The Flight of the Bumblebee.

Inspired by elected officials in other countries, I’ve started living life to the fullest. I say what I think and stand my ground, even when proven wrong. I look down on people worse off than me and cosy up to those I can gain something from. If anyone says I hold racist views, I reply that at my age, one is entitled to think and believe whatever one likes. If someone finds my view of humanity despicable, I say I’m exercising my freedom of speech. And if they have a problem with that—well, then they’re the ones who have an issue with democracy. I don’t pay taxes, I shoplift, skip out on restaurant bills, and drive too fast, running red lights whenever I feel like it.

-You only live once, as I explained to a police officer recently after I accidentally ran over a woman in a wheelchair.

-The old hag didn’t have a meaningful life anyway, I added matter-of-factly later in custody.

The punishment was six months in prison, but since I evaded the summons by disguising myself as a bumblebee for a year, the case was eventually dismissed and forgotten. What I perhaps hadn’t counted on was that the old hag’s children hadn’t forgotten—and decided to exact justice.

I woke up one night to find three figures in balaclavas and holding baseball bats standing around my bed.

-An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, I heard one of them hiss.

I wanted to inform them that bumblebees are incredibly important for biodiversity, but there wasn’t time.

-Bzzzz, I managed to get out before everything went black.