“Give me another,” the bee slurred.
“I think you’ve had enough, sir,” the bartender replied jovially. “You’re small, and your tolerance is low.”
“I’LL KILL YOU!” the bee bellowed, shattering his glass on the floor and lunging toward the bartender’s exposed neck with all the ferocity his tiny body could muster.
The bartender tore off his shirt, allowing his puny muscles to glisten under the dim bar lights, and stepped out from behind the counter to the eager cheers of his associates. This was the most excitement they’d had in weeks—they were pretty pathetic.
“C’mon, bee. I’ll teach you some manners,” the bartender growled, raising his fists threateningly.
“Who do you think you are, Miss Manners or something?” the bee snapped. “I’ll have you know I possess a certificate from one of the finest finishing schools in Ireland.”
“Which one?” asked one of the bartender’s colleagues.
“Hey!” the bartender barked. “I’m trying to have a fight here, you imbeciles.”
His arms trembled, so he compromised by lowering his fists to half-mast and leaning against a bar stool.
“You givin’ up already, ya wuss?” the bee hollered, hovering defiantly, zigzagging effortlessly as the bartender swung and missed again and again.
“Jus’ restin’,” the bartender panted, flailing wildly.
“Beaten by a bee,” the bee said smugly.
The bartender tried to reply, but no sound came out. He wheezed, clutched his chest, and collapsed onto the floor—stone dead.
For a moment, the bar was silent.
Then the bartender’s colleagues erupted. They hoisted the bee onto their shoulders, cheering, and burst into song:
Hail, hail the victory bee!
Bee, as mentioned, you are victorious!
Oh, triumphant yellow-and-black-striped, honey-making, hive-dwelling insect,
we are glad to have made your acquaintance, and you can have any stuff of ours you want.
Bee bee bee bee bee bee bee bee bee
Bee bee bee bee bee bee bee bee—
The singing stopped abruptly.
Whispers spread. Fingers pointed.
One patron slapped his cheeks and screamed, “He’s a bee!”
Panic exploded.
“Get him!”
Torches were lit. The bee fled as curses chased him out of the bar. The mob followed—over land and over sea. Days became weeks. Weeks became years.
The men who first gave chase grew old and died. Their children, raised on stories of fear and outrage, continued the pursuit.
Empires rose and fell. The bee kept flying.
Eventually, exhausted beyond reason, the bee flew off a cliff.
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