Your Impossible Voice
March 20, 2023

Hive

By Kelli Short Borges

Photo credit: Mostafa Eissa and Enci Mousavi.

Mandy says she’s queen of seventh grade and we’re her workers and she “ha ha ha’s,” but her eyes flash venom and it’s annoying because Mandy’s the new girl and already thinks she’s royalty but she’s so pretty that we whirr around her, happy because it’s Friday night and her parents are out of town not hovering like ours and we’re getting our buzz on, stolen Hennessy from the liquor cabinet sweet on our tongues, and we slick on lavender-scented gloss, practice kissing, braces tangling, tongues proboscis-swirling pretending it’s Jesse, the hottest guy at school, and Mandy says “back off, he’s mine,” because she’s queen and we dart away—stingers out, antennae quivering—then remember from Mr. Gary’s science class when new queens stress the workers they surround her inside a burning mass and when she dies her body’s thrown from the hive, so we swarm Mandy, scorching, waiting for her to ignite.

About the Author

Kelli Short Borges Kelli Short Borges writes essays, short stories, and flash fiction from her home in Phoenix, AZ. Her work has been published at The Tahoma Literary Review, The Citron Review, Ghost Parachute, The Dribble Drabble Review, and SoFloPoJo, among other publications. Kelli is a 2022 Best of the Net and 2023 Best Microfiction nominee. You can find her on Twitter @KelliBorges2.

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