Poetic Prose / Nonfiction
One Spring Night
Queen:
There was a restless buzz in the hive when I woke. I could feel it. The two attendants who brought me my royal jelly looked everywhere but at my face. Even Zoral refused to speak to me. Zoral, who fed me through my pupation in the cocoon. Zoral, who taught me how to end the high-pitched whining that had filled my head when I emerged from my cell.
Yesterday came crashing down on me. My sisters! After three days in the cocoon, with my new wings folded in a cramped position, I managed to chew my way out. Then, the shrill whining had nearly driven me mad. They had been the ones making the noise. Stripe, Pence, and Heavy-tail. Stripe was already navigating the catacombs heading towards my cell. Heavy-tail lay dying by the side. Stripe had attacked me as soon as we met in the hallway and very nearly killed me. But my stinger found the softness of her belly first as she tried to bite off my wings. The whining kept ringing in my ear, and only after I had stung Pence, who was still pupating in her cocoon, did I realize the shrill was coming from my mouth. Zoral, who had whipped me up to a frenzy as Stripe approached, stood to the side, watching me and smiling, her head slightly bowed in respect.
Drone:
Today is my last day in the hive. Last night, Mara had warned me that the workers were planning a kaban1 to chase all the drones away from the hive. They planned to cut down on food consumption, and we were deadweight.
Mara and I headed to the clearing just before the creek one last time. Hidden between two tree stumps was a smattering of hyacinths - a burst of color against the backdrop of grey barrenness of the now vanishing winter. The gentle wind rustling my antennae reminded me of many long nights spent here with Mara, talking about the hive, the Kiez2, and what lay beyond. It was in this patch that Mara had waited anxiously after my first congregation3. But tonight, I won’t be coming back. I’ll never see this place again. I’ll never see Mara again. It’s too painful to think about what I’m saying bye to.
Mara is perched on a purple hyacinth, her wings fluttering. She doesn’t speak as I come near. She rarely talks, but that’s her beauty - a quiet companion. Today, tears are in her eyes, and my resolve shatters with my heart. I fly into her arms and weep for my childhood that is now gone, for the hive I would never see again, for Mara who will have to live without me, and for my life that is about to meet its end. Mara slowly pushes me away, places a purple petal on my spiracle, and then turns away.
I sit by myself for a while. Eight weeks and two congregations, and this is the end. The worker bees will cut off my wings and throw me out of the hive if I ever return, and that’s if I’m lucky. A chill runs through my antennas at the thought. It’s time to go. All the drones from the 38 Kiezs in the neighborhood will congregate above Spreebogenpark.
Queen:
The signs should have been plain to see, but when Zoral showed up at my cell with sixteen workers, their wings buzzing angrily, stingers out, I was still caught off-guard. There was no room for misunderstanding. A group of workers never show up to ask how you are doing or negotiate. I scrambled out using the back door, knocking down the sentinel worker bee. She cried out to the other workers, and soon, a swarm was chasing me through the corridors of the catacomb and out into the field, nipping at my hindlegs when they got close enough. The chase continued to Springfield, where they retreated suddenly as soon as I crossed the hive territory borders.
I’m panting from the exhaustion of flying so fast and for so long when I hear the leaves rustling in the silence and notice movement in the bushes. I freeze and am about to take flight when I notice the furry whiskers. It must be a rabbit, I think. I have never seen one before. There are so many things I haven’t seen. I can’t believe this is my first time outside the hive. The rabbit doesn’t notice me and bounds away in short, graceful leaps. A butterfly flutters to my right, flitting to and fro the snowdrops that are starting to bloom. Its movements are enrapturing, and its coat a carefully crafted pattern of intentional colors. And oh! The stream! Zoral had once described them to me, but nothing she said prepared me for the mighty whoosh with which it went about its business. The lush green that borders the stream on both sides speaks of wildness enshrined in delicacy.
I give into the draft of wind that encircles me, lifting me higher and higher while wrapping me in a hug that smells of a millennium of toil. Soon, I see the whole neighborhood sprawled beneath—my hood. I see the birds so free in the air, high above the problems of the world. I see foxes trotting through the bushes, oblivious to everything else. The pinpricks of light to the east must come from the human settlement—humans with their terror machines. I fly forward, weaving in and out of the tall buildings and the hooting sounds of cars.
My mind turns back to Zoral and the hive. What could have gone wrong? Was Zoral punishing me for what had happened with my sisters? But she had been the one who instructed me on what to do. Perhaps we could talk the issue through if I go back— whatever it was. I’m sure all of this is just a big mistake.
On the other hand, I don’t know when the next opportunity to leave the hive will come, and something about the trees calls me. Their sway in the wind makes me feel calm and collected. I will explore the city and then head back.
Drone:
The boys chatter and fill the whole area with the noise of their buzzing wings and never-ending conversations. None of them seems to realize what is bound to happen by the end of the night. This is not the attitude of bees about to face certain death. The ones who seek glory tonight will die in its blaze, and those who don’t will face even worse death - the slow and painful death of a hive outcast.
I need time to clear my head, get away from this noise, and prepare for what comes next. I nod to the young bee from the Nova hive and fly up. That’s when I see her.
Queen:
He has an aura to him. Something quiet and intriguing, the makings of one who could be a sage if his fate will allow. And oh, his scent! It reminds me of the smell of the hive after the rain. It makes me weak in the wings.
Drone:
She’s beautiful! In a curious, bursting-with-energy way. She’s graceful, too, in the way of a person who knows the presence they carry, whose every foot placement and every rustle of their wings are intentional. It is understandable why so many drones will die for her.
Queen:
I fly closer. So does he.
Drone:
Does she see? Does she know? This will kill me. But isn’t it worth it?
Queen:
I circle him.
Drone:
It’s a tantalizing dance, wings beating in sync.
Queen:
We fly high and fast, way above the rest of the congregation. For a moment, we are alone above the rest of the world.
Drone:
The city is laid bare before us—a diagram of the many things that can be but never will.
Queen:
He’s momentarily distracted but looks even more alluring with the sun glistening off his back.
Drone:
I watch her watch me. She’s irresistible. I’m glad that if I must go, I at least die in the consuming fire that’s my love for her.
Queen x Drone:
We collide in that ancient rhythm of delight that many before us have danced to.
Queen:
Red. That’s all I see. There’s a high-pitched ringing in my head that is driving me crazy. A swarm of drones is rising towards me, but I can’t think. My heart is heavy.
He’s gone, and it’s all because of me. I saw his eyes glaze, the intelligence escaping with his last breath, carried on in the mist. His body plummeted to the ground with a million pieces of my broken heart.
A blur, that’s what the drones see as I fly at them, beating and slashing at anyone unlucky enough to fall in my path. I’m half hoping that someone - anyone - will retaliate and kill me. But they scatter instead, confused.
I fly past them, heading home. This is what the workers sent me to. To Kill! I hope they’re happy now.
Zoral:
I made a mistake. Choosing a full sister4 as a queen candidate is always risky business, and I overextended my hand for this little brat. When I chose her egg to continue to be fed the royal jelly after the queen died two weeks ago, I thought she would follow in the steps of our mother. I watched over her, increasing her royal jelly portion and closing her cell personally when she began to cocoon. I even helped her chew her way out of the cocoon when Stripe and Heavy-tail emerged first. They would have killed her without me. And yet, she repays me by refusing her duties as the queen. The spy worker bee I sent as the young queen’s tail reported that she had mated with only one drone and attacked the rest. How could she? Who will lay the eggs for the hive? Should the legacy of the Kiez die off because a queen found love? But now she must pay for it. As the Mother Nurse Bee, I already selected another brood of 5 bees for the nurse bees to begin serving the royal jelly. Surely, the hive will survive a few days without a queen.
Queen:
The swarm of worker bees came out of nowhere like a stream that suddenly found purchase. Zoral hovered at the helm of the group as they fanned out in a half-crescent formation around me, blocking my path. It signaled their intentions: their face would be the last I see.
The fight in me dies. I’m too broken to turn and flee. Too tired to stand and fight. I’m afraid of dying, but I have no will anymore. Somehow, they know. They know I mated with only one drone and rejected the others. They know I can’t lay many eggs without sperm to fertilize them, and so they’ll kill me. There’ll be no second chances. As if on cue, Zoral steps forward, plucks a tuft of hair from her abdomen, and scatters it into the air. It is the same ritual done at the burial of a queen. That must have been her signal as the rest of the workers rushed forward as one to attack me.
As the mandible of the first bee clasps around my wings while the other bee holds me steady, I can’t help but think about the egg they may already be feeding with royal jelly, preparing to become queen. She must also fight for the crown, killing her sisters and anyone in her way. She’ll never find love, and if she does, he’ll die before her very eyes. All as a sacrifice for the hive to stay alive. For her sake, I hope it is all worth it.
Honeybees operate on a caste system. There are the worker bees who are responsible for the day-to-day operations of the hive, the drones who are solely responsible for mating with the queen bee, and then the queen bee herself. Within this system is a lot of incredulous, theatre-worthy drama. The first is that there can only be one queen bee. All female larvae have the potential to be the queen bee. However, the worker bees select a few (say 10 to 20) as potential queens and keep feeding these eggs/larvae a special meal called the ‘royal jelly.’ The larvae go on to pupate, wrap themselves in a cocoon, and, after some time, develop into adult bees and chew themselves out of the cocoon. However, as we said, there can only be one queen bee. And so the first bee to emerge from the cocoon hunts down all the other potentials and kills them (by stinging). These potential queens find each other by ‘piping’ to each other. So an emerged queen will release a high-pitched sound, and all the other potentials must pipe back, even those who haven’t emerged from their cocoon—crazy stuff. If multiple have already emerged, they will fight to the death with each other until only one survives to be crowned queen. If the former queen remains alive, the new queen must also kill her (a process called supersedure).
The new queen remains in the hive for a few days (5 - 8 days) before the worker bees start chasing her around, nipping at her until she goes on her mating flight. The mating flight is the only time our new queen will leave the hive (except if the whole hive moves to a new location, an occurrence called ‘swarming’). Drones are the male bees. They have no role in the hive except to mate with a queen. During mating season, these drones hold a congregation where many drones from different hives gather together mid-air. The queen bee is attracted to their pheromones, and once she leaves the hive, she flies to such congregations. She goes to a congregation far from the hive to avoid mating with drones from her own brood. But the queen is not cheap, so she flies high and fast, ensuring that only the fittest drone catches up to her. Mid-air, they mate, and the drones that are unfortunate enough to catch up and mate die after the act. He falls straight to the ground, his endophallus ripped out from his body. Up to 10-12 drones will suffer this fate before the queen returns to her hive fully loaded with sperm in her sac and blood on her hands (metaphorically speaking). Once back in the hive, she settles into her lifelong mission of laying eggs. She produces different pheromones that control the behavior of the hive, causing the worker bees to feed and attend to her while repressing their reproductive behavior. The queen can also decide the sex of the eggs she lays, choosing to fertilize them (for a female larva that either becomes a worker or queen bee) or not to fertilize (for a male larva destined to be a drone bee). So she continues until she dies, goes missing, or becomes weak and old (leading to a new queen that would kill her).
As for the drones that do not manage to mate with the queen, they will also die. When they return to the hive, they will be kicked out (at some point, towards the end of the mating season). Their wings may be torn, and they will be abandoned, where they are easy prey for birds or starvation. The reason is that there is just not enough food for them, and they have no more purpose in the hive (they don’t work like the worker bees; they were just born to die mating with the queen). While all of these processes involving death and violence may seem ultra cruel, they are all necessary for the thriving of the hive. The worker bees cannot cater to two queens simultaneously, so only one must survive. The hive cannot support/feed drones, so they must die after fulfilling their purpose. Such is the way of nature.
Finally, if you are reading this piece in May or June, new queen bees are being born right now as you read this. They’ll fight and kill their sisters and possibly their mothers. Drones will literally die just to have sex with them, and they’ll resign to a long life of work, laying eggs. In less than a week, the youth of these bees will be spent in glory-seeking, and you get to live through all of it. These crazy, incredible stories happen everywhere around you, especially through spring and summer. Keep your eyes open - you never know what tale (not tail!) you might stumble upon.
There was a restless buzz in the hive when I woke. I could feel it. The two attendants who brought me my royal jelly looked everywhere but at my face. Even Zoral refused to speak to me. Zoral, who fed me through my pupation in the cocoon. Zoral, who taught me how to end the high-pitched whining that had filled my head when I emerged from my cell.
Yesterday came crashing down on me. My sisters! After three days in the cocoon, with my new wings folded in a cramped position, I managed to chew my way out. Then, the shrill whining had nearly driven me mad. They had been the ones making the noise. Stripe, Pence, and Heavy-tail. Stripe was already navigating the catacombs heading towards my cell. Heavy-tail lay dying by the side. Stripe had attacked me as soon as we met in the hallway and very nearly killed me. But my stinger found the softness of her belly first as she tried to bite off my wings. The whining kept ringing in my ear, and only after I had stung Pence, who was still pupating in her cocoon, did I realize the shrill was coming from my mouth. Zoral, who had whipped me up to a frenzy as Stripe approached, stood to the side, watching me and smiling, her head slightly bowed in respect.
Drone:
Today is my last day in the hive. Last night, Mara had warned me that the workers were planning a kaban1 to chase all the drones away from the hive. They planned to cut down on food consumption, and we were deadweight.
Mara and I headed to the clearing just before the creek one last time. Hidden between two tree stumps was a smattering of hyacinths - a burst of color against the backdrop of grey barrenness of the now vanishing winter. The gentle wind rustling my antennae reminded me of many long nights spent here with Mara, talking about the hive, the Kiez2, and what lay beyond. It was in this patch that Mara had waited anxiously after my first congregation3. But tonight, I won’t be coming back. I’ll never see this place again. I’ll never see Mara again. It’s too painful to think about what I’m saying bye to.
Mara is perched on a purple hyacinth, her wings fluttering. She doesn’t speak as I come near. She rarely talks, but that’s her beauty - a quiet companion. Today, tears are in her eyes, and my resolve shatters with my heart. I fly into her arms and weep for my childhood that is now gone, for the hive I would never see again, for Mara who will have to live without me, and for my life that is about to meet its end. Mara slowly pushes me away, places a purple petal on my spiracle, and then turns away.
I sit by myself for a while. Eight weeks and two congregations, and this is the end. The worker bees will cut off my wings and throw me out of the hive if I ever return, and that’s if I’m lucky. A chill runs through my antennas at the thought. It’s time to go. All the drones from the 38 Kiezs in the neighborhood will congregate above Spreebogenpark.
Queen:
The signs should have been plain to see, but when Zoral showed up at my cell with sixteen workers, their wings buzzing angrily, stingers out, I was still caught off-guard. There was no room for misunderstanding. A group of workers never show up to ask how you are doing or negotiate. I scrambled out using the back door, knocking down the sentinel worker bee. She cried out to the other workers, and soon, a swarm was chasing me through the corridors of the catacomb and out into the field, nipping at my hindlegs when they got close enough. The chase continued to Springfield, where they retreated suddenly as soon as I crossed the hive territory borders.
I’m panting from the exhaustion of flying so fast and for so long when I hear the leaves rustling in the silence and notice movement in the bushes. I freeze and am about to take flight when I notice the furry whiskers. It must be a rabbit, I think. I have never seen one before. There are so many things I haven’t seen. I can’t believe this is my first time outside the hive. The rabbit doesn’t notice me and bounds away in short, graceful leaps. A butterfly flutters to my right, flitting to and fro the snowdrops that are starting to bloom. Its movements are enrapturing, and its coat a carefully crafted pattern of intentional colors. And oh! The stream! Zoral had once described them to me, but nothing she said prepared me for the mighty whoosh with which it went about its business. The lush green that borders the stream on both sides speaks of wildness enshrined in delicacy.
I give into the draft of wind that encircles me, lifting me higher and higher while wrapping me in a hug that smells of a millennium of toil. Soon, I see the whole neighborhood sprawled beneath—my hood. I see the birds so free in the air, high above the problems of the world. I see foxes trotting through the bushes, oblivious to everything else. The pinpricks of light to the east must come from the human settlement—humans with their terror machines. I fly forward, weaving in and out of the tall buildings and the hooting sounds of cars.
My mind turns back to Zoral and the hive. What could have gone wrong? Was Zoral punishing me for what had happened with my sisters? But she had been the one who instructed me on what to do. Perhaps we could talk the issue through if I go back— whatever it was. I’m sure all of this is just a big mistake.
On the other hand, I don’t know when the next opportunity to leave the hive will come, and something about the trees calls me. Their sway in the wind makes me feel calm and collected. I will explore the city and then head back.
Drone:
The boys chatter and fill the whole area with the noise of their buzzing wings and never-ending conversations. None of them seems to realize what is bound to happen by the end of the night. This is not the attitude of bees about to face certain death. The ones who seek glory tonight will die in its blaze, and those who don’t will face even worse death - the slow and painful death of a hive outcast.
I need time to clear my head, get away from this noise, and prepare for what comes next. I nod to the young bee from the Nova hive and fly up. That’s when I see her.
Queen:
He has an aura to him. Something quiet and intriguing, the makings of one who could be a sage if his fate will allow. And oh, his scent! It reminds me of the smell of the hive after the rain. It makes me weak in the wings.
Drone:
She’s beautiful! In a curious, bursting-with-energy way. She’s graceful, too, in the way of a person who knows the presence they carry, whose every foot placement and every rustle of their wings are intentional. It is understandable why so many drones will die for her.
Queen:
I fly closer. So does he.
Drone:
Does she see? Does she know? This will kill me. But isn’t it worth it?
Queen:
I circle him.
Drone:
It’s a tantalizing dance, wings beating in sync.
Queen:
We fly high and fast, way above the rest of the congregation. For a moment, we are alone above the rest of the world.
Drone:
The city is laid bare before us—a diagram of the many things that can be but never will.
Queen:
He’s momentarily distracted but looks even more alluring with the sun glistening off his back.
Drone:
I watch her watch me. She’s irresistible. I’m glad that if I must go, I at least die in the consuming fire that’s my love for her.
Queen x Drone:
We collide in that ancient rhythm of delight that many before us have danced to.
Queen:
Red. That’s all I see. There’s a high-pitched ringing in my head that is driving me crazy. A swarm of drones is rising towards me, but I can’t think. My heart is heavy.
He’s gone, and it’s all because of me. I saw his eyes glaze, the intelligence escaping with his last breath, carried on in the mist. His body plummeted to the ground with a million pieces of my broken heart.
A blur, that’s what the drones see as I fly at them, beating and slashing at anyone unlucky enough to fall in my path. I’m half hoping that someone - anyone - will retaliate and kill me. But they scatter instead, confused.
I fly past them, heading home. This is what the workers sent me to. To Kill! I hope they’re happy now.
Zoral:
I made a mistake. Choosing a full sister4 as a queen candidate is always risky business, and I overextended my hand for this little brat. When I chose her egg to continue to be fed the royal jelly after the queen died two weeks ago, I thought she would follow in the steps of our mother. I watched over her, increasing her royal jelly portion and closing her cell personally when she began to cocoon. I even helped her chew her way out of the cocoon when Stripe and Heavy-tail emerged first. They would have killed her without me. And yet, she repays me by refusing her duties as the queen. The spy worker bee I sent as the young queen’s tail reported that she had mated with only one drone and attacked the rest. How could she? Who will lay the eggs for the hive? Should the legacy of the Kiez die off because a queen found love? But now she must pay for it. As the Mother Nurse Bee, I already selected another brood of 5 bees for the nurse bees to begin serving the royal jelly. Surely, the hive will survive a few days without a queen.
Queen:
The swarm of worker bees came out of nowhere like a stream that suddenly found purchase. Zoral hovered at the helm of the group as they fanned out in a half-crescent formation around me, blocking my path. It signaled their intentions: their face would be the last I see.
The fight in me dies. I’m too broken to turn and flee. Too tired to stand and fight. I’m afraid of dying, but I have no will anymore. Somehow, they know. They know I mated with only one drone and rejected the others. They know I can’t lay many eggs without sperm to fertilize them, and so they’ll kill me. There’ll be no second chances. As if on cue, Zoral steps forward, plucks a tuft of hair from her abdomen, and scatters it into the air. It is the same ritual done at the burial of a queen. That must have been her signal as the rest of the workers rushed forward as one to attack me.
As the mandible of the first bee clasps around my wings while the other bee holds me steady, I can’t help but think about the egg they may already be feeding with royal jelly, preparing to become queen. She must also fight for the crown, killing her sisters and anyone in her way. She’ll never find love, and if she does, he’ll die before her very eyes. All as a sacrifice for the hive to stay alive. For her sake, I hope it is all worth it.
**** Commentary ***
Honeybees operate on a caste system. There are the worker bees who are responsible for the day-to-day operations of the hive, the drones who are solely responsible for mating with the queen bee, and then the queen bee herself. Within this system is a lot of incredulous, theatre-worthy drama. The first is that there can only be one queen bee. All female larvae have the potential to be the queen bee. However, the worker bees select a few (say 10 to 20) as potential queens and keep feeding these eggs/larvae a special meal called the ‘royal jelly.’ The larvae go on to pupate, wrap themselves in a cocoon, and, after some time, develop into adult bees and chew themselves out of the cocoon. However, as we said, there can only be one queen bee. And so the first bee to emerge from the cocoon hunts down all the other potentials and kills them (by stinging). These potential queens find each other by ‘piping’ to each other. So an emerged queen will release a high-pitched sound, and all the other potentials must pipe back, even those who haven’t emerged from their cocoon—crazy stuff. If multiple have already emerged, they will fight to the death with each other until only one survives to be crowned queen. If the former queen remains alive, the new queen must also kill her (a process called supersedure).
The new queen remains in the hive for a few days (5 - 8 days) before the worker bees start chasing her around, nipping at her until she goes on her mating flight. The mating flight is the only time our new queen will leave the hive (except if the whole hive moves to a new location, an occurrence called ‘swarming’). Drones are the male bees. They have no role in the hive except to mate with a queen. During mating season, these drones hold a congregation where many drones from different hives gather together mid-air. The queen bee is attracted to their pheromones, and once she leaves the hive, she flies to such congregations. She goes to a congregation far from the hive to avoid mating with drones from her own brood. But the queen is not cheap, so she flies high and fast, ensuring that only the fittest drone catches up to her. Mid-air, they mate, and the drones that are unfortunate enough to catch up and mate die after the act. He falls straight to the ground, his endophallus ripped out from his body. Up to 10-12 drones will suffer this fate before the queen returns to her hive fully loaded with sperm in her sac and blood on her hands (metaphorically speaking). Once back in the hive, she settles into her lifelong mission of laying eggs. She produces different pheromones that control the behavior of the hive, causing the worker bees to feed and attend to her while repressing their reproductive behavior. The queen can also decide the sex of the eggs she lays, choosing to fertilize them (for a female larva that either becomes a worker or queen bee) or not to fertilize (for a male larva destined to be a drone bee). So she continues until she dies, goes missing, or becomes weak and old (leading to a new queen that would kill her).
As for the drones that do not manage to mate with the queen, they will also die. When they return to the hive, they will be kicked out (at some point, towards the end of the mating season). Their wings may be torn, and they will be abandoned, where they are easy prey for birds or starvation. The reason is that there is just not enough food for them, and they have no more purpose in the hive (they don’t work like the worker bees; they were just born to die mating with the queen). While all of these processes involving death and violence may seem ultra cruel, they are all necessary for the thriving of the hive. The worker bees cannot cater to two queens simultaneously, so only one must survive. The hive cannot support/feed drones, so they must die after fulfilling their purpose. Such is the way of nature.
Finally, if you are reading this piece in May or June, new queen bees are being born right now as you read this. They’ll fight and kill their sisters and possibly their mothers. Drones will literally die just to have sex with them, and they’ll resign to a long life of work, laying eggs. In less than a week, the youth of these bees will be spent in glory-seeking, and you get to live through all of it. These crazy, incredible stories happen everywhere around you, especially through spring and summer. Keep your eyes open - you never know what tale (not tail!) you might stumble upon.
1 Kaban: An event where some residents of a hive are chased out (not a real word).
2 Kiez - neighborhood
3 Congregation - A gathering of drones to mate with the queen bee.
4 Full sister: Two bees are full sisters if they are fertilized from sperm of the same drone by the queen bee.
2 Kiez - neighborhood
3 Congregation - A gathering of drones to mate with the queen bee.
4 Full sister: Two bees are full sisters if they are fertilized from sperm of the same drone by the queen bee.