Meant To Bee…?

19 Aug 2010 Leave a Comment

by TE-ZINE in FICTION Tags: @TE_ZINE, allergies, Australasia, author, bee, bees, black beauty, black rose, British Empire, death, dna, e-zine, eggs, EROTIC FICTION, European empire, fiction, future, gay, genes, intrigue, investment, Julia Gillard, Kyle Sanderlands, lesbian, lifestyle, Magdalin, meant to be, Meant To Bee, murder, mystery, parliament, politics, properties, prophetic, republic, seer, sex, sex stories, spooks, spooky, Stratosphere, suburban life, tahala, Tahala Von Eissen, tahala.beep.com, TE-ZINE, terrorism, tezine, third triumvirate, twitter, Verity Smithers, war against terrorism, witch, world war three, writer, WWIII

Okay… this is spooky….  

Today I had a strange experience and considering current political events I feel I really must share it!  To some it will be boring…possibly… to others… well… you tell me!  

As those who follow my doings will know, I have been busy these past few days scrounging out and filing all my old writings from so many years ago (oh my – a decade *gulp*.  Depressed now… not really lol!)  

I just yesterday pulled out a fiction manuscript, which I have copy/pasted below (oh I love modern technology sometimes – just sometimes…!)   

The fact that I found this story was a miracle in itself (a whole other story), but the ‘weirdness’ comes in its subject matter, considering current Australian political events!  

I was checking emails this morning and as those who hold a ‘hotmail’ or ‘live’ account will know, when one logs out, it takes one to the msn news page.  Featured on the main screen was a photograph of Kyle Sanderlands with current Prime Minister, Julia Gillard and her suburban home, which she is insistent upon remaining in until after the election; along side of a query from Kyle Sanderlands asking when she will leave it.  My eyes flicked right to a single sentence story… ” ANGRY STORY… Cop Trapped By 50,000 bees…”  

My hackles tingled, just a little…  

And so my rusting cogs began to whirr into action and I thought to myself, good heavens, what if it were ‘ meant to be…’ ?  

Oh, it’s probably nothing….  

[Please bear in mind, I wrote this story ten years ago... when I first started writing... so it's not - perfect - but it's the freakiness of the essence of it which I wish to share with you... and yes, this is its original title - everything exactly as written ten years ago... ]  

‘MEANT TO BEE…’  

Magdalin was called ‘Bright-Eyes’ by her dad, ‘The Black Witch’ by her friends at school, ‘Beady’ by her brother, and ‘Black Beauty’ by her mum. Even as a new-born, she had glistening black eyes.  

‘A charmed one, this one,’ the nursemaid had said, ‘just look at them eyes!’.  

‘Evil as night,’ her Grandma had said.  

The first to hold her upon her birth, Grandma had croaked with Magdalin in her arms.  

Magdalin was supposed to be called Maeve. The name-tag had been muddled in the nursery. Her mother lay unconscious for four days after her birth, and as her Grandma was the only person present at the actual birth, no-one knew the name to be wrong until her mother woke. By then it was too late, for her father, in his usual efficient style had registered her the day following her birth. Her mother, a great believer in the twists of fate and pre-ordained everything, insisted that it was ‘meant to be’, an expression Magdalin heard a thousand times, and hated, until it became her own personal motto.  

Magdalin also hated her name. She refused to answer to it, hence everybody calling her something different. At four she insisted it be changed to Balthazort Binkpot, her favourite teddy’s name, but her request fell on deaf ears. Her father laughed for what seemed like an eternity. She stared at him through angry eyes, his hoarse chuckle grating on her ears, until he choked on a piece of meat pie crust he hadn’t swallowed yet and died. Her mother stressed and cried, but as Magdalin said many months later as she curled in her mothers arms,  

‘Aw well, mummy, it must have meant to be!’  

Magdalin started school at eight. She refused to leave the house before that time, and spent every day glued to the television and being waited on by her mother, who refused her ‘black beauty’ nothing. Even as a baby those deep eyes absorbed every little detail that flashed before them.  

Nothing escaped Magdalin.  

Magdalin was taunted daily by her brother, almost ten years her senior, who made a useful sort of playmate when she felt inclined and was nothing more than a fly to be swatted away when his company did not suit her. He was possibly the only person on the planet she felt the vaguest affection for, and despite his often mean attitude; which she recognised at a very young age as being a bad cover for his own sense of insecurity in her presence, he protected her to the hilt in any vaguely threatening situation. It was his only saving grace. He once punched her mother in the mouth because she said eating too many eggs in one week were bad for her. Eggs were Magdalin’s favourite food. She ate three a day and not much else. As a baby she wouldn’t take milk. She refused almost everything, until a mixture that was made for a motherless new-born kitten of milk, warm water and egg was muddled with her own formula mix and she drank it greedily. The nurse discovered her mistake immediately that she began administering it, but it was too late, and any move to remove the bottle from Magdalin’s mouth was met with violent repercussions.  

When finally Magdalin did start school, she insisted her mother stay away, embarrassed by her stupidity, and having no use for her services at all. She was signed up at her own insistence by her brother, under a pseudonym of her own choosing, naturally. And so ‘Verity Maeve Smithers’ was born.  

By the time she was thirteen, Verity had her own coven of little followers. Mostly they were the rejects of her year, those most easily manipulated and desperate for friendship and recognition from any source. She herself was a reject, and for the first three years of school she watched and analysed everything and everyone. She did her lessons on her own, refused to participate in group activities, and ate her lunch under a tree that became her personal territory, because after she had sat there every day for a week no-one would go near it. It was haunted, or so it was believed to be by students and staff alike.  

One day Magdalin emerged from class, famished, but not eager to eat – she was never a slave to her own body – to find Bobby Hand sitting on the octagonal slat seat that encircled her tree, greedily stuffing a cream bun into his mouth. The quadrangle went quiet as she approached him. Disturbed by the sudden silence, fear registered in Bobby’s empty blue eyes as they fell on Verity’s small frame. She paused a short pace in front of him and stared at his trembling fingers as his bun crumbled from his mouth to the ground.  

‘Mine,’ was the only word Verity uttered, and at that moment the tree cracked and sighed and a small branch fell from its boughs and struck Bobby on the head before knocking the rest of his lunch to the ground, where it slid towards verity’s feet.  

‘Meant to be…’, she whispered.  

That was the day verity really gained control of her school life. Even the teachers were terrified of her. And if her grades weren’t up to scratch, things were quietly altered to avoid ‘a situation’.  

It wasn’t until high school that things became difficult. Verity’s body flew out of control and for the first time in her life she had no control over herself. Words came out wrong. She stuttered and fumbled. Hot and cold flushes flew through her body and her temper flew through the roof. It was a frightening experience for her as she had never once been sick in her life, never suffered an allergy, nor had she ever had an accident that she didn’t heal from within a week.  

Hair grew rapidly in places Verity never imagined; she started bleeding and crying on a monthly basis and she constantly craved to be touched all over, especially when she bled.  

In her late teens she fucked one of her chums. She knew exactly what fucking was, but didn’t as yet know when her body would want it. She needed to be touched during a really painful bleed and she ordered them to do it. One thing led to another, and they fucked her, hard and rough. It made her feel better, and her pain subsided. She learned quickly that sex made her stronger.  

By the time she left school she had fucked most of the boys in her year. They were terrified of her, but when she managed to corner one in the darkened recesses of the boys toilets, her soft pink lips, full small breasts, long, heavy black hair and hypnotic black eyes were not something he could resist, and word quickly, but quietly spread..  

She had intercourse every day, sometimes two or three times a day, but never the same boy in the same month. That would be boring and pointless. She craved variety in everything and this could only be affected when desire ruled out all logic in the mind of the one being manipulated.  

Verity rapidly figured out that sex was the most effective and easiest method of gaining control over people. Boys were weak when aroused, very pliable and easily persuaded. She translated this to her teachers, having been unable to have the easy ‘bad incident’ impact on these staff members that she had managed to have in primary school.  

Her grades became exemplary, and in her last year of high school, she duxed the school.  

Upon leaving school, she discovered men were willing to pay her highly for what she had freely taken from them until now. She had found the best of both worlds, and soon stumbled upon a bar where she could maintain the ’legitimate’ occupation of a dancer whilst pursuing her escort duties. It served her well, paying her way through law school, and paving the way for a position in the office a local politician; one of her clientele. She soon discovered that her escorting served her far better than she could have imagined, for her vast list of clientele were only too happy to smooth her way through a rapidly moving political path in exchange for her ongoing discretion regarding their many lurid activities, both with her, and others. Unlike the gentlemen she was blackmailing, she had proof to back up any claims she might make in the form of videos taken by management, and stolen by her. She was in a good position that served her well. She found a nice home in an older part of town. Number nine, Riverside Avenue. It was a good size, sufficient for her needs, well-kept, and private. She kept to herself there, and for the most part she was not bothered by her neighbours; one pesky neighbour, a red-headed twit of a girl who let her garden grow wild and had a particular attachment to roses, was sometimes a vague annoyance. She didn’t mind the girl herself, she was empty flotsam to Magdalin; albeit eye-candy flotsam… with nice legs… dancers legs… she reminded her of a girl she worked with once; a red-headed bitch whose sexual prowess rivalled only her own. She was a good memory. This girl’s yard, however, was full of bees and the drone drove Magdalin wild. She was allergic to bees and had to have her garden sprayed constantly to be rid of them. But Magdalin had more important things to turn her mind to. She concerned herself only with her political ambitions. Targets which she ever aimed to fulfil at all cost.  

Within three months of her new position, she had purchased the house. It was not that she had grown attached to it, but rather, the landlady had died shortly after an argument with her about a rent increase and her entire estate was quickly put on the market by her greedy heirs. Verity decided it suited her better at that point to begin her own investment portfolio, rather than suffer an upheaval right in the middle of a major career move. She made them an offer they would never refuse and within the week it was hers, but for a few pieces of officialdom which she left in hands of her barrister. She invested, at the same time, in a property two doors down, number five, which was going cheaply for a quick sale.  

Verity fucked her way into gaining enough financial and political support to become a local member of parliament. Shortly following this there was a mishap on the parliament steps, and a state mp slipped and broke his neck. Verity made an easy slide into state politics at a time which was most convenient for all parties involved. Finally, within eight months, she had gained a national seat, with a folio of her own – international diplomatic relations came easy to her.  

Upon her initiation into national parliament, a move to the capital city and base of all her operations, was, naturally, a pre-requisite for the ensured smooth running of all her affairs. But she kept her ‘house in the country’, as she now thought of it. Her nest egg; her starter to a portfolio which now consisted of 33 properties. Unbeknownst to her previous employers, the local council, she now owned two-thirds of it’s city centre buildings. With the flick of a pen she could flip the town on its arse.  

Verity’s little ’country house’ became her refuge, a grounding place for her, when the stresses of city living and international affairs began to overwhelm her, and she returned there often, alone, discreetly, pulling her car into the lock-up garage and entering her house through the internal door. There she was a regular citizen; she could relax and escape from the new world she had created for herself. A world she craved and loved and flourished in. No-one, absolutely no-one knew she had bought, let alone still inhabited her ‘little house‘, except possibly her immediate neighbours who knew only that someone was there, some of the time. Indeed, no-one knew about any of Verity’s private, personal life or her investments. She had made certain of that, using off shore accounts and her original, birth name to purchase each and every property. And when she travelled off shore, privately, she travelled as Magdalin. She was two people now. Corporate Verity; the public face, the political personage, member for foreign affairs and a manipulative bitch; and Mysterious Magdalin; private millionaire in the making. She had grown to like it that way.  

The world of politics grew more hectic. Magdalin stood for parliament, and would soon stand for Prime Minister-ship, with the view to Presidency of the Australasian Territories.  

Magdalin, her compatriots and all who supported them, set in place proceedings towards World War Three under the guise of War Against Terrorism. To this point, all had gone exactly to plan; in fact it had moved more rapidly and expanded more efficiently than had been anticipated. World-wide terror and knee-jerk reactions had occurred in all corners of the world. The people were screaming for more protection and better security. Now there were satellite cameras on almost every street corner, installed in almost every building, and these were ever-increasing daily. Unbeknownst to most, they were being installed into every new construction, private, corporate, or otherwise. The public services had been renamed the public forces, and now had the freedom to fully ‘protect’ the public, from anyone, anywhere, for any reason, without explanation or consequence to themselves. Blood tests, once able to be refused by the public, were now a requirement in any confrontational circumstance, able to be performed by any officer of the law. For terrorism. The files were building, the records accruing. Retina scans and DNA samples would soon be a requirement for every passport or license. Blood tests would soon be a requirement for every marriage across the world; not just in the USOAA, and not just new marriages. All past registered couples who were still married would also have to be tested under law. What quicker, more efficient way could there be to catalogue those who had slipped under the political radar so far. DNA was soon to be registered and stored at every birth, and slowly the files were building, the records of every human being on the planet accruing. Microchip identity would soon no longer be a science fiction concept. Soon every person on the planet would be visible, traceable, controllable. All courtesy of the first, simple step. A terrorist attack on a predominantly Caucasian community, and the subsequent ‘war against terrorism‘ that now followed. No-one felt safe. And a frightened people, was a weak people. Vulnerable. Controllable. The ultimate big brother was now building itself. It was self perpetuating, and so sweet to watch. The triumvirate’s ultimate objective, and Magdalin’s sole desire; Divide, control and conquer the earth; something so many before her had failed miserably at. But she was better than them. Even Hitler, her only idol, had a weakness; his love of the finer things, all the things he was not – art, women, beautiful people. But Magdalin had no weaknesses. Magdalin felt for no-one and failed at nothing. Whatever the cost.  

All was going well; precisely to plan, and when the second onslaught of ‘terrorist’ attacks commenced, Magdalin decided to take a little rest prior to the upcoming election and enjoy the splendour of it all from afar. On public record, she was overseas at the time of the attack, and had now been moved to ‘safety’. Her people, her national electorate, would soon be needing her, begging her for help and escape from the useless protections of the current government. She was assured of an election victory. She would need to be well rested and in her best form for her public. She retreated quietly as Magdalin to the privacy of her home in the quiet little avenue for the weekend. Whilst there, reclining on her back patio, smiling as she watched the chaos unfold at pre-organized heightened levels, she heard the soft tones of her red-head neighbour at her fence. She was singing, and from the snip-snip sounds Magdalin heard, she knew she must once again be tending her roses. Magdalin raised herself a little in order to see the girl, but found she could only see the bobbing of her head over the rose bushes. She stood, and saw that the girl was wearing a bikini and thin cotton sash tied about her waist. She was strong and lithe. Magdalin’s tongue rolled unconsciously over her dry lips. She had not had sex in over a week and the sight of the girl made her loins burn. As though sensing her, the girl raised her face to look upon her, and seeing Magdalin’s eyes fixed on her, smiled.  

‘Afternoon!’ she called.  

Magdalin flushed, glanced away, then looked upon her once more. She did not smile, but said a simple, ‘Hello.’ There were siren sounds on the national news, but she ignored them.  

‘Here, would you like some? They are truly beautiful aren’t they! I have been trying to grow them for years and they have just now come into flower!’ The girl raised a bulging bouquet in the air.  

‘They’re very rare! They’re a black rose…’ The girl pulled one from the bunch and raised it towards her over the bushes. ‘You must smell it, you really must – it’s gorgeous!’  

Magdalin peered a little closer. It was indeed black, but she did not care for roses. The girl raised it once more to her own nose, inhaling deeply as she closed her eyes, and then she did the simplest, yet most erotic thing… she lowered it to her mouth and opening her lips, caressed the petals gently over them.  

‘So soft…’ her voice was a little quieter now. ‘Like velvet…’  

Magdalin could not resist her. She stepped down from the patio and moved towards the hedge of roses. The girls eyes opened slowly, and she smiled coyly as Magdalin neared her. Green eyes.  

‘Beautiful, yes…?’ the girl whispered as she stretched her hand over the rose bush towards Magdalin. Magdalin reached for the black velvet rose, and as she raised it to her nose to inhale its scent, she disturbed a bee from between it’s petals and it circled out and stung her .  

Magdalin’s death was a shock to the nation, and even more so to her two compatriot; her sisters; and when her private life, and all she had built, suddenly became very public, so too was the triumvirate and their aims and operations exposed. It was a media frenzy; a horror to all; a mess that seemed could never be undone. But not to the British Empirical Forces, who had stood their ground against assimilation into the European Empire, and had watched from a distance, all that had been unfolding.  

They had followed Magdalin and her two compatriots and all of their movements for an entire lifetime. For they, and only they knew that they were the triplet grand-daughters of Adolf Hitler; himself born of another world, a fact which had to be held from the human race, whatever the cost.  

Three women across the planet had been inseminated simultaneously, artificially with his frozen sperm, each specifically selected for the task due to a weakness in their genes; a necessity for the assimilation of the species foetus; and for their own flailing ambition, which would make them easily manipulated as the child species grew. Verity’s two compatriots, her species’ sisters, each her spitting image were born at precisely the same second in three different global regions of the earth.  

Verity planned to take control. Complete control of the Australasian Territories. It was her destiny; a desire she craved following a passionate and in depth discussion about such with one of her more senior parliamentary clients, who supported and advised her still. The Australasian Territories would become a Republic within the year. She had planned it for a long time, with the dark support of those political factions who desired a presidency in her country and saw the potential for her rapid rise. In conjunction with this major support base she had developed she had the support and drive of her two political compatriot siblings. The trio were spokes of a single wheel, despite the oceans that separated them. One was based and born in Europe, and was now President of The European Empire, and one in America, had just been elected the first female President of the USOAA – The Unified States Of The American – Arabic Empire. Their birth dates were precisely the same, their star charts, parallel, their birth cycle calculated to the precise minute of insemination to ensure the maximum planetary advantage of speedy rise to power. All three knew, that when they were to join forces and pool their resources, they could not possibly fail. They would be unstoppable. They knew, as soon as they had their first meeting, that they would become a living prediction – THE world triumvirate. Nostradamus; one of their own who rebelled in opposition on their home planet and undertook a solo voyage quietly to earth under the guise of human form to forewarn and forearm planet earth of what was to come and to prepare. He arrived far too early and his warnings were not heeded, or so it was thought.  

The British Empirical forces, however, had not yet yielded to the threats of the European Empire’s assimilation strategies and so were in themselves the only nation which had not yet fallen under the control of the Stratosphere Of United Planets; forefathers and the dictatorial force behind the three sisters and those who supported them.  

The Stratosphere Of United Planets had set in place proceedings towards World War Three on planet earth under the guise of a War Against Terrorism; their ultimate objective the same as that of their triplet minions; to divide, control and subsequently conquer Earth; one more planet locked neatly beneath the Stratosphere Of United Planet’s belt.  

The British Empirical forces had put their best assassin on Verity Maeve Smithers. Such a dimwit to all. So confused. Such an avid gardener and lover of bees. Trip. Tripolesca Tipping. Her back-up; Martin Boule, struggling private eye. Hitter for the British Empire.  

Magdalin had only one weakness; an allergy inherent in her species, caused by the absence of the very gene which made the initial impregnation of the species possible. The humble bumble, salvation of a nation!  

Ends,  3,800 words  

Tell me dear readers, what do you think???!  Weird or what!  Additional comments appreciated lol!  

All content (c.) Tahala 2010.