I shut my eyes, and I see them, lurking in the shadows of my mind.  I hear their high pitch whine; it is enough to give me the creeping woolies, each and every time.

I see them:  thousands upon thousands of black or black-and-yellow bodies, covered with fur, pollen attached to their sticklike legs, wings beating a constant rhythem, black beady eyes staring at me, stingers on their butts gleaming sharp, ready for attack.

I am, of course, talking about bees.  I have a deadly fear of bees.  I never used to be scared of bees, but three years ago, when I was ten, I saw my dog "Chance" get stung by bees.  Not just one bee, but seemingly hundreds.  Guess he got drilled for poking around once too many times in their nest.  He died just hours later; there wasn't anything the veterinarian could do to save my dog's life.

I also saw my cousin Harper Lee get nailed by bees.  We were playing baseball, me and him, and for some reason, he got stung.  Turns out he was highly allergic to the bees.  Just a short time after getting stung, he started wheezing, gasping for air, and big pink hives popped out all over his body.  We knew he was in trouble when he fell to the ground and started seizing like a fish out of water.  It was scary!  We called for an ambulance; by the time paramedics arrived, it was too late:  Harper was deader'n a doornail.

Ever since then, I have had a bad fear of bees.  Just to see one buzzing in the air or sitting on a flower is enough to get the panic juices flowing.  I run away from there as fast as my legs can carry me, screaming like a girl, sweat pouring off of me, heart pounding like sixty.  I am not allergic to them (or at least, I don't think I am), but I'm not going to get stung to find out if I am or not!

I dread the start of spring/summer; that can only mean one thing:  BEES.  And it seems each year they are getting meaner, nastier.  They'll sting you just for looking at them or for nothing better to do.  Last summer, my little brother, Fin, got stung right in the mouth; he had to go to the ER because his tongue swelled up and he couldn't breathe.  All he did was look at the bee, who was sitting on the sprig of clover; he didn't do anything to provoke it. 

I read an article once about this old man in Texas who was mowing his lawn, and hundreds, no, perhaps thousands, of bees landed on him and stung him numerous times.  The man died as a result.  That doesn't help settle my fear any; if anything, reading stuff like that only makes it worse.

I know if I don't bother a bee it won't bother me, but just the thought of a bee is enough to set me in panic mode.  I keep telling my parents to move us to Alaska, but they tell me they even have bees there.  So I guess I'm stuck where I'm at.  *sigh*

I just wish I could do something to get rid of the bee nightmares; I have them just about every night; now that the weather is beginning to get warm, they're coming with more regularity.  I swear I am going crazy ....  damned bees!!  They're the bane of my life!!!!