Envenonmate

13

Shelly tore off the glove, shrieking, and flung it away. The glove landed on the knuckles, skated a few inches and stopped. The hornet with the dented wing sat inside. Its wings didn't even move; it was dead.

A tiny but livid red mark showed on her palm, with a smear of warm, prickling amber-tinged liquid around it, Shelly wiped it on her hip. Her hand throbbed hotly. She grabbed her left wrist, hoping to arrest the flow of venom into her bloodstream or maybe even squeeze the venom out.

She began to crawl on her elbows and left knee for the road, urgent and desperate. Her throat was so raw, was it swelling? Was this thumping of her heart normal? Something in her right leg jagged sharply with every motion. The pain brought fresh tears to her eyes but at least that was a normal hurt. The pain in her hand was building towards a crescendo of agonized nerves.

She made it to the shoulder of the road again. Her elbows felt bruised and her jeans had worn through, bloodying her left knee. Her throat had constricted, yet, after fighting nausea the last five minutes, she gave in and vomited bile. Thank goodness she hadn't eaten lunch; any solids would have strangled her.

The sting's pain was worse than all of it. It was as if her red and swollen hand was on fire and being torn open with broken glass at the same time. Aunt Vic's house was in sight under a blue and perfect sky that was obscured slightly by a thin gauze of smoke. A hornet sat in the middle of the road, its legs folded under its hunched body. The wings buzzed once...twice...stopped.

Shelly collapsed on her side and rolled over onto her back. The sky and the loomed above and below floated a quilt of creamy white that washed down the Tamville streets, flowing between the eaves.

The world shrank to a fine, dark point.