11 Days.

10 Minutes.

No Edits.

Raw Writing.

Close to heart.

Enjoy!

Honey

No drones will survive the winter.

Under his nails there was wax. In his lashes there was pollen. On his teeth there was wax. Blindly, he crawled through the cool black night in search of light.

No drones will survive the winter.

The sun hit his skin, warming and melting the honey. It fell from his arms in thick droplets. A sticky trail marking his way back to the hive, assuming he’d want to go back. Assuming he’d never really leave.

No drones will survive the winter.

He used maple leaves, fat and supple in the early dawn to wipe his skin clean. He marveled at the little hairs that covered his body. He ran a finger across them, wanting to feel a tingle of nerve endings, expecting the hairs to send shock waves through his system, alerting him to touch and energy, but nothing happened. It was as if his body was dead and he was living inside it.

No drones will survive the winter.

Сайхан Бичээрэй!

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