Everyone my age ate the yellow vitamins. We had no choice. Our parents were told if they wanted us to survive they’d give them out.
Now the nanos buzz in our brains like swarms of bees. We claw our own faces, dunk our heads in water, but nothing calms the insectual fury. We’re the lost generation of hivers. The self-talkers, the brain bashers, the homeless buzzers. Reminders of society’s senseless obsession with safety.
I’ve been buzzing the streets for years. But, I went out to the hazel wood, because a fire was in my head worse than usual.
I’d heard hazelnuts soothed the buzz, and I needed to numb my nest. I crunched all day, but the bees were angry, they wouldn’t let my soul sleep. So I strung my belt to hang my nest up high. I’d be exposed, but finally at rest.
Better late than never, I’m chiming in with a bit of my own prosery, which is a flash fiction piece of 144 words that includes a given line from a poem. Kim gave us this line: I went out to the hazel wood, because a fire was in my head –from The Song of Wandering Aengus, by William Butler Yeats.
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