The Beehive

She was inside a beehive. A round, intricately laced and paper-thin beehive. She could not see the inhabitants of the place but she could hear them. And smell the honey. Rich and heavy. The air felt almost solid with the scent, but she moved gracefully though it. The sweet air and bright light lifted her spirits. Like bubbles in a champagne glass, swirling and spinning toward the surface.  Diamond bubbles popping. She wanted to sore, up or away, even in this confined space. But it was temporary. All was folly. All was folly. The sunshine reached her through golden walls and the slow liquid poured from the walls. Leisurely it travelled down the smooth walls and formed intricate patterns on the floor. They were too complex for her to follow. The humming of the workers was all around – it was a heavy sound – it vibrated through her skull and the amber glow in the chamber swayed with every beat of the hive. She tilted her head, arched her back, breathing in the first breath of a lifetime. And caught a golden droplet on her tongue.

by Nina Lie

Prompts: honey, bubbles

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