Buzz buzz

IN A JAM

 

How do I get into trouble all the time? I don't sleep well and that is because there is a constant hum in my ears that drives me crazy. Two doctors have chased me out of their offices. Mrs. Mcabe's house is comfortable but she won't let me stay long. In spite of my unhappiness, I do have a lot of friends, some so close I even go to their funerals. It's sad but there are so many, my eyes bulge out. I can't cry, wouldn't if I could, because my turn will come.

 

What should I do? Where should I look for the murderers? The Jackson Jail is one place but it is a secure building. Once I got caught sneaking in and thought 'This is it!' But I'm still fast and maneuvered when the sergeant fell asleep on his watch. He was a brute of a guard chased me down the hall, didn't see me hiding on deck two. Not a single convict ratted on me. In fact, there was plenty of left over goodies in the cells and I nearly burst stuffing myself on brownies.

 

Life is picking up. There is great excitement today, Monday, garbage collection day. All the neighbors have their messy food, empty cans ready for the big green trucks. They do as told and leave the lids off to make pick-up faster. It's a lousy, dirty job but somebody has to do it. I watch my chance and get thru the smell, the turmoil, end up in the Malcolm's back yard. Her children have left the screen door open. What a break! I am so fast, sure nobody sees me, and am in the kitchen before breakfast is on the table.

 

I stay in the pantry, hear Mrs. Malcolm open the fridge and move closer to the door. She calls, 'Thomas, which do you want, strawberry or blackberry?' Thomas is busy trying to zip his fly and almost falls down the steps. By the time he sits down at the kitchen table for his glass of milk, toasted muffin with jam, his mom has the tops off of both jars. He takes a heaping spoonful of strawberry, smooths it on the toasted muffin  with a dull knife and devours the sweet in an instant. I am now in a predicament. He takes another piece of toast, covers it with blackberry preserves, finishes his milk, wipes his blackberry moustache with a paper napkin and closes the lids.

 

It is very dark in here. I can't move at all. I am stuck. My wings just won't move. There is a terrible grinding noise that shakes me loose. I see light when the jam lid comes off. The lady sees me struggling trying to free myself. She lets out a scream, shuts the jar and tosses it, with me inside, into a garbage can.

 

This is it! Lots of the garbage swarmers will die when the cans are washed out. With no choice, I will stay still and die happily.