Friction

(TW: Physical violence)

I love watching them squirm.

The way their bodies convulse, writhing in agony as they try to find a way to escape the torment, only to realize that there is no way out. When they finally give in to the inevitable; their fate sealed. It’s ugly, but it’s fascinating.

I watch intently as the mouse thrashes and flails within the terrarium, unable to defend itself against the wasps assailing it. They cover the rodent, stinging and biting and devouring the creature. Tiny beads of crimson ooze from the mouse’s body, puddling around it.

The wasps are efficient; the only thing that remains is the skeleton. I don’t dare remove it right away; that would be foolish. Instead, I will wait until they are asleep, and then clean up after them.

These wasps look like paper wasps, but they don’t act like paper wasps. They are, in fact, a particularly aggressive breed. They feed on the usual things that other wasps eat - other bugs like crickets and ants as well as honey and nectar - but I’ve discovered that these guys will also go after larger creatures. And with a vengeance, too. So far, the biggest animal I’ve tried giving them was a parakeet I got from the pet store. They devoured the entire bird in less than a minute. It makes them so crazy.

I often pondered how or where these wasps had come from. The fact of the matter is that I’d found the queen attached to the other side of my door on a particularly chilly morning and brought her inside. She’s been here ever since, growing her brood. Getting more violent by the day…

I briefly wonder just how bad it would be if they got out of their tank. How long it would take them to find their way outside the apartment. How fast they would devour other creatures. Whether or not they would target a human and, if so, how quickly they would kill that person…

But then, almost at the same time, a torrent of dread chills my bones at the thought of the little creatures getting out of their cage. For me to be responsible for the havoc they would inevitably wreak. It’s doubtful the authorities be able to trace the wasps back to me, but still…

As these thoughts swirl in my head, I don’t even notice my own hand drifting towards the lid on the wasps’ terrarium and begin to lift the edge of it. One of the wasps is near the top where my hand is, and it taps at the glass with one eager leg.

But then I realize what is happening and snatch my hand back, recoiling in fear, bumping the terrarium as I turn away from it.

You can’t do that! What is wrong with you?

Without warning, a searing, throbbing, stabbing pain spears through my skull, paralyzing me. I double over, clutching my head and gritting my teeth. I can feel tiny tendrils of shadow creeping over me, sinking themselves into my flesh, whispering scandalous and unholy things in my ears.

No! I have to keep it contained! I can’t… can’t… let it…

Escape?

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Despite the pain radiating in my head, I look over at the terrarium, surprised to find the majority of the wasps attached to the glass on the side of it, tapping aggressively on it.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

It is then that I realize, with a sharp stab of horror, that the lid is open. Only a little bit; I must have knocked it ajar in my panic. But it is enough for them to squeeze through, should they try.

The wasps notice as well and, one by one, zip towards it, towards freedom. In one fluid motion, I close the distance between me and the cage, and slam the lid shut before any of the wasps are able to escape. Several tiny bodies smash into the glass and fall to the bottom of the terrarium, momentarily incapacitated. The bunch that are able to stop in time simply hover in the air, all turned towards me, regarding me with a million beady little eyes.

“Don’t you see?” I say pleadingly. “It has to be this way.”

But then a fresh wave of that stabbing, throbbing agony rocks through my head, knocking me onto the floor in a pathetic heap. I cry out, curling into the fetal position and pulling at my hair, hoping and praying for it to just go away.

Surrender.

No. I can’t… I…

The pain intensifies, searing through my skull as though I’d been set on fire. It lances down my throat and into my chest, then down farther through me, into my arms and legs, until my entire body is wracked with agonizing pain.

Make it stop.

Surrender.

I can’t. I won’t.

Do it.

My vision begins to fade. I can’t do this anymore. It’s too much to fight, too much to resist. I lift my head just enough to see the wasps still hovering in their cage, their collective gaze still fixated solely on me, and I can feel my mind begin to unravel.

They’re so beautiful… and deadly… and beautiful. I want to see them in their natural habitat. I want to watch as they take their first victim. I want to watch the life fade out of another’s eyes. I… I…

I obey…

In that moment, everything stops. My vision returns to normal and the pain recedes back into the depths. I take a deep, shuddering breath, and pull myself to my feet.

The lid to the terrarium is surprisingly light as I lift it off the cage. The wasps rise up out of the cage as one and drift towards me, approaching cautiously. I hold a hand out and the biggest one - the queen - lands on my palm, staring up at me curiously.

I pet her. Or, at least, attempt to as best as I can without squishing her. The tiny body twitches every time I touch her, but she seems to enjoy the contact.

It’s time.

The wasp launches itself back into the air and the group flies over to the kitchen. I follow them, wondering what the little creatures are up to. They all land on a heavy coat draped over the coat rack by the front door, then turn and stare at me.

I know it is wrong. I know I shouldn’t do this. But there is an inexplicable desire, an undeniable urge that rises inside my body.

I need this.

I approach and grab the coat as a handful of tiny bodies crawl inside it, disappearing from view. I can feel them shifting around on the inside of the material as I shove one arm in, then the other. The tiny insects make themselves comfortable as I head for the front door and yank it open.

The hallway stretches out to the left and right, both ends leading to a staircase that spirals farther up and down the building. There are several doors lining the wall, each of them affixed with their own set of silver numbers.

I close my door, my eyes lingering on the 21 hanging on it for just a moment, and then start walking down the hall. Another door opens and out steps an old man, struggling with a heavy suitcase behind himself. He sees me, smiles, and gives a gentle wave. I do not reciprocate the motion, and he, seemingly disgruntled by my unusual lack of response, makes a face and turns his attention back to his overstuffed bag.

I approach him quietly and just stand there, staring vacantly at the back of his head. One of the wasps buzzes in anticipation. The man goes still, then slowly turns around. Seeing me standing not three feet away, he jumps, his hand going to his chest.

“Goodness,” he says, breathing deeply to calm his nerves. “You startled me. Can I help you?”

I don’t answer him. I just continue to stare at him as an image of death flashes through my mind.

He is innocent.

He grunts in frustration, apparently growing increasingly uncomfortable with my presence. “Excuse me, I don’t have time for nonsense. I’m running late and need to get going. If you don’t need anything, then be on your way. Go on.”

But it doesn’t matter anymore.

I lift my coat open and a flurry of tiny insect bodies zip up into the air, their wings buzzing threateningly. The man’s eyes go very wide. He reaches for the doorknob to his apartment, but the wasps are on him before he can, stinging him over and over again anywhere they can reach.

He collapses to the floor in a heap, crying out with pain as the wasps overwhelm him. He thrashes his arms and legs, swatting at the cloud of insects, but their agile bodies are able to dodge every swing.

“Help me!” He begs. “Please! Help me!”

But I don’t help. I simply watch with rapt fascination. The wasps continue their attack, digging their mandibles deep into him. Within minutes, he ceases squirming. A deep crimson fluid gradually pools around his body. I stare at the quickly congealing substance coating the floor, and shudder.

The blood. The pain.

It is beautiful.