Fast Eddie, King of the Bees by Robert Arellano

Author:Robert Arellano [Arellano, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Education, Multicultural Education, Fiction, Fantasy, General, Literary, Science Fiction, History, Europe, Spain & Portugal, ebook, book
ISBN: 9781617752681
Google: TISAAgAAQBAJ
Amazon: B00DJZX5YQ
Barnesnoble: B00DJZX5YQ
Goodreads: 1818887
Publisher: Akashic Books
Published: 2001-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

I was covered in honey. Or I was honey. This was not offensive to me, not even disagreeable. It was not sticky, or the stickiness was not evident. It was a warm, comfortable medium that made everything formless and delicately kinetic. I moved languorously through a labyrinthine network composed of white walls at gently beveled angles. The feeling was not claustrophobic. I was liquid. My whole golden body flowed. I held an amorphous, dripping hand to my face. It shined with light as if from inside.

A figure approached. It was my mother, or a mother— she did not resemble Merry-as-in-Christmas Corrente. All the same, I recognized her as a mother force, a potent, pungent assailant of affection, an extortionist of epileptic emotion. I was glad to see her, or anyway I was free from ambivalence about my fondness for her, for anyone, for whatever companion I might encounter in this queer environment, alternating now between maze and a vast, desolate plane. After all, I was honey. There was nothing that my mind or my body could do in transgression of any exterior code. She was moving with just as much fluidity as me, although she was of flesh and blood and wearing clothes: pants and a V-neck T-shirt, the collar plunging precipitously past the cleft in her swelling bosom. She reached her arms out and we seemed to be heading towards a slow-motion embrace. Doting devotion had molded her idyllic face into a simpering expression, with an idiot grin reciprocally palpable in my own ambrosial jaw.

She was almost upon me when a change took place. While she maintained a motherly form, her pace faltered and molecular make-up metamorphosed. She became a dense and quivering body of bees. It was beautiful, this apiarian ballet in shapely, maternal form—lovely enough so that for a moment I forgot who I was. But I was honey, and my oblivion evaporated in an instant when that buzzing air force broke ranks and swarmed, ravishing my mellifluent essence. Everything shifted into the frenzied speed of a fast feed. Mother was nowhere to be seen. The insatiable beasts were all over me. They ate my eyes that I could no more see, then no longer did I have me to be. I was not sure whether I was being transformed into or altogether replaced, atom for atom, by wax. I went from fluid to rigid. The bees had at once consumed my substance and entombed my absence in a corporeal comb. Their cocoon left what context might have been me, material or no, immobilized.

The high-pitched, howling drone of the voracious bees’ ravenous feast reverberating away in the dark, desolate bedroom, I awoke all wet, trying to thrash but merely spasming, genuinely immobilized by a tangle of soggy sheets binding my limbs. The cotton clung to my body like the coating on a cough drop. I had squirmed and wrestled for merely a moment when a blinding light burst in from the hall and I gazed up helplessly to see Merry in the doorway.

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