begin with the stone
by EA Kane

i. queen bee

you shrink, minisculing down in horrible
pain as your skeleton returns to the outside,
wrapping around you in crisp, glossy skin,
your silvery wings folded over your long,
striped thorax. the scent of pheromones
jerks you toward the sound of buzzing,
toward a hive in lemon scent smelling of
home, toward the warm smell of sex a
dozen meters off. you prepare to fuck the
lives out of fifteen drones, a menagerie that
would kill most other bodies of yours. you
feel your thorax ache for it, your body
entirely arranged for it, your existence
meaning nothing more than it. the craving
commands you.

 

((that’s perfect to you)) go to t
((must you hand yourself over like this?
must your one job be this?)) go to m

 

 

 

 

 

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