I hate bees

There was a colony of bees. Not simply a bunch of bees. These bees were bred and born together. They were simple friends, if that’s possible. Or co-existing relatives – the cordial introductions never existed. More of a stony working relationship. That’s what the bees were like. Those who fight and work together, bleed and die, without any sort of emotion. A necessary blood tie like a feudal state?

Anyway – they were certainly well acquainted. Millions of them.
I was sitting in an airplane with one of my friends – more of an intimate acquaintance than a working colony. Working colonies lose and gain and breathe the same air. I do not re-breathe the air of my friend. We breathe, discuss, and come about with two different creations, rather than one stalwart wall of work.

None were on this plane but ourselves and the stewardess. Indeed the airplane was navigating itself well on autopilot. A clear view to the wide open cockpit showed a cheesy ice blue sky, cotton ball cloud wisps. I’m sure the plane wasn’t actually locomoting. I only expect a plane to move while in the air because scientifically they are not suspended from the sky on wires. This is a nightmare inspired by the airplane safety video.

The bees, all friends swarmed in. They appeared en masse, growing thicker the more I become fearful. So the stewardess, her head in the clouds of swarms of these bends down and in a perfect toothy and compassionate plastic smile says – “Dear, you will die if you don’t get them out.” Instead of pulling an Alice in Wonderland evading the Jabberwocky simply by not believing, I get hit on the head by a broom stick. It fell from whence the parachute or the personal flotation device should have been. My friend turns to me and tells me to hurry.

And the fear of these bees makes my movements broken and stiff. I swatted at the bees, my shoulders uncomfortably high around my ears, protecting me from the sound. The buzzing. The noise. And the threat of a crashing plane. The airplane itself was making that falling noise like in World War II movies. It was non-sensical since my airplane was suspended from the sky, unmoving. There was a door with a screen on it. I broomed the bees around in such a fashion as to propel them on to the screen where they stuck. All the bees, millions of them, crowded the screen door making it a solid wall of buzzing.

And my friend, in his apparent divine genius, pushed the screen door as if to open it – however it merely made the door disappear. He shut it into itself and the bees disappeared into what in my mind was “history” - a dimension of something that no longer existed.

So here’s my question. Because he shut the door on the bees – propelling them backwards into time is that why they kept duplicating? Does he keep sending them back? Will I eventually drown in their fur because we keep pushing them away? Not to deal with them now – or in the future. But will it make it so that I won’t be able to continue reliving the past, and therefore, that present, and the future based on the bees being shut out – will that outcome eventually be negated??

Oh Star Trek – why won’t you answer that important scientific question?