Literary Futility: Jonas the Bee.....

Jonas pulled off the highway and followed a snow covered road to his left. The road obscured by the overhanging tree branches and a casual passer by would be oblivious to its existence. The snow on the road was undisturbed and had been so for quite a while. His ‘76 pickup truck made its way steadily down the road embedding its tires in the snow forming black muddy tire tracks. Jonas’s large frame pressed itself into the old leather seats of his pick up truck, the smell of fresh pine lingered within due to the $2 air fresher he had purchased when he stopped for gas two hours ago. The rust coloured pick up truck, riddled with dents and scratches looked travel worn and on its last legs but it chugged along. All was still as he made his way down the winding path except for the rumble of the trucks engine and the occasional movement of the trees. The truck finally made its ways into a clearing and passed over a rickety old bridge which creaked and seemed to barely support the weight of the truck. Jonas pulled up to an abandoned barn at the western edge of the clearing. He opened the door and struggled to get out as the door seemed too small for him. His boot hit the ground and he quickly made his way into the barn carrying his tool bag in his left hand. Jonas closed the door behind him and felt at home, he placed his tool bag on the ground and took a deep breath….he had returned to where it started.

He closed his eyes remembering all the fun he had in this barn. He smiled to himself and seemed to be chuffed at what he had achieved over the years. Jonas heard a solitary step behind him and then nothing. Jonas could feel every inch of the blade that had been thrust into his flesh. The pain was incomprehensible at first as his mind could not translate what his body was feeling into a viable sensation. It felt like the prick of a pin at first and then everything went numb. He couldn’t hear anything around him, not the rasping trees in the cold winter’s breeze, not the sound of the stream which flowed adjacent to the barn, nor the words of his faceless messenger of death. As the blade slithered deeper into the wound the numbness vanished and his body was rank with agony. The blade was thrust into him with purpose and conviction, slow and methodically so that Jonas felt every inch of its cold dead steel. Jonas tried to talk, he tried to plead but he could not speak. Jonas could now taste the bitter taste of iron following into his mouth as if the blade was infecting every part of his body. His Harbinger of death stood before him smiling, he could see the glint of its teeth reflecting of the night’s full moon. The figure released its grip on the blade and stepped back to watch its prey. Jonas stood rooted to the ground unable to move as if the blade had disconnected his brain’s ability to control his body, he felt trapped within his own skull. The figure stood motionless before Jonas observing him with a child like curiosity as if it wanted to see Death itself take his soul. Death however had not arrived and for Jonas time stood still and he felt scared for the first time in his life. Jonas looked at the figure and a feminine silhouette stared back at him. He staggered towards her with his right arm outstretched attempting to claw at her.

He fell to his knees, cushioned by the layer of snow which covered the barren soil of this abandoned barn. Jonas looked to the heavens and could only see the mouldy termite infested roof of the barn staring back at him. The cold winter’s breeze turned into a gusty wind and made its way into the barn creeping into every corner with its icy touch. Death had arrived. The wind swirled around him and hit him from every direction, cutting his flesh. The wind stopped and the air became still and stagnant. Death retreated to the shadows, observing the scene in front of him.. Jonas’s head dropped like a dead weight accepting his fate and his dying gaze fell upon the blade. His sight was blurry, he tried to focus and closed his eyes. Through his eyelids he could only see red as if one closed their eyes whilst looking directly at the sun. He opened his eyes and saw the blade it was his own. Its unmistakable redwood and gold hilt was polished until the gold seemed to emanate from the wood itself. The Gold was arranged into bans which ringed the redwood; this made it look like a Bee with the blade being the stinger. The blade itself was slightly curved and seemed to be larger than would be expected. Its steel was smooth but barbed towards the tip so it pierced through the flesh with ease and became almost woven into the flesh. Jonas had seen this Bee’s stinger on many occasions before but he had never seen it from this view. He had seen this stinger in the dark alley behind the McCrery House, in the New York apartment Janis owned and even in this very barn. On these occasions however he wielded the stinger and had always pulled the stinger out of his victim causing them to fade into the afterlife. Unlike a Bee Jonas did not die after he stung his victim’s, he merely retrieved the cursed blade and left the scene remorseless and content, moving on to his next victim.

Jonas wrapped his hands around the stinger and tugged at it slightly, the pain reverberate from his wound moving through his entire body. He could not remove the stinger no matter how hard he tried as its barbs had caught hold of his flesh. He let go of the stinger and the pain stopped. The feminine figure was still there in the barn with him walking around him, almost taunting him to try to get up, but Jonas couldn’t. Blood trickled out of his wound and formed a deep red pool in front of him which stained the snow. Whether he left the blade in or took it out he knew he would die, his life was now linked to the very blade. Jonas could now only think of the faces of the people who he had killed. He wondered who the woman before him was, someone he had failed to kill or someone who’s loved one he did kill. She couldn’t have been someone he spared because he had never spared a victim in his 23 year cycle. He seemed to collect the souls of these people merely to pollinate his own, he lived off death.

Jonas a deeply religious man believed that God had placed him on earth to balance the scales of good and evil. He felt protected by God and that only God could stop his crusade against the righteous. He expected a Grand death but here he was cold and alone in the barn where he killed his first victim. It has come full circle and now his blood had seeped into the soil bonding him to this spoilt patch of earth. All those years ago he had sealed his fate and chosen his grave. The feminine figure stepped towards him and grasped his hair forcing him to look at her, the silence broke and he heard the women’s voice. It was calm and seemed almost rational; this wasn’t a chance occasion she seemed to have prepared well for this moment. “I will release you”. The women placed her hands around the hilt of the stinger and began to pull at it, but it would not budge. Jonas felt every movement of the stinger as it snagged its flesh. She made one final attempt and Jonas heard a snap. The hilt had broken and the blade remained in him. He was stung by his own blade and now with the stinger embedded in his flesh he would die. The cursed blade seemed to poison him as a Bee’s stinger would. Jonas fell face down, bleeding to death. The women cast the hilt down besides him and began walking towards the door of the barn. Jonas could hear the barn doors close and his trucks engine roar into life. Jonas lay on the cold ground slowly dying. He heard the truck drive away, he was alone.

Death had now come for him. Jonas could feel Death’s thorny fingers upon his back searching for his soul. Ripping, wrenching, twisting, shearing, his end would not be quick. This was the end of Jonas the Bee.