Beehive Brain


     Jim has a beehive in his brain. He doesn't know how long the beehive has been there. Jim doesn't remember things too well. Jim is sitting in his white apartment. The apartment is very clean, even spotless. Everything is shiny and new and polished.  But Jim isn't paying attention to how spotless and shiny and new his apartment is. Jim is sitting on his couch, staring at the white wall, with a glass in his hand. The glass is half empty.

     A TV is playing with the volume at full blast, but Jim isn't watching it. Little beads of liquid are building up on the outside of the glass, but Jim doesn't notice it. Someone knocks on the door, first soft, then much louder, but Jim doesn't hear it. All Jim can hear is The Noise.

     The Noise: like being caught inside an airplane engine all the time. THEY swarm around the inside of his skull, and he can hear it. He hears it constantly. THEY'RE bees, THEY never rest. Sometimes louder, sometimes quieter, but Jim never gets used to it. It isn't like an outside sound. Jim can handle outside sounds, or at least he thinks he used to be able to. Has this beehive always been there? Jim seems to remember a time when he was free to think, a time when noises from the outside were all he had to worry about. A time before THEM, and a time before The Noise. But who knows, maybe Jim's simply lost his mind. Lost it to these bees.

     Jim loses track of things easily. The bees never rest, and a sound inside your head is much different than a sound from outside. A car alarm, a barking dog, noises from the apartment next door: these are inconveniences, and they can be ignored, blocked out. Not so with The Noise. The Noise is an intruder in Jim's head. The Noise never drifts into the background, and Jim can't block it out, because it's right there, right in his brain. The Noise exists side by side with Jim's thoughts. Who knows, maybe it's part of Jim's thoughts, and maybe this beehive is his brain. Maybe THEY existed before Jim did.

     The only thing Jim is thankful for is that THEY never sting him. But he lives in constant fear that he will suddenly be set upon by an onslaught of tiny, vicious stings from inside his head.  Jim worries that THEY will grow tired of the skull sized cavity THEY exist in, and try to force THEIR way out.

     Jim takes a sip of his drink: gin, tonic water, rat poison. It won't kill him, as Jim discovered when he drank the concoction originally with that purpose in mind. It quiets The Noise, though. At least, Jim thinks it does. Who knows, maybe it's all in his mind. Sometimes, though, it makes The Noise quiet enough that Jim can sleep. Jim gets maybe one night of sleep every week. When it gets bad enough, Jim will hit his head against the wall to knock himself unconscious. Jim's white wall is flecked with blood from a dozen bloody noses.

     Jim is afraid to speak. When Jim speaks, THEY will swarm. He knows THEY'LL get out, and he thinks THEY know it too. What he doesn't know is what will happen when THEY swarm. But today, Jim will speak. He and The Noise have made it through another sleepless night, and now Jim is at work. Jim's boss is Mr. Pullman. Mr. Pullman calls Jim into his office at the end of the day. Jim can hear everything that goes on outside The Noise, but it's such a strain to really comprehend anything.

     He hears Mr. Pullman tell him he's being fired. He hears Mr. Pullman say some very rude things. He hears THEM get angry. When Mr. Pullman has finished speaking, it's Jim's turn. He opens his mouth, and the swarm follows the words out. As soon as he has spoken, Jim cannot remember what he has said. He can only comprehend the flexing, throbbing mass of buzzing, poisonous needles as it hovers like a specter over Mr. Pullman's desk. The swarm glistens with a thousand points and roars like a wild beast.

     Jim and Mr. Pullman are both frozen in their seats. Mr. Pullman's face is contorted into a twisted, ugly mask of terror. Jim's face is lit with a smile from ear to ear. The Noise is staring right in his face, and he is staring back. The Noise in his head is gone. This is an outside noise now, and Jim can hardly hear it. Relief floods into his body, but only for a second. Jim can only keep staring as THEY keep floating above Mr. Pullman's desk. Slowly, The Noise disappears entirely, and silence crowds Jim's skull. Jim can't hear anything, and his fragmented thoughts are so loud they hurt. Everything feels empty, and quiet, and hollow, and lonely. Jim's smile disappears, his face becomes expressionless, and he keeps staring at THEM.

     Jim's mouth falls open. The Noise shifts and eyes him, and the needles seem less dangerous. Finally, The Noise moves away from Mr. Pullman's desk, and back into Jim's brain. Jim gets out of his chair and walks out of Mr. Pullman's office. By the time he gets out to his car, The Noise is back to normal. Jim has a beehive in his brain.