The Real Sting

A man sat at the far end of the berth, all by his lonesome, the regular ‘tak tak’ sound of the wheels on the tracks giving rhythm to the ride. The train was moving at speeds befitting trains of its kind. How that poor dazed little bee managed to spiral wildly into the train, desperately looking for direction was beyond any of its passengers. Panic starting to seep into its round fuzzy body…was this its end? Nervous arms reached out and shoved the already petrified bee away as it tried to find escape.

Insanity slowly replaced sense and the bee zipped straight towards the solo rider and stung him hard on his forearm, determined to leave its mark on this unforgiving world before it breathed its last. The spotlight now moved from the bee to the injured gent. The poor man yelped and hugged his throbbing arm. Red blotches began to appear around the sting site and a gradual itchy sensation joined the throb to form a couplet that would sing for quite some time. 

There were no doctors on this train; nobody anticipated bees to feature on the ride and so there were no healing ointments available. All said and done, the pain was not too bad. Bearable, he decided and tried to distract himself by looking outside the train, reading a book, engaging himself in self-conversation, checking his phone. He was restless, as was to be expected- after all these were only methods to distract, not alleviate.

Eyes from all around watched the man, some pitying eyes, some curious, some watching for the sake of watching. None of this attention helped- all he wanted was to focus on distracting himself from the pain. Instead, he felt more self-conscious than ever- and began trying to go back to his former role as a regular unaffected passenger. Angry and irritated at the useless attention that only added insult to his injury, his face curled into a frown. A young woman, a little older than the man, moved towards him from a corner of the carriage, having heard the story from a worried mother standing near the restroom. Her features resembled that of the man, and concern flooded her face.

“Does it hurt?” she asked him kindly. The man looked up. Well, here was his sister. He did not have to blend in for her; he did not have to pretend to be strong or unfeeling. ‘Yes,’ he mumbled, a thin film of tears coating his eyes. “Well, there’s not much you can do right now, seeing as there’s no doctors on this train. You may as well be pleasant,” she suggested.

The man was dumbfounded. The passengers in the coach continued to stare at him.