The Plight of the Yellowjacket

Oh Lord, how I despise insects, whether they attack from the air, with stealth, or if their intentions are not even to harm a human being. They still scare me -- all of them, except for lady bugs because their name suggests something quite gentle, and they are usually (if they decide not to excrete on you).

My territory had already been established -- legs curled comfortably on the swivel chair, eyes focused on the glowing screen, and mouth slightly agape. How dare it! The buzzing ripped through the air particles and crawled into the canals of my ears. Neurons shot through my brain. The chemical message tingled down my spine and straightened my vertebrae from its usual slouch.

I panicked -- it's an uncontrolled sense of fear. And during those times, plausible thoughts of what would happen aren't the first images that shoot through my imagination. All I saw were attacks from a giant wasp's behind -- one that matched the booming buzz I had heard with venom shooting out like some obscene Dali painting. I ran away! and closed the office door! The possible occurrence of such violence was too much for my sensitive nerves and knowing that it could not hunt me down in the other rooms of the house was a sort of relief. I could finally move on with the rest of my lazy day.

I left it alone for several hours before I had any courage to look through the glass doors, which I had encased it in. I did not see anything or hear anything. Strange, I thought, perhaps it did escape, and I've been going on, ignorantly assuming that I had outsmarted the wasp. So with my muscles tense, I entered the room to double check.

But there it laid -- its body darkened by sudden stillness. What killed it, I don't know. Maybe its erratic flight around the room was its death rattle. But surely it was never to be a vibrant yellow again -- death had taken even its color. I felt guilty, though it was odd that I have never felt this sort of remorse when I would hunt down a wayward fly. Perhaps the wasp in my mind had a more nobler intent than the fly, and I had killed it and interrupted its duties to its own family.

But fear is primal. It is not something a conscious mind can sort out within those few moments of sensing an unwanted presence or situation. I don't think I can say that if I encountered another wasp that I would not act the same way. But maybe I'll think twice before swatting at a fly or stepping on a spider.