Wasp

The wasp is the bastard love child of the persistent blue bottle and the flippant bumble bee.  Somewhere in the lazy shade of a juniper tree drunk on fruity pollen these two stumbled in, forgot names and writhed and chirped in lusty harmony.  Before the dust could settle from this foray the blue bottle zipped up, zipped off and the bumble bee slovenly readjusted her wings and surreptitiously flew into the night.  Weeks later she’d weep in the funnel of a generous lily, ashamed of her expanding amber waistline.  The black smudges under her eyes would grow and grow and the hive would shun her shoddy work.  She never saw him after that but she’d hear snippets of conversation that would leave her wondering.  Maybe he’d return when it was time, leaning at the entrance head hung mysteriously low like he had that night.  He’d pepper her with dutiful kisses and flutter her fur, like he had that night.  Word had it that she was not the only one that night.  Now in her old age she would lift her weary head as one would flit by, but each time she knew that they weren’t one of hers.


* Katie McCullough is a screenwriter and playwright. Her website is over here www.katiemccullough.co.uk and here blog is over here http://katiemccullough.wordpress.com