Honey Maelstrom

September butterflies would dance, trail amongst the luscious blooms, sprouting their majestic,
innocent curvilinear forms amongst the fields a profusion of ordinate colours, each individual
perfume the honey flies out to pursue, their extravagant, graceful destiny. For it lied within a room,
the marvellous of nectar, her colossal heart that propounded many offerings to Zeus. This they heard,
felt instinctively in their abdomen they must pursue. And by her window, they would prowl, stalk,
they would buzz their heart out, suffuse their body on this ice cool panel that stood august to the many
summer days.

But her days were a perennial dedication to the life of Euclid, Pythagoras it was her humble religion
to work all day. Under her electric light scattered her working out paper, calculating through the many
afternoons, mornings, nights, her hair was abrupt, her mind was mechanical, it offered no vision but
an ordered construct. Her hands rushing of calculations numbers ejected, her equations were
satisfied, differentiating and conversely integrating her hundred fore coming exponentials this was
life, this was how it was meant to be.

Ingrid, its time for bed! remonstrated her mother by the door no but she must continue, her mind
felt the hot sickly rush to continue she could not offer a pause, it was a senseless due but the bees
became audible, they were tapping by her window and their buzzing continued she set ablaze their
bodies, roasted their lungs and continued, calculating.

Oh but they were innocent, they were yearning creatures who sought to fulfil their predetermined
purpose, its underlying meaning, simply to be and to be was to die young, to die for beauty. Their
world defined them in their obligation to search for the sweetest, saccharine thing they could attain.
But what a nuisance they are, buzzing perpetually, flying around in utter stupidity oh they had
nothing else better to do but make honey.

She walked the mile, a desolated road through wheat fields it was the morning was enflamed, the
sun was violently screaming with its lava rays but nothing detained her from walking to school.
However, she was trailed, stalked, a lover? No, the bees were stalking her a golden robe would dress
her, a queen elect, she screamed, yelled in compelling horror they were there for her. She ran in
trepidation; oh her heart was pounding pounding knocking by her airless lungs as she screamed in
outstanding of terror. There, an estate, she broke into the premises safe. It was grand, harrowing yet
for the halls were dark, silent, still the chandelier, elaborate, solemn.

Her brain throbbed in the most violent of agitations, it was a fine summer day. Nothing stood in the
house but a piano, draped in ancient silk that folded vulnerably over the keys. But she saw the violent
expression of a thousand bees they were in thirst, dry desire to capture her. But the piano
tumultuous for it began storming the empty chambers deep, heavy tones and the organ the rooms
began swirling, the doors flooding, and her working out sheets jettison, a killers torrent. Her throat
clutched, she couldnt breathe woke up, a senseless dream. What could save her now?

She couldnt sleep the darkness crept into her heated brain that throbbed as her heart did
sadistically. But it was only the morning three, theres nothing to do, but exercise forty-two. There
she turned on her lamplight the optic moon was swelling. She opened her textbook, page three
hundred and four a honey fly twitched, squashed under her moonlit eyes.