The House of Bees.

"When you can hold a bee in your hands and not be stung, that's when you'll know you're in love."

That's what mama told me when I was younger. What she didn't tell me was, that's the easy part. The difficult part comes later.

One fine day, in the throes of youth and passion, I did it. I went and found myself a bee, I brashly made a grab for it. After holding it for two minutes I released the bee unstung, supremely buoyed by the knowledge that I was, indeed and at long last, in love.

All's well that ends well, you might think. But I'm miserable now.

I don't know if I'm in love anymore. I don't want to know. So I've developed this overwhelming phobia of bees. In fact, I get twitchy everytime I hear even the faintest of buzzes. I've got buzzophobia.

At least I can pretend I'm still in love. I mean, I might be. I can still say "I'm in love" and not know for a fact I'm lying. That's good. That's what I need.

But I'm certain the bees are out to get me. I've gotten all these nets and wire mesh installed so they can't get at me. I found this anti-bee device that's supposed to emit at a frequency that keeps bees away. It's gonna cost me hundreds and I'm almost certain it's not gonna work, but I've gotta try everything.

I've gotta do all I can to keep the bees away.


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I typed two short stories into my phone on two consecutive days while in Grenoble and Geneve respectively. I'd alr filled up my notebook so I had nothing to do when I found myself awake in the middle of the night, both nights. It'd have been really rude and inconsiderate to turn on the lights and disturb my dorm mates to read as well, not to mention I'd pretty much finished my book alr and I had to ration it for future train rides etc.

So I lay in my bed in Grenoble and tapped out this little story on my phone. Probably didn't do wonders for my eyesight, staring at my tiny screen. HTC Snap not the best phone you could ever ask for, not on your life!

This came directly from Truman Capote, if I'm not wrong. One of the short stories that I read in Breakfast at Tiffany's, I'm pretty sure it was House of Flowers, maybe. And it had something about the girl being in love if she could hold a bee in her hand and not be stung. While reading that I had this random thought that I wrote in a draft in my phone: I must not love you anymore, the bees have stung me.

I was just thinking, wow, she's gonna go around deathly afraid of bees now isn't she! I mean, she might think she's still in love and all and then bam! stung. And that would have been that. Her little love life would crumble around her just like that. I thought that seemed the most likely outcome. Okay sure, for the first few weeks, months, she might boldly walk in flower gardens buzzing with bees, but what happens after that first argument? etc etc.

And who's gonna want to admit that they're no longer in love? People lie to themselves all the time. They want to lie to themselves. They want to be able to. You see loveless marriages where nobody concedes the fact that there's nothing left. Wouldn't you run away from something that can confirm your dark, niggling doubts, the frightful awful truth?

That's what I thought. That I wouldn't ever want something that can tell definitively, for sure, whether you're in love or not. It's not an absolute thing, it wavers sometimes. Some days you love each other more, others, maybe not so much. And then this bee comes and stings you? No, no. I could never live with that, I think.

Haha I don't know why I mulled over that story so much, must have read it in September maybe, and then out pops this little story one random night on my travels. I didn't even think I was ever gonna write a story about it, it was just a random thought after reading a story. But I guess that's what you do when you lie awake at night, nothing but your phone to entertain you, not even any wifi! All you got is your messages and your drafts, pretty lean pickings there haha. So here goes. There's one more coming up too!