“It was early Spring when we died,” I began, my voice sad. “we didn’t know it yet, but the world was ending that day, and we were just caught in the cracks.”
It was that time of year again, spring, and this year Pat was determined to cut down the apple tree that seemed to attract bees every year that gave him bad dreams. A few minutes with a reciprocating saw, a loud crack and a quick rustle as the branches fell to the ground was followed by the sound from Pats nightmares: thousands of bees bursting from their now grounded nest, attacking Pat in their rage and killing him within minutes.
Spring came. Only then did she remember that there was a season apart from winter.