Vanessa Isabelle Müller, superfluous

It is spring and the hive is in motion. An invisible currier anticipated the arrival of manhood in the female realm. The rumour spread quickly in the corridors and put a strict protocol in motion. Bizarre and fascinating at the same time. Driven by an internal force, the maidens prepared the amber chambers for you. Her Highness herself bedded each and every one of you carefully at the bottom of your cradle. Padded from royal jelly and a view to the court. They took care of you. Kept you company. Cleaned you. Nourished you. Closed the lid and warmed you when the sun refused to shine. They broke the seal when it was about time, to face your duty and unfold your potency. Loyal to her majesty’s temptation you followed her in a swarm and lit life with your seed. A thousand times. Till the queen’s pouch is bulging.

But like the four seasons, their interests will change. When the days get shorter and the night colder, flowers will fade and so does their love. Your service is no longer required. They made you. They will break you. A thousand times. First the unborn, then the elder. Evicted. Erased. Ripped in pieces. Cut off and piled. Till the hive is purified from male evidence and the last gametes had been falling from the stock.

And by the end of the summer, you will be gone. Superfluous.

It is spring and the hive is in motion. An invisible currier anticipated the arrival of manhood in the female realm. The rumour spread quickly in the corridors and put a strict protocol in motion. Bizarre and fascinating at the same time. Driven by an internal force, the maidens prepared the amber chambers for you. Her Highness herself bedded each and every one of you carefully at the bottom of your cradle. Padded from royal jelly and a view to the court. They took care of you. Kept you company. Cleaned you. Nourished you. Closed the lid and warmed you when the sun refused to shine. They broke the seal when it was about time, to face your duty and unfold your potency. Loyal to her majesty’s temptation you followed her in a swarm and lit life with your seed. A thousand times. Till the queen’s pouch is bulging.

But like the four seasons, their interests will change. When the days get shorter and the night colder, flowers will fade and so does their love. Your service is no longer required. They made you. They will break you. A thousand times. First the unborn, then the elder. Evicted. Erased. Ripped in pieces. Cut off and piled. Till the hive is purified from male evidence and the last gametes had been falling from the stock.

And by the end of the summer, you will be gone. Superfluous.