me and shaved my face ”“ returning me back into a poor, pitied, down-on-my-luck victim.
           Ma took me back in. She really let herself go. She’s turned into a hoarder since dad died. I only lasted a few days. I went back to the streets. Before I could revert back into a filthy, stinky, lazy hobo, a man who passed me on the streets offered me a job. It doesn’t pay me much, just $25 a week, but gives me food and lodging.
           The man’s name is Dr. Kaffman. He’s a scientist (a biologist, as he likes to call himself, but to me, he’s a scientist). He studies wasps, of all things to study. He’s going to Alaska to study those gross disgusting things, and he needs me to help with the grunt work. I hate wasps, but it beats turning back into a hairy, stinky bum and getting shit chucked at me in my sleep, and it beats murdering poor boy chicks and getting chicken shit dumped on me.
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September 5
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           Alaska is very beautiful. The aurora borealis is so pretty, I cried the first time I saw it. Me, the doc, and his other workers (all grad students, I’m the dumbest in the group), are staying at a place in Wasilla ”“ that’s where the lab is. We have greenhouses way, way, waaaay up in the far-flung wilds, and have to take Jeeps or four-wheelers to get to them.
           The greenhouses are filled with wasps. We wear beekeeper suits whenever we go in, and thank God, because the wasps are fucking huge! I saw one the size of a kitten ”“ I shit you not! Their stingers look so sharp, I swear they can puncture our beekeeper suits.
           To be honest, I prefer sleeping in the streets. Doc and his students are nice though. It’s great to work with people who don’t eat your lunch and dump barrels of shit on you.
           Doc has quite the personality. On our first visit, he grabs a cat-size wasp by its wings. He smiles wide behind his glass visor. The wasp’s stinger whips back and forth, trying to puncture him. “This here,” he says, “is a drone. It has the easy life ”“ all he’s got to do is have sex with the queen. Once he’s done fertilizing, his body releases chemicals in his body that start a quick dying process.”
           I’m not sure to feel envy or pity for the drones. On one hand, they’re literal sex slaves who are fucked to death, on the other hand, all they have to do is fuck for a living, and have an orgasm so good, it kills them. A hell of a way to die.
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October 13
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           I think I’m in love! One of the grads, Melvin, has been dating me. He’s 25. I’m 26, so that makes him the first person I dated who’s younger than me. He acts like he’s older than me though, but probably because he’s so much smarter than me ”“ I mean, for fuck’s sake, he’s a doctoral biology student, and I’m a bum who eats maggots from a trashcan. He said he doesn’t care though.
           Doc says he’ll get me a job as a janitor for the university lab back down south. It pays minimum wage but also tons of benefits like health insurance. I’ll get incremental raises every year. Melvin actually gets paid to go to school, smartypants. He tells me he’s drowning in student loans and is planning on teaching after he gets his PhD so he can have them forgiven. I told him I don’t care, I love him.
           Yes, I actually said it ”“ stupid, stupid, stupid me!
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October 14
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           He loves me too! He said the only reason he didn’t tell me when I told him last night was because he was in shock.
           “You’re soooo cute,” he said, “and I’m just a nerd. I can’t believe a cutie like you would like a guy like me.”
           I laugh my ass off. “Mel! For fuck sake! I was homeless this summer! And look in the mirror, you’re hot as hell!”
           We had sex. We’re sleeping in the same room for now on. He’s brushing his teeth right now as I’m writing this. We decided we’re going to live with each other when we return home. I can’t believe I have a boyfriend!
           He really is too good for me. I’m the loser, not him. I don’t know what he sees in me. He said the only thing he wants me to change is my face, he likes scruff. As much as I love him, it ain’t gonna happen. Not after what I went through on the streets. As God as my witness, I’m going to shave and shower every day for the rest of my life. He still likes me even though I’m clean-shaven, and I still like him even though he studies mutant wasps.
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October 21
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           I swear to God, the world is ending!
The wasps got bigger. It was hard to believe how big they were when I first saw them. According to what I wrote in September, they were the size of kittens. Well, now they’re the size of full-grown cats ”“ no, I ain’t talking cute little munchkin cats, I’m talking fucking Maine Coon cats! The size of dogs, pretty much. And the queen ”“ well, I wish it was the size of a dog.
           We get to one of our greenhouses up on the preserve. None of us want to go inside it. We see a huge dog-size wasp smash against the glass pane. Tap tap tap! It’s giant stinger taps against the transparent walls.
           Doc just smiled nonchalantly. “Time for science!”
           No one wanted to go in there. “Dr. Kaffman,” said one of the grads, “this is getting out of control. It needs to stop.”
           Doc shook his head. “We’re too far in to stop now.’ He pointed at me. “What about you? Don’t tell me you’re going to quit on me, too.”
           I wish I could quit. It was fun at first, but $25 a week is not worth getting killed by giant wasps. Still, it’s only a temporary gig. I need that janitor job back down South. I want to make my future with Melvin work. “No,” I said. “I’ll suit up.”
           “Good,” said Doc. “Just give them their food. We need to check the progress on the other colony.”
           I suit up in my beekeeper suit. Before I put my helmet on, Melvin gave me a long, sloppy, wet kiss. It was so sloppy, it grossed out Doc, and he’s about as gay-friendly as straight men come. “You don’t have to do this,” said Melvin.
           “A job is a job,” I said. I put my helmet on, grabbed a crate of meat, and entered the greenhouse.
           The entrance is a safe room designed to prevent any outside insect from getting in (and any inside insect from getting out). I enter a code on a security panel (9-0-2-1-0, Doc’s favorite show, why, beats me), and the final door swings open.
           Bzz buzz zuh buzz! Bzz buzz zuh buzz! Bzz buzz zuh buzz!
           It’s all I could hear. The constant buzzing of the wasps, only this time, it was all in unison, rhythmically orchestrated and in a resonance that made chills run down my spine.
           Bzz buzz zuh buzz! Bzz buzz zuh buzz! Bzz buzz zuh buzz!
           I entered the hive section of the greenhouse. I can’t for the life of me say why, it was like I was in a trance. The constant Bzz buzz zuh buzz overpowering my thoughts and ushering me forward.
           All the plants in the greenhouse are gone. Everything was covered in the grey paper wasp nesting. There was lots of larva squiring on the floor. It reminded me of the maggot covered food I had to eat when I was homeless, except this larva was long as nightcrawlers and as fat as a Persian cat’s tail.
           From the swarm, I see a queen wasp descend onto the larva covered floor. It was larger than me. Yellow and black were always my favorite colors because they were the colors of Hufflepuff from Harry Potter ”“ not anymore! The stinger at the end of its tail looked sharp enough to slice through my head, and I have a feeling its poison packed a deadly painful punch, too. Its mandibles looked like they could rip through steel.
           The tightened, thin section between the thorax and the abdomen has always creeped me out the most when it comes to wasps. How those two parts stick together, I don’t know, especially when it came to this giant thing. But it’s eyes, those I will never forget.
           On the floor, it walked towards me on its six legs. Its long antennas brushed across the face-shield of my helmet, leaving a scratch. I was paralyzed with fear, in my trance-like state, I just stood there, staring into its giant eyes.
           Bzz buzz zuh buzz! Bzz buzz zuh buzz! I drop the crate of meat in front of the queen. I walked back into the safe room. Once the door swung shut, I no longer heard the rhythmic, hypnotic “bzz buzz zuh buzz.” I activated the exiting control, and the room filled with pesticides, hopefully, for the love of God, killing any of those things that snuck out. I went back outside, hosed the pesticides off my suit, and returned to Doc, my boyfriend, and the others.
           I road with Melvin on a four-wheeler to our other greenhouse. The “other colony” as Doc calls it. We road behind the others so we can tail them far enough behind to talk to one another without being overheard.
           “I swear,” I said, “Mel, I shit you not, it was bigger than me! What’s going on?”
           “To be honest,” said Melvin, “I don’t know. I was told we’re trying to make a genetically engineered wasp that’s capable of making its hive out of plastic. The wasp paper in its nest at least is organic and recyclable, effectively making them recycling machines.”
           I hold on tight to his waist as we zip through the rugged terrain. “Then why do they gotta be huge? What’s up with that?”
           “I said I don’t know,” said Melvin. “Me and the others think Dr. Kaffman is lying to us. Rumor is this is all a project to make killing machines for the military. Just imagine those things getting loose, and you get the idea.”
           I did get the idea, and by the time I got to the other colony, I KNEW it was the idea. Our second greenhouse was destroyed. A crater was left where it once stood, and smoke bellowed up from the white ashes. US soldiers and military vehicles were everywhere.
           A uniformed soldier stopped us. “Civilians,” she said, “return home immediately. The nation is on lockdown. It’s not safe.”
           “What happened here?” asked Doc.
           “That’s classified information,” said the soldier.
           “I have security clearance,” said Doc. He pulled out some papers and showed the soldier. “Who did this?” he asked.
           “Russia,” said the soldier. “I guess Alaska was too close for Putin’s comfort.”
           “Do they know about my other colony?”
           “Don’t know,” said the soldier. “We’re scrambling the skies now, so if they do, it’ll be harder to bomb it. I doubt the Russians will nuke the place, but we are in the middle of nowhere. We’re sending a team in now to move them to a base in Nevada.”
           “They need to be handled properly!” cried Doc. “They’re very intelligent! They can’t be treated like animals!”
           Doc and the soldiers in charge continued squabbling. Eventually, an army lieutenant demanded me and the grads leave, since we don’t have any security clearance. We leave Doc at the smoking crater and return to Wasilla.
           Wasilla is crazy. People are going apeshit. Back at our apartment, Melvin and I try watching the news. Despite the soldier telling us it was Russia who bombed our greenhouse, the media and government is saying it was a terrorist attack. We try the web and find all sorts of conspiracies swirling around social media and the fringe news networks.
           Normally I take everything from conspiracy websites with a grain of salt, but Melvin and I couldn’t believe how close to the truth some of them were. There was “speculation” about scientists genetically engineering giant killer wasps.
           “Why else would they bomb a college greenhouse in the middle of Alaska?” quipped one site.
           “No plane was hijacked,” said one, “so don’t tell me it was jet fuel. So please explain to me how some backwards terrorists managed to make a crater that big? Only a military superpower could pull that off, and they didn’t like whatever it was we were building up there.”
           Me and Melvin are both scared. Melvin’s telling me he’s not scared, but I know he is. I gotta go to bed, he wants me to snuggle up to him right this second. I can’t blame him. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to sleep alone again.
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November 26
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           Welp, it was Thanksgiving today, and I’m not sure if it was a happy Thanksgiving or not. Don’t get me wrong, my life with Melvin back down South has been everything I had dreamed it’d be. I haven’t seen Doc since the greenhouse blew up, but I got that janitor job at the college. I have a clutter free apartment with a loving boyfriend, and my mother is finally starting to get help with her hoarding problem.
           I had Thanksgiving at Melvin’s parents’ house. They were very accepting, although his dad had that disappointed “What did I do wrong?” look on his face. He’s probably trying to not think about all the sex me and his son have been having (and it’s a lot!).
           So why am I not sure if it’s a happy Thanksgiving? Because of the fucking wasps. Giant wasps have been spotted all over the country. People are going missing. Death by anaphylactic shock (in other words, getting fucking stung to death) is skyrocketing. There are tons of videos posted online of giant man-sized wasps.
           At first all the major news networks like CNN and FOX were reporting them. In no time at all though, “experts” started dismissing them all as CGI. If it weren’t for Melvin, I’d probably call it CGI too, and say what I saw back in Alaska was a nightmare or hallucination. But him and I both know it’s the truth. Only us and the conspiracy nuts are the ones who know the truth ”“ the wasps escaped.
![[-]](https://gayspeak.com/images/duende_v3_local/collapse.png)
Capricorn
![[Image: 51806835273_f5b3daba19_t.jpg]](https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51806835273_f5b3daba19_t.jpg)
Sagittarius
Libra
![[Image: 05onfire1_xp-jumbo-v2.jpg?quality=90&auto=webp]](https://static01.nyt.com/images/2016/08/05/us/05onfire1_xp/05onfire1_xp-jumbo-v2.jpg?quality=90&auto=webp)
Leo
