“It’s tiiiiime!” My mom sings from the hive entrance. “Your very first adventure day!”

I roll all five of my eyes, then close them, and tuck my wings tighter against my back.

“No, thank you.” I mumble. And curl deeper into the warm waxy nook of my sleep spot.

“Oh come on!” Mom buzzes. “YOU’LL love it out there!”

Only one eye rolls this time, as I groan into the wall.  “Don’t you want to explore? Don’t you want to land on giant flowers, and pollinate?”

If bees had blankets, I’d have pulled mine tighter over my bee antenna.

“I can’t go,” I cough dramatically. “I’m sick.” Cough. Cough.

Mom doesn’t even blink.

“Abeilla Lee Buzzerton,” she says slowly, “you are going!”

“I can’t go out there, there’s pollen.” I make the saddest bee face in the history of bees.

Mom sighs so hard her wings flutter, “that’s kind of, the POINT.  Are you afraid to go?”

“It’s, sticky,” I argue, “and smelly, and yellow! Yuck!! Who likes yellow? So last season’s color.”

My mom makes a face I’ve never seen before.

“You have yellow stripes.”

I glance down at my fuzzy little body.

“…That’s different.”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” she says.

“I’m not afraid,” I say way too fast.

Mom raises an eyebrow.

“…I just don’t want flower dust all over me.”

“Mhmm”

Nudge.

“Mom!!”

Nudge. Nudge. Nudge.

Suddenly, I’m way too close to the hive entrance.  Wind from hundreds of buzzing wings rushes past my face, and tickles my antennae.

Bright sun spills inside, and I have to close my eyes.

I squeeze my eyes shut tight.

I. Am. Not. Going.

Inside the hive is warm and safe and smells like honey and home.

Out there, it’s too bright, too big, too… everything.

What if I have to use my stinger?!

“Not that I’m scared or anything,” I say mostly to myself.

The floor beneath me suddenly disappears and instinct takes over. My wings burst open.

“MOOOOM!!!”

“You’ll be fine, dear!” Mom calls. “Find some pollen, spread it around, get messy, have fun, then come home.”

Easy for her to say. SHE likes pollen.

A gush of wind scoops me up before I can complain again, and suddenly everything rushes at me all at once.

Blues, yellows, and greens.

The flowers are ginormous, even bigger than I thought.  Monster flowers.

Yellow pollen floats through the air in giant dusty clouds, sticking to my fuzz and tickling my nose.

Bleh.

I twist midair, trying to shake it off, but I’m too busy panicking to pay attention to where I’m flying and…

BONK.

I slam wing-first into a giant blue bloom.

“Ow!”

My left wing bends and suddenly I start dipping sideways.

The ground tilts beneath me while my stomach flips.

Nope. Nope nope nope.

I can’t do this.

I wobble onto a smaller flower and grip the petals with all six legs while my wing buzzes crookedly behind me.

I was right. Too much pollen.

The buzz of wings hums above me. Other bees zip through the flowers overhead, but nobody else looks miserable.

Actually…

They look like they’re having fun.

One bee disappears completely into a flower and comes back out covered head to toe in yellow dust.

Another flips upside down in the air for no reason at all.

They bounce from bloom to bloom laughing while clouds of pollen burst around them.

I glance down at the yellow powder stuck to my legs.

Then back at them, and then at the flower beneath me.

My wing gives a tiny test buzz.

Maybe…

A breeze nudges me forward and I drift onto another bloom.

The flower bends softly beneath my feet. It smells sweet, almost like warm sugar.

I lean down and take one tiny sip from the center.

Oh.

Okay.

That’s actually kind of delicious.

Pollen dusts across my fuzzy little legs as I wiggle deeper into the flower. Some of it rubs onto the bloom beneath me.

I mean…

I still hate pollen.

Probably.

Aled set the large tome onto the table with a thump. Dust puffed upward and he coughed. And then sneezed. And then sneezed again.

“Blegh. Why do wizards keep their libraries so dusty?” He grumbled as he opened the thick leather cover of the old book. The pages rustled faintly, as if happy to finally have some air. “I’m sure someone’s thought up a dust removal spell by now!”

He furrowed his brows and thumbed through the pages, peering at the ancient words scrawled within. “Can’t be bothered to just make a spell for clearer handwriting, either.”

At last he found what he was looking for and pulled his notebook close to copy the entry down. Then he closed the book, hefted it up with a grunt, and jammed it back into the shelf groaning with many such tomes.

“Did you find it?” His friend, Cledwyn, asked as Aled stepped into the hall and eased the library door shut behind him.

“Yeah. Did anybody come by?”

“Nah,” yawned Cledwyn. “It’s the middle of the night, who’s gonna be up?”

The pair of slender youths crept along the hallway in the dark, trying haphazardly to be stealthy in the wizard’s large, silent house. After a small eternity of sneaking, tiptoeing, and skulking, the boys at last returned to the safety of Aled’s room.

“Okay, It looks pretty easy, and I already have everything.” Aled nodded to a box he had kept hidden under his bed. It contained all the most likely ingredients he could think to collect earlier that evening in preparation for this moment.

The other boy curiously flipped the lid open and then wrinkled his nose a little nervously at the odors that drifted out. “What’s in here?”

His friend smirked. “You don’t want to know.” He opened his notebook and began pulling a few small jars and paper sachets out of the box, piling them on top of his desk. One of the jars nearly rolled off the desktop before Cledwyn caught it.

He set it gingerly next to the pile. “This stuff isn’t gonna poison me, is it?”

“Nah, this isn’t a poison spell, so you’re good.”

“You sure you can do this, Al?”

“Yeah. I’ve been training with the high wizard for a year, I’m not a rookie.”

And with that flawless reassurance, Aled began the process of grinding and mashing ingredients, chanting a few spell words, and then pouring the concoction into a drinking glass and adding some water.

Cledwyn fidgeted more and more as the time passed. He stared at the glass, watching as Aled stirred the contents with a silver stirring stick until it looked like murky swamp water.

“It’s ready.”

Cledwyn took a shaky breath. “I don’t think I need it after all.”

His friend looked at him askance. “Oh, don’t you now, Mr ‘I-can’t-give-a-speech-at-the banquet-tomorrow-what-was-my-dad-thinking?’”

Cledwyn paled, grabbed the glass, and took a tentative sip. “It tastes like warm black licorice. Gross.”

“Honestly, it could taste worse. Do you know what Wort’s Tongue tastes like?”

“No, obviously. I’m not a wizard’s apprentice.”

“Okay, drink it up. We’ve got to squeeze in some sleep tonight.” Aled yawned as he put the jars back into the box and shoved the box back under the bed with his foot.

Cledwyn choked down the last of the drink–it seemed to have developed the additional flavor of an old sock at this point–and thunked the glass down onto the desk. He yawned and scrubbed at his face with his hands. “When will it kick in?”

“Should be a few minutes. C’mon, let’s get to bed.”

The morning sunlight crept through the curtains much too soon for the boys. Aled pulled his coverlet over his eyes, and Cledwyn groaned and squirmed in bed before sitting up with a pinched expression on his face.

“The bears brewed tea this morning.” He said.

Aled pulled the coverlet down a little and squinted at the other boy. “What?”

“I can’t go out there, there’s pollen.”

“What? Quit talking nonsense.”

Cledwyn’s eyes slowly grew wide, and he jabbed an accusing finger in the direction of the empty glass sitting on the desk. “Bees jabber pointlessly!”

Aled looked at the glass, then looked at the wide-eyed boy across from him, and understanding finally dawned. He sat up and tossed the coverlet aside. “The spell? It didn’t work right!” Grabbing the notebook, he looked over his writing crossly. He couldn’t see anything wrong with it. The Confident Speech spell was pretty basic stuff. He had followed it exactly, hadn’t he?

“Now the honey’s stewing, and we’re brumbles!” Cledwyn cried, rubbing his hands roughly through his thick hair.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.” Aled grumbled as he tossed the notebook aside in frustration and stood. “C’mon, we’re going to have to head back to the library again.”

Just then a sharp rap came from the bedroom door and the shrill voice of Mrs. Winstle– the wizard’s maid–called, “boys, it’s time for breakfast! Don’t keep the good wizard waiting!”

Both boys looked at the other in horror. Aled cleared his throat and responded to Mrs. Winstle with a terse affirmation that they’d be right down after they’d dressed. There was an impatient huff and the thud of her retreating footsteps from beyond the door.

Aled turned to his friend and whispered, “think you can stay quiet through breakfast?”

I'm Frank Pepitone, with SAD, which stands for Superhero Accountability Department. It also stands for our motto, "Stand And Deliver." Which isn't actually our motto, but it should be.
I walked into one of the tiny offices from the lobby, closing the door behind me. A young lady with shoulder length blond frizz turned in the chair facing the desk. Wide eyes looked me over head to toe.
A clipboard with the initiation form sat on the desk.
"Are you Mr. Peppy tone?"
"Pepe-Tony," I corrected. "And you are?" I sat on the edge of the desk and picked up the clipboard.
"Angela Raft."
Her form was pretty standard. Name matched what she said. My truth sense confirmed that. Home address and phone number looked alright, though I'd have to have somebody check it later. Handwriting was a neat print with small, unnecessary serifs. Superpower had only one word written under it: "Plants."
Vague. But superpowers are extremely hard to pin down in the two lines they give you on the form.
"So. You think you're a hero, huh?"
She shook her head, fiddling with the hem of her shirt.
I waited a moment for more. She didn't say anything, so I filled the silence. "Looking for more of a side-kick gig then?"
She shrugged, then shook her head again. "I don't know. I just want to help."
The truth again, but that didn't have to mean much. Help who, and to what end?
Joy is always telling me to trust people more. But in my experience, that just gives people a chance to pull a fast one on you. All things considered, Angela didn't seem to pose much of a threat.
I'd have to keep an extra careful eye on her.
I stood and tossed the clipboard on the desk. "Walk with me." I headed into the spacious lobby. I wanted to see this "plants" superpower in action, and I guessed the best place for that would be the garden. Her tennis shoes squeaked on the waxed floor behind me. I launched into the "Power and Responsibility" speech as I led her across the room to the huge glass wall around back. Green sunlight filtered through the large garden out there.
I paused the speech to open the door for her. She stood frozen in place, staring into the manicured greenery beyond.
"What's the matter? Never seen a garden before?"
"I- I can't go out there."
Truth. This might pose a problem. "What do you mean you can't go out there? We're just going to have a little go-round with your superpowers. You got something against that?"
"There's... pollen..." She tugged at the hem of her shirt again.
I folded my arms, letting the door close. Even though I was tempted to leave it open, just to see how much it would bother her. "You mean to tell me that your superpower is 'plants,'" I made air quotes around the word, "and you suffer from seasonal allergies?"
I'd seen some ironic superpowers, but this might take the cake.
In response, she sneezed. Tiny flowers and leaves exploded from her out of nowhere, and floated around her like confetti. She sneezed again. Another burst of tiny flora.
She sneezed again. You get the picture. She pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and quickly dabbed at her red-rimmed, watery eyes. "I'm sorry."
I nodded. "I see."
She blew her nose rather daintily into her kerchief. I half expected more flowers to appear, but none did.
"Do you know any more?" I asked.
She nodded, stuffing her handkerchief back into her pocket. "I'm not very good at controlling it."
"I gathered as much." I walked back toward the front desk, waving for her to follow. "Come on. Let's get you a hero to side-kick for."

Stella was annoyed. She was sitting in her best friends living-room listening to the useless conversation of boys and girls her age. Why had Hattie invited her?

     As the chatter droned on, Stella got more irritated. It was all so silly! Who cared if Jane wasn’t  invited to Hazels party or that Jack was going out with Emily. Didn’t they know there was more to this world? A world war was going on! Stella thought of when she said goodbye to her bother, Rob. Hattie had stood next to her and at the last second Rob gave a quick kiss to her. It’d shocked Stella, but not Hattie. And now she was acting as if Rob wasn’t in danger almost every second. Stella was disgusted.

    “Jane, did you convince your mother to buy that dress?” A girl called Ellen asked.

    “No! She said it was unthinkable at a time like this,” Jane cried. “What does she mean by that? Now’s as good a time as any.”

    “Ellen, you will die when you here this. Jane told me that Harry Sanders told her that he’d rather go out with you than anyone else.” All the girls squealed while the boys just laughed.

    “You think he’s gonna do it now? Harry never does anything that people want him to.” This from a boy called Howard. “For all we know he could up and ask Stella.”

     “Ha!” Cried Alec Richardson who lived across Stella’s street. “I will personally pay anyone to go out with Stella Anderson.”

     “How much!” The boys cried. Stella had had enough.

     “I beg your pardon,” she said rising. “but I wouldn’t go out with any of you if I was paid , so you can just forget it.”

     “Ouch,” Alec said.

     “You tell them Stella,” Hattie cheered. “We wouldn’t do it either.” The other girls agreed.        

     Just then the door opened and Jack Harrison walked in with the before said Emily on his arm.

     “Great,” She thought. Jack was snobbish and lazy, but everyone loved him…except Stella. 

     “Hi, gang,” He said, sauntering up. “Did you miss me?”

     “For shame, Jack,” Emily cried. “I can’t think what makes you act so.”

     “Because he knows we’ll let him,” Jane said. “Sooo…I heard you two are together?”

     Emily smiled. “We are.” Jane squealed.

     “I’m so happy,” she burst out. “You two were meant for each other.”

     “Say,” shouted Howard. “Lets celebrate with a picnic down by the lake. Hattie, can’t you and the girls scrounge up some food while us men set up a spot?”

     “I’m sure we could!” She cried. “Oh, this will be so much fun.”

     Jack cleared his throat. “I can’t go out there,” he said haughtily. “There’s pollen. I’ll die if I smell pollen.” Emily punched him in the shoulder, but Stella didn’t see.

     “Really?” She spoke sarcastically. “But there’s pollen everywhere, not just at the lake. How is it you’ve lived so long? I’m sure we’d love to know.”

     “And,” Jack looked seriously at Stella. “I’m sure I’d love to tell you, but sadly can’t. All of us Harrisons are deadly allergic to pollen, but we have a secret remedy that protects us. And before you ask, it’s only pollen by lakes that gets past the barrier our medicine creates.”

     Everyone started laughing. 

     “Jack, if I ever need to tell a lie, I’ll call you,” Alec said.

     “What a joke!” Ellen cried. “How can you be so serious?" 

     “You goose,” Emily said. “Remind me why I like you again?”

     “Because I’m simply irresistible,” Jack responded, taking her hand.

     Meanwhile Stella was quiet. She needed someplace to think. This room, these people, were all crowding into her thoughts and she needed space.

    “Excuse me,” she said. “But I need to go. I have to finish two more pairs of socks for my volunteer work.” She said goodbye among a chorus of lamentations she knew had to be fake. Nobody ever wanted her company very long. 

     She slipped out the door and began walking but turned off the road and into a small grove of tree. She didn’t know how much time passed, but presently noticed someone coming towards her. As the person came into view, Stella relaxed. It was Hattie.

     “I thought you were going on a picnic.”

     “We are,” Hattie said, sitting beside her. “But they’re still getting it ready. I thought I’d see what was bothering you. I knew you’d come here.”

     Stella did’t move. Should she tell Hattie her thoughts? Would she laugh at her and say she was foolish? She decided to take the chance. 

     “Well,” she said. “To tell the truth, Hattie, I’ve been wondering how you can invite people over, talk, laugh, and pretend as if nothing was going on. The world is at war. Do you just not care? I mean, that conversation was driving me nuts. Do none of you realize how serious this is? Rob could die, Hattie. 

     “Stella Marie Anderson. I’m surprised at you.” Hattie was very quiet. “Don’t you realize that we’re just as concerned as you? Were shaking with fear, Stella. We know there’s a war going on, I know Robs’ over there. But we choose to fight it differently.”

     “I don’t see how.”

     “When we laugh and talk needlessly we’re saying we won’t be beaten by fear. We’ll work, we’ll volunteer, but we’ll still find time to laugh. It’s important, Stella. I see what you’re doing, putting all your energy into volunteering at the red cross or knitting socks. But there must be life in this world. We have to live after it’s over. So laugh, talk, smile.”

     Stella did’t know what to say. Her eyes had been opened. She saw how true Hatties’ words were and it stunned her.

     “Well,” she said. “We’d better get back if we want to go on this picnic. Wouldn’t want to miss out on any of Jacks theatrics.”

     Hattie took the hand she offered. “I’m sure it’ll make us laugh till we cry.”

     Stella smiled. “Yes.”   

Dear Local Pollen Population,

I hope this letter finds you uncomfortable.

Because I would like you to know that I am onto you.

For years, humanity has been lied to.

“Oh, spring is beautiful.”
“The flowers are blooming.”
“Go outside and enjoy the fresh air.”

Fresh air??

There is no fresh air.

There is only pollen.

A thick yellow atmospheric soup of suffering and betrayal floating through the neighborhood like nature itself has decided I need to be humbled.

And frankly, I am tired of pretending this is normal.

“I can’t go out there, there’s pollen.”

That sentence alone should explain everything.

But apparently, people without allergies hear that and think I’m being dramatic.

Dramatic??

I sneezed so hard yesterday I temporarily lost depth perception.

I opened my front door for FOUR SECONDS and immediately felt my sinuses activate like a cursed ancient artifact.

One moment, I was peaceful.

The next—

ACHOO.
ACHOO.
ACHOO.
ACHOO.

At one point, I sneezed so violently that my soul buffering wheel appeared.

I had to sit down and rejoin my body manually.

And meanwhile, the trees just stand there swaying smugly in the breeze like innocent little oxygen factories.

Oh no.

I know what you are.

You are giant wooden pollen cannons.

You sit there all day launching microscopic suffering confetti directly into the atmosphere with reckless abandon while birds chirp in the background, trying to distract us from the crimes taking place.

Not today.

I see through the propaganda.

Because explain this to me:

How does pollen ALWAYS know when the front door opens?

I crack the door one inch, and suddenly the entire outside atmosphere breaches my home like:

“MUAHAHAHAHA. SHE HAS EXPOSED THE ENTRY POINT.”

Then they flood inside.

On my clothes.
On my shoes.
In my hair.

I swear I felt one hitchhike on my soul yesterday.

And the audacity of the amount of pollen outside right now is absolutely diabolical.

My car is yellow.

My porch is yellow.

The driveway is yellow.

At this point, I fully expect the trees to start rubbing their little branches together, whispering:

“MUAHAHAHAHA. Soon, the entire subdivision shall sneeze.”

And let us discuss the sneezing itself.

One sneeze?
Reasonable.

Two sneezes?
Understandable.

Seven consecutive sneezes?
That is a factory reset.

At that point, my body is no longer functioning under standard operating procedures.

Yesterday I sneezed so hard I accidentally scared myself.

Then immediately sneezed again from the stress of the first sneeze.

This is psychological warfare.

Now listen carefully, pollen.

I have tried diplomacy.

I have tried allergy medicine.

I have tried staying indoors.

But every day your yellow little army grows bolder.

And therefore…

I, too, shall evolve.

You thought I was weak because I carry tissues.

Foolish.

Those are merely phase one supplies.

Do you know what I researched last night?

Industrial air filtration systems.

Hazmat-grade masks.

Commercial leaf blowers.

I stood in my kitchen at 2 a.m., holding antihistamines like a comic book villain holding infinity stones, and whispered:

“No more.”

Then I looked out the window at the trees and narrowed my swollen little allergy eyes.

“MUAHAHAHAHA… prepare yourselves.”

I briefly considered constructing a giant glass dome over my property like some sort of emotionally unstable billionaire.

Then I escalated further.

I saw a flamethrower online.

Now, legally and spiritually, I understand I should not own a flamethrower.

However.

Would I like the pollen to THINK I own one?

Absolutely.

Imagine it.

The trees release another toxic yellow cloud into the air.

Suddenly—

I emerge from the garage wearing swim goggles, a bathrobe, rubber gloves, and the expression of a woman who has sneezed her last sneeze.

Behind me?

Dramatic orchestral music.

In my hands?

A leaf blower in one hand.
A completely unnecessary flamethrower in the other.

“MUAHAHAHAHA,” I whisper into the wind.
“The reign of terror ends today.”

Would it help scientifically?

No.

Would it emotionally heal me?

Also no.

But would the pollen finally understand that I am willing to become unstable?

Yes.

Yes, it would.

Now God, respectfully, I know pollen serves an important purpose in creation.

The bees need it.
The flowers need it.
Nature depends on it.

Wonderful.

Love that journey for everyone involved.

But I personally would appreciate being able to walk to my mailbox without sounding like a haunted accordion.

At this point, this is no longer allergy season.

This is a seasonal hostage situation orchestrated by trees with absolutely no regard for human respiratory systems.

So hear me now, pollen.

This is your final warning.

Stay on the plants.
Stay out of my lungs.
Stay away from my front door.

Because I am one violent sneeze away from building a weatherproof anti-pollen battle suit and becoming the masked vigilante this neighborhood deserves.

MUAHAHAHAHA.

Congested but dangerous,

The Human