{"id":624,"date":"2026-03-29T16:19:29","date_gmt":"2026-03-29T16:19:29","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/tnf.ola.mybluehost.me\/rw\/2026-spring\/?page_id=624"},"modified":"2026-04-25T23:42:21","modified_gmt":"2026-04-25T23:42:21","slug":"when-the-bees-fell-quiet","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/societyforritualarts.com\/rw\/2026-spring\/when-the-bees-fell-quiet\/","title":{"rendered":"When the Bees Fell Quiet"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<style>\nbody {\n  background-color: #b6b8b8;\n}\n.container {\n  background-image: url(\"\/rw\/2026-spring\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/04\/background_bees.jpg\");\n}\n.authorBio {\n  background: linear-gradient(90deg, #000000, #3533cd);\n  color: white;\n  padding: 32px;\n}\n\t.authorBio a {\n\t  color: white;\n\t}\n\th1, h2 {\n\t\ttext-align: center;\n\t}\np {\n  font-size: 18px;\n  line-height: 1.75;\n}\n\t.imgOne {\n    max-height: 160px !important;\n\t\tposition: relative;\n\t\tz-index: 2;\n\t}\n\t.imgTwo {\n\t\tmargin-left: -110px !important;\n\t\tmax-width: 160px !important;\n\t\tposition: relative;\n\t\tz-index: 1;\n\t}\n  .titleImg {\n\t\tfloat: right;\n\t\tmargin: 0 0 32px 32px;\n  }\n  @media (max-width: 640px) {\n    .titleImg {\n\t\t\taspect-ratio: auto;\n\t\t\tmargin: 32px auto;\n\t\t\tmax-width: 100%;\n    }\n  }\n<\/style>\n<div class=\"container\">\n\t<div class=\"content\">\n    <section class=\"backNext\">\n      <h4><a href=\"https:\/\/societyforritualarts.com\/coreopsis\/\">Back to Journals<br> Home<\/a><\/h4>\n      <h4><a href=\"\/rw\/2026-spring\/the-fathoming\/\">Next Wonderous<br> Story<\/a><\/h4>\n    <\/section>\n    <h4 class=\"purple\">Fiction<\/h4>\n    <main class=\"text\">\n    \t<img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" class=\"titleImg\" src=\"\/rw\/2026-spring\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/Matthews_Bees.jpg\"\/>\n\t\t\t<h1>When the Bees Fell Quiet<\/h1>\n\t\t\t<h2>By R. F. Daniels<\/h2>\n\t\t\t<h2>Illustrated by Sue Matthews<\/h2>\n\t\t\t<p>The first thing I noticed wasn\u2019t the darkness, but the quiet.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>I don\u2019t know what possessed me to even go outside during the sundark that first time; everyone knows it\u2019s dangerous to go outdoors in general, and the wallscreens had been fearsomely red the days leading up to it with warnings to stay inside. None of my roommates had wanted to go with me. Arlie told me I was going to bring bad luck down on our creche, that it was problemsome to ignore the wallscreens especially when Venus was in the second house. Then Mieke told her that she didn\u2019t even know where Venus was since nobody could see beyond the cloud belt anymore, Arlie started crying, and when everyone was trying to comfort her, I just grabbed my badge and slipped out the door.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>It wasn\u2019t any darker than a bad storm day at first, though the cloud belt was more deep orange than green. But it was quiet. And not just because everyone else was following orders and staying inside, although they were. There was something else. It took me until the end of the sundark, when I saw the stirrings out of the corners of my eyes and heard the familiar buzz and thrum settle back into its usual backdrop, to realize what had happened. Watching a bee wake up from a nap wasn\u2019t something I\u2019d ever even imagined I would see in my life, all clumsy and jerky as if it was drunk on ash-dark pollen. I hadn\u2019t known bees could sleep until that day.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Who would have thought that a sundark could teach me something?<\/p>\n\t\t\t<br>\n\t\t\t<p>The second thing I noticed wasn\u2019t the darkness either, but her.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>After my discovery at the end of that first sundark I was curious. Well, not the first ever by any means\u2014the priests told us that such events were much more frequent now than they used to be as punishment for what Ondatra had done to the moon\u2014but the first I saw with my own eyes. I wanted to see if it would happen again, that unnatural quiet. And when my going out the last time hadn\u2019t met with any consequence besides Arlie trying to give me extra tarot readings for a week, I set an alert on my tab to tell me about the next occurrence.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>A couple months later, when I slipped out onto the silent street and darted between the rusted car frames out to the median, she was there too. Almost as if she was waiting for me. We spoke in whispers and fragments; neither of us could believe at first that the other wouldn\u2019t turn them in to the priests for problemsome behavior, but our eyes kept meeting over the dented barrels full of wilted purple flowerblooms, and something told me that she was safe.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>At first glance, I wouldn\u2019t have been able to pick her out of a crowd: she wore the month\u2019s correct clothes, the third-most on-trend makeup look. But the more I watched her, the more I saw the little differences, the faded streaks in her hair too vibrant to be natural, the odd pattern to the scarf she wore that almost looked like it was watching me, the knowing glint in her eyes when she smiled at me.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>I almost spent more time watching her than I did the bees.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<br>\n\t\t\t<p>The third sundark she told me her name.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>I won\u2019t repeat it here; some selfish part of me wants to keep her all to myself, our familiarity a secret for just the two of us, one little place where our story can remain ours instead of being disseminated for the whole world to consume. We deserve that, I think, after what happened to us in the end.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>But she told me her name and I told her mine and we tried them out, tasted them on our lips in whispered voices; speaking them aloud felt like too much against the backdrop of silent bees. She told me she lived just across the street, that she had seen me from her window when I had come outside the first time, that she had watched me instead of the wallscreens like the rest of her creche. I knew even then that I wanted to kiss her, to taste her mouth the way I had tasted her name, but the priests forbade people from choosing their own partners; we both knew it would never be allowed.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>When the bees started to stir, she linked her pinky finger around mine, just for a second, before she slipped away back to the safety of the indoors. My whole hand felt like it was buzzing the rest of the day, and I never wanted it to stop.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<br>\n\t\t\t<p>I was so certain, that day and the next and the next and so many days after, that they knew what I\u2014what we\u2014had done. Mieke got taken away that afternoon, not three hours after the sundark had passed. The walls had heard him talking about another man, using problemsome words that hadn\u2019t been allowed for decades, and while I wasn\u2019t surprised to get confirmation of his proclivities, I was surprised he had gotten caught. Those of us who liked differently had long since found ways to weave our words into secrets, to avoid triggering the listeners that would flag our creche for special attention from the priests. <\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>We were all in the kitchen when they came to take him. Arlie refused to meet his eyes as the silencing cuffs locked around his wrists; later she told everyone who would listen that it served him right for talking about someone whose moon sign was so incompatible with his own. If I had been braver, I would have told her that moon signs stopped mattering when the moon\u2019s orbit had been shifted, that none of her charts meant anything anymore, but I wasn\u2019t brave like Mieke had been.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>I spent the next several days almost catatonic with anxiety, to the point that my doser couldn\u2019t keep up and scheduled me an appointment at the med center, where I had to make up some pretty lie about how I was nervous about my upcoming week in the booths. The nurse with the tired eyes gave me a referral to a nearby makeup artist and tweaked the parameters of my doser before sending me away, heart hammering almost more than it had been before.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>I had never been brave like Mieke had been.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>And so, when the next sundark happened I stayed in my room with the blinds safely shut, so I wouldn\u2019t be tempted to even look outside and see if she was there. I hated myself for it afterwards, but what else could I have done? I didn\u2019t want to end up like Mieke.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<br>\n\t\t\t<p>The fifth sundark I dared to touch a bee.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>It wasn\u2019t much of an act of bravery compared to other things I might have done, but it felt monumental somehow. I never could have done it if she hadn\u2019t been there next to me, standing on that dark quiet street with her arm brushing against mine.<\/p> \n\t\t\t<p>The insect didn\u2019t stir as I carefully picked it up from its flowerbloom bed and set it on her waiting palm. We leaned in close, so close I could almost feel her breath on my cheek, examining the tiny creature. Its body looked less fuzzy than the few sci classes I could remember had led me to believe, but I found myself in awe of the intricacies of its wings. They looked like stained glass in miniature, the edges appearing almost filigreed, and I wondered if, when the sundark was over, they would gleam and glitter in the light.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Maybe they always had and I\u2019d just never bothered to look closely enough.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cIt\u2019s not real,\u201d she whispered next to me.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cFeel it.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>I ran a finger along the delicate edge of a wing, expecting to accidentally crush it despite the care I was taking, but it felt sturdy under my fingertip. Almost like it was\u2014<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cPlastic?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cSomething manufactured,\u201d she said. \u201cI think that\u2019s how they watch us.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cThat\u2019s\u2014\u201d I wanted to say it was absurd, preposterous, that the gods didn\u2019t need artificial bees to see what went on in their domain, but something kept my tongue still. Maybe it was just that I wanted her to like me and didn\u2019t think contradicting her would help; maybe it was a doubt that I\u2019d never even dared to let myself think.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cI want to take it apart,\u201d she said, and her eyes gleamed with an intensity that made me want to do anything she said, just so long as she would keep looking at me like that.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cWon\u2019t they know?\u201d I asked, hand starting to tremble as I touched the bee\u2019s striped body, felt a rough edge catch against a callous. \u201cIf they do watch us with the bees, won\u2019t they see us take it apart?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>She shook her head. \u201cI don\u2019t think so. I think they\u2019re all offline right now.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>We looked at each other; I didn\u2019t know which I wanted to look at more, the deep brown of her eyes or the plum of her lips.<\/p> \n\t\t\t<p>\u201cIf we\u2019re wrong\u2026\u201d I began. I liked the way it sounded, we.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cThey would have seen us the other times. They would have taken us by now. I think\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>But we didn\u2019t have time for her to tell me what she thought, because the sundark had not stopped for us and the bee began to stir atop her palm. One tiny twitch of one tiny leg and we dropped it back into the barrel and fled back to our respective homes.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>I had never wished before for the sundarks to come more often.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<br>\n\t\t\t<p>The sixth sundark I kissed her.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Or she kissed me. It happened so fast I could hardly keep track, and because I erased the view from my ocular \u2018plants before I even got back inside, all I have is my own fallible memory to go by.<\/p> \n\t\t\t<p>I remember we met at the flower barrel again. I remember the way her hand felt in mine, brown skin warm and oh so soft against my own, how our fingers wove so easily together as if we\u2019d done this thousands of times. I remember that once her lips met mine, I never wanted the moment to end.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cWhat if we get rid of the bees?\u201d I asked, mumbling the question into her mouth. \u201cI\u2019ve heard rumors of hackers on the darkweb that can take down networks\u201d\u2014I had no idea what any of those words meant\u2014\u201cmaybe they could take out the bees as well, so they can\u2019t watch us anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>She kissed me again, and the kiss made me want to be brave.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cWe can\u2019t,\u201d she told me. \u201cThe bees aren\u2019t real, but what they do is.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cWatching us?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cPollinating.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>I listened to her as she explained, in between kisses, what bees had originally done, back when they were living creatures instead of little machines, how their tiny bodies had collected pollen particles as they bumbled from flower to flower, plant to plant, unknowing helpers of so much that blossomed and grew in the world. Her voice was low, raspy, nothing like the perky women who spouted their infoblurbs from the wallscreens but I could have listened to her for hours.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>We didn\u2019t have hours.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>No sundark had ever lasted longer than ten minutes, and we had spent nearly all of them talking about bees. It wasn\u2019t enough, I thought, and I told her so. She smiled at me, toothy and lopsided and perfect, and kissed me one more time.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cIf we had all the time in the world, I\u2019d spend it all with you,\u201d I said. \u201cI hate that we don\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cWe don\u2019t,\u201d she agreed, \u201cbut we have this. We can have each other whenever the bees are quiet, and the sun is dark.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>We didn\u2019t have time for another kiss before the bees started up with their familiar now-dreaded hum.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<br>\n\t\t\t<p>In retrospect, I should have known that something would go wrong on the seventh sundark.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Arlie had always said that seven was an unlucky number.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Maybe I should have listened to her after all.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>The day had started out like every other sundark day, with extra ablutions in the morning and a visit from the neighborhood priest scheduled for after breakfast. I said the early prayers the same way I always did, the words to summon the listening gods, ask their attention to our troubles and their forgiveness for our sins. I put on my best version of an attentive face when Maridol told us over smoothies and bowls about her dreams and asked what did we all think they meant.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>I couldn\u2019t have cared less about those dreams at that point. All I could think about was her.<\/p> \n\t\t\t<p>Forcing myself to wait until it was fully dark was one of the hardest things I had ever done, but I managed. Then it was my hand on the doorknob and the soft thud of my boots on the pavement and my hands tangled in her hair as the sweet smell of flowers I couldn\u2019t name danced around us on the breeze. I kissed her and she kissed me and together we tasted like hope.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Some part of me knew that we would never be able to have more than that. Even if the sundarks had lasted longer\u2014which the wallscreens said was happening slowly, though nobody seemed quite sure why\u2014it wasn\u2019t as if we could have a relationship that only existed in these stolen moments. No matter how brave I got, it wasn\u2019t as if I was going to fuck her right there on the street, even if the bees weren\u2019t watching us.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>I should have been happy with what little time we did have together, in those few minutes when the bees fell quiet. But I got greedy, and there\u2019s nothing the gods love more than to punish greediness. To be fair, we both wanted to stay, both wanted as many seconds as possible with each other before the wheeling of the heavens tore us apart again. I could have kissed her forever, one hand in her hair and the other around her waist and her hands in my back pockets and my heart hammering so hard I could hardly think, could hardly hear anything else until I noticed far too late that I could hear something else and that something else was buzzing all around us.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>The last thing I noticed as they took us away was that noise, that harsh drone of judgement so loud I don\u2019t know I ever heard anything else.<\/p>\n\t\t<\/main>\n\t\t<section class=\"authorBio\">\n\t\t\t<img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" class=\"imgOne\" src=\"\/rw\/2026-spring\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/RFDaniels_Bees.jpg\"\/>\n                        <img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" class=\"imgTwo\" src=\"\/rw\/2026-spring\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/lunar_eclipse_Egypt.jpg\"\/>\n\t\t\t<p>R. F. Daniels (they\/he) is a queer nonbinary speculative fiction writer and software engineer living and working in Finland. When they aren\u2019t arguing with computers or getting lost in imaginary worlds, they can be found painting, composing sad music, and spending time with their cats. Find them online on <a href=\"https:\/\/bsky.app\/profile\/rfdwrites.bsky.social\">Bluesky<\/a> or <a href=\"https:\/\/rfdaniels.com\/\">their website<\/a>.<\/p>\n\t\t<\/section>\n<p>Eclipse photograph Courtesy of NASA<\/p>\n\t\t<section class=\"donate\">\n\t\t  <a href=\"https:\/\/ko-fi.com\/rwfiction\">\n\t\t    <img data-recalc-dims=\"1\" decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" src=\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.societyforritualarts.org\/coreopsis\/autumn-2025-issue\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/01\/buy-us-a-cuppa1-lo-res.jpg?ssl=1\"\/>\n\t\t  <\/a>\n\t\t  <p>Like what we do? &nbsp; <a href=\"https:\/\/ko-fi.com\/rwfiction\">Buy us a Cup of Coffee!<\/a><\/p>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n<div class=\"sfsi_widget sfsi_shortcode_container\"><div class=\"norm_row sfsi_wDiv \"  style=\"width:225px;text-align:left;\"><div style='width:40px; height:40px;margin-left:5px;margin-bottom:5px; ' class='sfsi_wicons shuffeldiv ' ><div class='inerCnt'><a class=' sficn' data-effect='' target='_blank' rel='noopener'  href='https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/coreopsisjournal' id='sfsiid_facebook_icon' style='width:40px;height:40px;opacity:1;'  ><img data-recalc-dims=\"1\" data-pin-nopin='true' alt='Facebook' title='Facebook' src=\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/societyforritualarts.com\/rw\/2026-spring\/wp-content\/plugins\/ultimate-social-media-icons\/images\/icons_theme\/default\/default_facebook.png?resize=40%2C40&#038;ssl=1\" width=\"40\" height=\"40\" style='' class='sfcm sfsi_wicon ' data-effect=''   \/><\/a><div class=\"sfsi_tool_tip_2 fb_tool_bdr sfsiTlleft\" style=\"opacity:0;z-index:-1;\" id=\"sfsiid_facebook\"><span class=\"bot_arow bot_fb_arow\"><\/span><div class=\"sfsi_inside\"><div  class='icon1'><a href='https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/coreopsisjournal' target='_blank' rel='noopener'><img data-recalc-dims=\"1\" data-pin-nopin='true' class='sfsi_wicon' alt='Facebook' title='Facebook' src=\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/societyforritualarts.com\/rw\/2026-spring\/wp-content\/plugins\/ultimate-social-media-icons\/images\/visit_icons\/Visit_us_fb\/icon_Visit_us_en_US.png?ssl=1\" \/><\/a><\/div><div  class='icon2'><div class=\"fb-like\" width=\"200\" data-href=\"https:\/\/societyforritualarts.com\/rw\/2026-spring\/when-the-bees-fell-quiet\/\"  data-send=\"false\" data-layout=\"button_count\" data-action=\"like\"><\/div><\/div><div  class='icon3'><a target='_blank' rel='noopener' href='https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/sharer\/sharer.php?u=https%3A%2F%2Fsocietyforritualarts.com%2Frw%2F2026-spring%2Fwp-json%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fpages%2F624' style='display:inline-block;'  > <img class='sfsi_wicon'  data-pin-nopin='true' alt='fb-share-icon' title='Facebook Share' src='https:\/\/societyforritualarts.com\/rw\/2026-spring\/wp-content\/plugins\/ultimate-social-media-icons\/images\/share_icons\/fb_icons\/en_US.svg' \/><\/a><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><div style='width:40px; 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F. Daniels Illustrated by Sue Matthews The first thing I noticed wasn\u2019t the darkness, but the quiet. I don\u2019t know what possessed me to even go outside during the sundark that first time; everyone knows it\u2019s dangerous to go outdoors [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-624","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v27.5 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>When the Bees Fell Quiet - Roses and Wildflowers Spring 2026<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/tnf.ola.mybluehost.me\/rw\/2026-spring\/when-the-bees-fell-quiet\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"When the Bees Fell Quiet - Roses and Wildflowers Spring 2026\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Back to Journals Home Next Wonderous Story Fiction When the Bees Fell Quiet By R. 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