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The stronghold of incorrect belief and power of identification within community.
Because of a traumatic experience in early life the Wasp believes he is bad; and as a result behaves badly. A colony of bees recognise that he is really one of them and accept him into their hive. The Wasp is the only one who does not believe he is a bee, but still tries hard to become what he already is. During a meeting with the beekeeper he revisits his trauma and the beekeeper takes the full sting of the wasps pain at personal cost. The Wasp’s eyes are finally opened to his true identity and he discovers that he does not need to try but simply to be.
A few people have suffered such trauma in younger life that they actually come to believe that they are bad. Which is a terrible thing to live with. I think that we all grow up believing some untruths about ourselves but this is surely the cruellest. Because bad people do bad things don't they? Which becomes self fulfilling. Man was made in God's image so there is something inherently good about every person because of this, no matter how twisted that image has become. Martin
- The Wasp in pdf format (on request only)
Word count : 3,617 Est. read aloud time : 25 minutes
I'm Martin Day. Please contact me about anything on this site. I will reply personally.
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'The Wasp' by Martin Day "Careful, there's a wasp just by you. Don't move. I'll get it"... If the Wasp had learnt one thing it was that people hated him. And to be truthful he was not so comfortable with himself either. Many times he had told himself that people were no good for him and that he should stay well away. But at the same time he found them irresistible. Whenever he saw them eating together at a patio table or sitting on a picnic rug he would move in to annoy them. He knew it was dangerous but he just felt drawn to disrupt what was going on. Inevitably they would scatter and end up swatting at him, which drove him wild. Often he would get hit and battered and would retreat to nurse the fresh wounds that cut into old ones. He knew it was useless. He couldn't understand why he never took his own advice to steer clear. He just couldn't seem to help himself. "It's just what nasty wasps do, I guess," he reflected. He learnt not to wear his heart on his sleeve. He'd hidden it away, even from himself. He was absorbed with his bitterness, his sense of rejection and his need to maintain a menacing exterior. Sometimes he hung out with the other wasps. They would all compete with each other to prove who was the worst and they’d dare each other to buzz passing people. The Wasp was always the worst. The gang might have looked like friends but the Wasp didn’t really like them. At least they accepted him. He would often retreat and skulk around on his own scavenging sweet things and rotten fruit and keeping others at a distance. Now he sat lapping at the spent stick of an iced lolly. And as he did, he glanced at the nearby flower bed where a bee was settling on one of the flowers. As he watched, the bee busily gathered some nectar from the hollow centre of the flower and move on to the next. The bee was working hard but seemed happy and absorbed in his labours. The Wasp found the sight strangely appealing. ‘How charming and rustic,’ he thought. For a moment he felt envious of the bee's pleasure and sense of purpose. The bee was working quite close to him now and was bound to notice him at any second. "So, who's slave are you?" he sneered, careful to communicate to the bee that he was a wasp and not to be messed with. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't see you there. What do you mean, 'slave'?" "I mean why are you working so hard to get tiny drops of nectar when there are easy pickings just lying around? You bees are so stupid." "But I couldn't carry that back," the bee replied looking at the lolly stick. "You don't carry it. You don't see me carrying it, do you?" snarled the Wasp. "You eat it here, dummy." "You don't understand," said the bee politely. "This isn't for me, it's for the colony. I'm not eating this myself." "So you really are someone's slave!" mocked the Wasp triumphantly. He was on fine form today. "I certainly don't feel like a slave," laughed the bee. "I love the hive, or should I say my colony that lives in it. They are my family and I'm pleased that my contribution helps." "So the truth is: you can't stand on your own six feet," concluded the Wasp, even though the word 'family' had chimed with a longing deep within his hidden heart. "Sounds like you're simply institutionalised." "That's an odd way to see family," pondered the bee. "Is that how you see your family?" The Wasp smarted. He hadn't given anything away had he? How come he had tried so hard to put this insect in his place and yet it was the bee who had innocently struck a penetrating blow? ... to be continued! The rest of this story is avialable on Kindle, both individually and part of The Animal Parables collection (paperback to follow later). Use the links (left) to buy from Amazon. Press the Contact button (right) to be sure to get updates. © M Day 26-Jun-2008
"Careful, there's a wasp just by you. Don't move. I'll get it"... If the Wasp had learnt one thing it was that people hated him. And to be truthful he was not so comfortable with himself either. Many times he had told himself that people were no good for him and that he should stay well away. But at the same time he found them irresistible. Whenever he saw them eating together at a patio table or sitting on a picnic rug he would move in to annoy them. He knew it was dangerous but he just felt drawn to disrupt what was going on. Inevitably they would scatter and end up swatting at him, which drove him wild. Often he would get hit and battered and would retreat to nurse the fresh wounds that cut into old ones. He knew it was useless. He couldn't understand why he never took his own advice to steer clear. He just couldn't seem to help himself. "It's just what nasty wasps do, I guess," he reflected. He learnt not to wear his heart on his sleeve. He'd hidden it away, even from himself. He was absorbed with his bitterness, his sense of rejection and his need to maintain a menacing exterior. Sometimes he hung out with the other wasps. They would all compete with each other to prove who was the worst and they’d dare each other to buzz passing people. The Wasp was always the worst. The gang might have looked like friends but the Wasp didn’t really like them. At least they accepted him. He would often retreat and skulk around on his own scavenging sweet things and rotten fruit and keeping others at a distance. Now he sat lapping at the spent stick of an iced lolly. And as he did, he glanced at the nearby flower bed where a bee was settling on one of the flowers. As he watched, the bee busily gathered some nectar from the hollow centre of the flower and move on to the next. The bee was working hard but seemed happy and absorbed in his labours. The Wasp found the sight strangely appealing. ‘How charming and rustic,’ he thought. For a moment he felt envious of the bee's pleasure and sense of purpose. The bee was working quite close to him now and was bound to notice him at any second. "So, who's slave are you?" he sneered, careful to communicate to the bee that he was a wasp and not to be messed with. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't see you there. What do you mean, 'slave'?" "I mean why are you working so hard to get tiny drops of nectar when there are easy pickings just lying around? You bees are so stupid." "But I couldn't carry that back," the bee replied looking at the lolly stick. "You don't carry it. You don't see me carrying it, do you?" snarled the Wasp. "You eat it here, dummy." "You don't understand," said the bee politely. "This isn't for me, it's for the colony. I'm not eating this myself." "So you really are someone's slave!" mocked the Wasp triumphantly. He was on fine form today. "I certainly don't feel like a slave," laughed the bee. "I love the hive, or should I say my colony that lives in it. They are my family and I'm pleased that my contribution helps." "So the truth is: you can't stand on your own six feet," concluded the Wasp, even though the word 'family' had chimed with a longing deep within his hidden heart. "Sounds like you're simply institutionalised." "That's an odd way to see family," pondered the bee. "Is that how you see your family?" The Wasp smarted. He hadn't given anything away had he? How come he had tried so hard to put this insect in his place and yet it was the bee who had innocently struck a penetrating blow? ... to be continued! The rest of this story is avialable on Kindle, both individually and part of The Animal Parables collection (paperback to follow later). Use the links (left) to buy from Amazon. Press the Contact button (right) to be sure to get updates.
"Careful, there's a wasp just by you. Don't move. I'll get it"... If the Wasp had learnt one thing it was that people hated him. And to be truthful he was not so comfortable with himself either. Many times he had told himself that people were no good for him and that he should stay well away. But at the same time he found them irresistible. Whenever he saw them eating together at a patio table or sitting on a picnic rug he would move in to annoy them. He knew it was dangerous but he just felt drawn to disrupt what was going on. Inevitably they would scatter and end up swatting at him, which drove him wild. Often he would get hit and battered and would retreat to nurse the fresh wounds that cut into old ones. He knew it was useless. He couldn't understand why he never took his own advice to steer clear. He just couldn't seem to help himself. "It's just what nasty wasps do, I guess," he reflected. He learnt not to wear his heart on his sleeve. He'd hidden it away, even from himself. He was absorbed with his bitterness, his sense of rejection and his need to maintain a menacing exterior. Sometimes he hung out with the other wasps. They would all compete with each other to prove who was the worst and they’d dare each other to buzz passing people. The Wasp was always the worst. The gang might have looked like friends but the Wasp didn’t really like them. At least they accepted him. He would often retreat and skulk around on his own scavenging sweet things and rotten fruit and keeping others at a distance.
Now he sat lapping at the spent stick of an iced lolly. And as he did, he glanced at the nearby flower bed where a bee was settling on one of the flowers. As he watched, the bee busily gathered some nectar from the hollow centre of the flower and move on to the next. The bee was working hard but seemed happy and absorbed in his labours. The Wasp found the sight strangely appealing. ‘How charming and rustic,’ he thought. For a moment he felt envious of the bee's pleasure and sense of purpose. The bee was working quite close to him now and was bound to notice him at any second. "So, who's slave are you?" he sneered, careful to communicate to the bee that he was a wasp and not to be messed with. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't see you there. What do you mean, 'slave'?" "I mean why are you working so hard to get tiny drops of nectar when there are easy pickings just lying around? You bees are so stupid." "But I couldn't carry that back," the bee replied looking at the lolly stick. "You don't carry it. You don't see me carrying it, do you?" snarled the Wasp. "You eat it here, dummy." "You don't understand," said the bee politely. "This isn't for me, it's for the colony. I'm not eating this myself." "So you really are someone's slave!" mocked the Wasp triumphantly. He was on fine form today. "I certainly don't feel like a slave," laughed the bee. "I love the hive, or should I say my colony that lives in it. They are my family and I'm pleased that my contribution helps." "So the truth is: you can't stand on your own six feet," concluded the Wasp, even though the word 'family' had chimed with a longing deep within his hidden heart. "Sounds like you're simply institutionalised." "That's an odd way to see family," pondered the bee. "Is that how you see your family?" The Wasp smarted. He hadn't given anything away had he? How come he had tried so hard to put this insect in his place and yet it was the bee who had innocently struck a penetrating blow?
... to be continued!
The rest of this story is avialable on Kindle, both individually and part of The Animal Parables collection (paperback to follow later). Use the links (left) to buy from Amazon. Press the Contact button (right) to be sure to get updates.
© M Day 26-Jun-2008
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