A Beekeeper’s Short Story

Reader Contribution by Ron Lane
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The troops were all dead.  It was a killing field, or maybe the detonation of a small nuclear device, befitting the size of a bee, smuggled in on the back of some non-descript illegal; maybe a yellow jacket, or a hive beetle perhaps? The top bars were covered with dead and not a single one stirred when their home was taken away by wheelbarrow.

A cool breeze sifted through the lifeless tan and bronze bodies and found none worthy of flight. The weak sun, its honey colored glow serving only to highlight the disaster, failed in its effort to muster even one to attention. 

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