I want to be a bee… Am I the best ba-bee-sitter ever?

Frau Froemming from next door is looking poorly-rendered today. I think she needs more potassium.

"I thought Ludwig was coming over to watch the children. You said he was free today," she says with a froggy frown.

"He was," I tell her, "but something came up. His schedule is unpredictable these days."

"I understand. I just thought Ludwig would like some extra funds."

She looks like she's trying hard not to be offensive but at the same time desperately wants to be offensive. I could see her thoughts if I wanted, but I'd rather wait for the punchline.

"He's a student at the university, isn't he? Wouldn't he like some money for coffee and gas?"

There it is. A puff of laughter escapes my lips, but I quickly stuff it back in. Uni student! That makes him sound so young! Well, he is my baby brother, but he's also a war-hardened grown man! He's supervised Italians. He's supervised The Italian. That is a task unfit for anyone under the age of 100.

My little outburst spoils it for Frau Froemming. No more fake niceness.

"I'd prefer Ludwig around my children. He seems like his head is on his shoulders and not floating off in some other galaxy. Do you even have a job, Herr Beilschmidt? How are you affording a mortgage?"

"I used to be a brilliant diplomat, but I'm retired."

"I see. Is this coming from the same strain of madness that told my children you're 1000 years old and you were friends with Frederick the Great? I don't know where you got a sword, but I don't want them seeing it!"

"That's all exaggeration, ma'am. I just celebrated 800 not too long ago. Fritz was like a father to me, not a friend. And it's not a sword. It's a butter knife. See?" I pull it out from the sheath on my belt and wave it a bit for her. "It's just an innocent butter knife! Hardly anything to worry about. In 1741 perhaps I would slay an Austrian or fifty, but today the only thing I slay is Pumpernickel."

"My sister married an Austrian."

"My cousin is one. Maybe we could grieve together."

She's about to really lay into me for that joke, but her rideshare driver has been waiting for over ten minutes already. She shows me she's got my brother's number in her phone, then gives me one last sour look and departs. I walk myself right into her house until I reach the backyard.

I may have told a white lie about Germany having an appointment, but the neighbor kids, Mia and Will, have come to idolize me like the little urchins who used to watch me parade to and from the Berlin court all the time. Maybe it's not PC to call my neighbors urchins, but nostalgia is too powerful a force for us nations. One time I got upset that my toothbrush wasn't made out of horse hair, and when Germany told me to get over it, I dropped dead on the bathroom carpet.

"Hey, kids, you're about to get obliterated by my awesomeness!"

My voice booms across the neighborhood, loud enough that I know Germany can hear it in our house where he's brooding over mortgage payments and half-folded sheets. The kids have a new trampoline, and they bound off it to come running toward me. Mia gives me a great big hug, (I'm not surprised,) and Will eagerly shows me a new toy train from his pocket. We talked a lot about trains the last time we got together. I can remember the days when little Germany wanted to ride on a locomotive for the first time.

Cut it out, Prussia! Nostalgia kills!

"Are you staying all day, Herr Beilschmidt?" Will asks.

"You bet I am! And please, it's Gilbo, remember? Or even Prubo. I'm fine with that. So, what do you little urchins wanna do? I was told to make you some sandwiches for lunch. Would you like to eat them outside?"

"We can eat them on the trampoline," suggests Mia.

"How about under the trampoline?" I reply. "Regular Earth sunscreen doesn't work so well in space. I got totally fried on my moon trip last week. It's better if I'm in the shade."

"We could sit over in the garden, then. It's more shady," she says, pointing to some landscaping off in the corner. A few stepping stones are the perfect makeshift sitting area.

"That's fine by me. Now come in and watch! I'm gonna make you sandwiches without even touching the bread!"

France's croissants gave me a reason to get my ass in gear and practice, and I'm glad to say I've honed my skills in point-and-enchant. I just need to stay aware of how much weirdo magic energy I'm giving off and curl it all back to my small sphere of influence — in this case, that's the kitchen.

I still have to keep my eyes open to know what I'm doing, so no showiness yet, but with something as simple as cold cuts, I'm Mutterficking Gilbo the Teenage Witch… give or take a few centuries. I point at the loaf of fresh bread Frau Froemming bought for me, and it floats up above my head. Then I karate chop the air, and it slices itself into perfect sandwich shells that give into gravity before I float a plate under them.

A wiggle of my fingers unwraps the cold cuts, and a few waves of my hands spreads them out on the bread. I layer them with cheese, (and pickles for mine,) then splay out the fingers of my left hand to balance three plates on a cushion of air. The other hand gropes for the fridge door three feet away, which swings open and reveals a pitcher of juice. I beckon it with a finger, and it flies out to pour three glasses. These I add to the sandwich plates, and with a satisfied smirk, I lead the kids out to the garden like Mutterficking Mary Prussians.

"You looked like you were dancing," Mia says.

"I suppose I was," I tell her. "Kesese, call me The Last Sandwichbender, okay?"

I'm the Mutterficking Last Sandwichbender.

We take our places in the garden and enjoy a munchalicious meal of our sandwiches and juice. I have to admit, I'm better with kids than Germany. It can't be because Germany is a child himself. Maybe it's because he's too mature? But he's not mature all the time. I've been sole witness to his goofy smiles whenever we watch movies or drive old cars together. Give Lud a car show, and he's like an emotionally-repressed college girl at Claire's. All squealy and going out of his way to touch the shiny stuff.

"How is your brother, Gilbo?" Will asks. "Is it hard being Germany? What does he have to do?"

"My brother is the best Germany we've ever had. Strong, fearless, a good leader. He has to make sure all his citizens are happy and safe."

"He doesn't look that happy."

"That's 'cause he's busy a lot. Say, why don't you show him your train the next time you see him? He loves trains just like you."

"Is that your sword?" Asks Mia.

I take out the butter knife and let each of them hold it. "I have to keep it disguised," I tell them. "But that's the real sword I've had since I was a kid like you."

"Did all kids have swords back then?" Will asks.

"No. Only special kids like me. We nations are made of pretty tough stuff. We can handle swords when we're smaller than the average soldier. I was raised by knights, so I grew up around fighting."

"You must be a very special nation, then," says Mia, "if you're still here with us. You look special, even."

I have to laugh at this. Ach, kids. "Yeah, I know. I'm the weird one of the weird ones."

"I like having you here. You're funny, and you make me feel good."

"Then you just might have some Prussian blood in you."

"Yeah, we do! From our grandpa!"

"I probably knew him."

"And you looked the same back then as you do now!?"

"Yep! That's the power of the earth. Keeps us nations young and fresh. Over the millenia, we've learned to sip it right up, like a bee on a flower."

I like that visual. Right away I'm imagining myself as a little Prussian bee floating from flower to flower so I can rub my nasty little hands together and stuff pollen into my leg warmers so I can bake some bee buns.

Aren't the workers all lady bees, though?

I'm thinking about how to fix the metaphor when I feel something dense slap me upside the head. There's a loud POP, and a jittery sensation runs up and down my body.

"What the frick… oooohhhh shit."

My Spiritual Ability to Move Sandwich was too powerful after all. I was just smacked by the weird magic I tried to keep contained in the kitchen. Turns out I watched the pot, but left the proverbial burner on, and now the reality I tried not to warp is warping anyway. The proverbial croissants are getting haunted again. The trampoline groans before lifting off the ground and floating over to land in my own yard. The flowers twist and weave each other into latices. And the kids… no, no, where are the kids?

I glance around wildly, but a furious itch sucks all my attention away. I dig my nails into my sides, clawing at a spreading rash of burning skin. My eyes are squeezed tightly shut from the pain, but I figure I'm sprouting a thick coat of fur with what my fingers are discovering around my middle. It starts as a light fuzz, then grows and floofs, thicker and thicker until I'm all fur and no skin.

My head feels like a fishbowl, all sloshy and unbalanced. I'm falling all over myself, tumbling and spinning and rolling. My body goes squish and crick and gluck-glorp and all those other unpleasant noises that come with shape-changing, only I can't even focus on them because it feels like my skin is turning inside out, over and over again. My limbs are shaking. My belly is bloating up. The fur grows thicker and softer, until I spit some out of my mouth.

The shaking all stops. I open my eyes and bring myself to my feet.

Above me is a massive glass citadel surrounded by enormous chunks of bread. Behind me is an impenetrable wall of grass. And below me is a lava field of gravel. My limbs all look normal, except for the fact I seem to have melted my hands and feet into fuzzy, three-fingered mittens. My body is all swollen and hairy — striped black and yellow, with a great bulbous abdomen sticking out behind my legs.

I reach up to feel my face. High cheekbones. Beaky nose. Smallish ears. Wild poof of hair. All is normal. Except, woah, wiggly antennae! Those things are sensitive, too!

"Can you bee-lieve it!? I'm a tiny bee person! I think I've even got wings!"

I feel a few extra muscles in my back, and sure enough, flexing them gives me access to a pair of translucent wings, all shiny and veiny. Looking over my shoulder, I try to make out a stinger somewhere around my butt, but I can't see one amidst all the fuzz.

"Now, how did those bee people in the Sixth Dimension fly? Rotating the aerial deltoids… I got it!"

My wings flutter, then whiz with a cheerful buzzing noise. I'm a little awkward at first, but I steadily rise up off the ground. I fly a couple of loops around the juice glass, then nibble at the enormous crumbs of bread. From down on the ground, the flowers look like fireworks, and the grass is like a mighty jungle. A spider scuttles by like a skulking wolf.

But wait! Where are the kids!? I buzz up higher and higher, squinting under my mitten-like hands, but you'd think a bee would bee able to spot two children like the legendary giants of bee lore.

"Hey, you seen any giant kids?" I ask a worker bee with her face in a flower. She pulls her head out to look at me and cringes.

"What!? Don't bee like that! I need help!"

She flies toward me, stinger outstretched. I wiggle my own abdomen, but no such weapon can be found! "Do I look like a queen?" is written all over Betty B. Beetrix's face.

And now is when I discover I am a helpless drone, who is destined to mate and die and get spat out by the afterlife because the alien lady bees love him too much.

Clearly this one did not get the memo.

I'm flying for my life. Beetrix summons a mini swarm of her friends to chase me round and round. My wings are fast, but not fast enough! I swerve under a grass bridge and swirl around a few lonely toadstools. Maybe if I just roll in the dirt, my scent will be disguised!

Under the shade of a carrot top tree, I dig up some soil from the vegetable bed and sprinkle it all over my fur. My fat body heaves from so much activity all at once. The scarf of fur around my neck is so dang itchy!

I see the swarm hovering around, twitching their wings and wiggling their little legs, looking for me. I tuck my wings low and scuttle over behind Will's toy train, which from this height looks like a real locomotive.

"Gilbee, help! Help us!"

My wings twitch, and I pop my head out to see Mia and Will, also transformed into tiny bee people, wiggling for their lives as a horde of ants flows in all around them! Some scout from the ant army has discovered food, and these enemy bees were not a part of the program!

"Bee patient, kids! I'm coming!"

I crouch and crawl out past the train, but I'm nearly trampled by a new wave of ants. Their sharp mandibles come inches from my face. One cuts my fuzzy cheek, and I buzz in protest.

But then I hear the kids screaming for me. Mia's got an ant on her stomach. Will's ant is dragging him away by the fuzzy butt. The old fighting spirit is still within me! I push myself up and run until I give myself a flying leap! My wings buzz, and I'm off, soaring through the sky, which is only about a meter off the ground. I swoop up, then swing down in a bee-utiful parabola. Beetrix and her gang are hot on my weaponless butt, but I remember I do have a weapon I can use!

"Sword of Preußen, bee my aid!" I screech. A huge hunk of metal zips through the air, shaving the fur off my butt, and I hear the light smack of the butter knife pushing the worker bees off my trail!

My fuzzy feet touch down next to the tearful kids. My wings raise, and my stance shifts. I start to wiggle, then twirl, then straight-up dance in place. The butter knife is so dang heavy, but I press my mitten hands up and raise it from way over yonder in the grass. "Come here, stupid sword! Zip! Zop! Zoop!"

And like the famous 4-D hymn, which has been memed to death, my sword goes Zip! Zop! Zoop! and stabs the ground not three centimeters from where I'm standing… that's a safe distance, don't worry.

The blade is hot from sitting in the sun. Soil explodes around me, scattering the ants and freeing my charges. I help them to stand on their fuzzy legs and give them my most confident smile. Both give me a hug, nuzzling their heads into my fur and finding comfort in my sheer roundness. I pat their heads with a happy buzz.

"You two should bee more careful! The garden may look pretty, but it's a real shitty place to bee for a bee, especially with food lying around! I'm just glad you're safe."

The tears keep coming, so I try a different tactic.

"Who's ready to learn to fly with Herr Beeschmidt!?"

And these urchins who idolize me can't pass up the offer.

Frau Froemming is going to try to kill me.

~N~

beesbeesbeesbeesbeesbeesbeesbeesbeesbeesbeesbeesbeesbeesbeesbeesbeesbeesbeesbeesbeesbeesbeesbeesbeesbeesbeesbeesbeesbeesbeesbeesbees

Updated by Syntax-N FanFiction . bee June 23rd, 2020. Don't bee a bee. Read the Snarled Circle Chronicles for a magical adaptation of Chibitalia now! Bee courteous. Don't beepost.