It felt like it had come overnight, this terrible infection. We didn’t recognize it as a disease, and by the time we did it was too late.
It started with the bees. The bees were dying and the talking heads could only shout It’s just the wild bees! as though domesticated hives could pick up the slack. Trying to drown out the voices whispering hard truths in their heads. The world was dying, and we couldn’t wash the blood from our hands. Out, out damned spot.
As though the forests would keep breathing and breeding without them.
Now the trees bleed and scream in concert with the winds. The earth powders to dust in your hands. The quickest path to humanity’s heart was through its stomach.
It started with the bees.
Just a quick 120(ish) words for this week’s Friday Fictioneers As usual, criticism and comments are always welcome, let me know what you think!