Slay Queen

Sometimes, bees kill their queen. Aimless and headless, the colony unfurls like a ribbon without her. They brutalise and cannibalise each other. They rip limbs off other bees and leave them to rot. And there are no new eggs. No one gets in, no one gets out.

They murder her with what’s called “balling”. They dogpile her and overheat her with their little bodies. Anne Boleyn, Lady Jane Grey, Maire Antoinette. Killed in the worst nastiest vibrator. Then, they chuck her corpse out of the hive.

So why do they kill her?

Sometimes she looks damaged, sometimes she looks strange. Sometimes her male eggs become lazy, sterile workers. Sometimes her daughter takes the role after. And sometimes, it’s because they could sense a weakness in her. Better to spiral than to suffer a fool. Or maybe they’re just petty. I don’t know. It’s none of my bizzness.

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Grace Magee is an Irish writer based in Belfast city. She’d like to apologise for the inaccuracies of bee behaviour there are in this short story, (but believes you shouldn’t let the truth get in the way of a good joke). She’s been published previously in All Existing, Sublunary Review, Awkward Middle Children, and others. She’s found on Twitter at @grace_e_magee